Welcome to Contemporary Writings by Satis Shroff (Freiburg)

Hi Everybody! Writing is something wonderful, whether you write poems or prose (short-stories, fiction, non-fiction) and it's great to express yourself and let the reader delve into your writings and share the emotions that you have experienced through the use of verbs, the muscles of a story, as my Creative Writing Prof Bruce Dobler at the University of Freiburg, Germany) used to say. I'd like to share my Contemporary Writings with YOU! Happy reading.

Sincerely,

Satis Shroff

Showing posts with label Switzerland hHoliday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Switzerland hHoliday. Show all posts

Saturday, February 7, 2009

पचौरितु जर्मनी रा स्विट्जरलैंड माँ (सतीश श्रोफ्फ़)




The Fifth Season in the Alps and the Black Forest (Satis Shroff)

The night of the torches began at Freiburg’s Swabian Gate (Schwabentor), and 13000 witches, knaves and other ghoulish figures marched to the Allemanic town’s cathedral located in the centre. Right below the olde historical Kaufhaus was a stage with 500 witches in motley clothes and ugly noses, warts and all, who performed their wild and frantic dances. The cacophony caused by the percussion and brass of the Guggen music rose in crescendo, as they staged their monster-concert.

40,000 visitors came to the 75th celebration of the Breisgauer Narrenzunft (BNZ) and 100 clubs (Zünfte) took part in the fasnet merry-making. The BNZ was established in 1934, yes the fateful year in Germany when the Nazizeitgeist raised its ugly head. Among the Narren (knaves) that the Nazis didn’t like was a Jewish Freiburger named Hans Pollock, a physician by profession and very active in the fasnet committee. Today, we would say that he was systematically mobbed and bossed from his working place, and was deported to Dachau. Luckily enough Hans fell ill and was sent back to Freiburg, where he died in 1939. There’s a small metal plate with his name in the cobbled street called Güntertalstrasse.

An ethnologist named Bertold Hamel published a thesis with the title ‘Helau and Heil Hitler.’ In 1984 there was an exhibition at the Albert Ludwig’s university library organised in part by the art historian Peter Kalchthaler. It was he who mentioned that the celebrations had their origin in the Christian faith, and that during the Third Reich the brown shirts turned an age-old belief and tradition into a folk tradition.

But things have changed for the better now. Even a Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist or Jew can become a member of the many traditional zünfte and cliques, and take part in the historical and traditional jovial events. I’m looking forward to the Rose Monday parade in which more than 5200 masked figures will be taking part.

From the ‘dirty’ Thursday till Ash Wednesday, the Black Forest and the Upper Rhein areas are under the command of witches and knaves after the town councils are stormed by them and freed, for the fifth season has already begun. The witches also come to the schools and kindergardens and ‘free’ the kids from their teachers and lessons, and make them have fun with music, bags of sweets, colourful streamers and sacks of confetti which are thrown on their blonde, brunette and black heads, amid laughter and screams. A wonderful time of the year, you are inclined to say, where people are ordered to have fun, drink a lot of beer, wine, schnaps to drive off the cold, long, depressing winter. I bumped into an amiable German from Pforzheim named Rudi, who raised his krug of beer and said: ‘Prost! My body needs it!’

Well it’s fasnet-time (fasching, carnival) in the alpine countries of Switzerland, Austria and Germany. The streets are full of wild men and women, witches, devils, knaves, masked figures galore in Durlach (Karlsruhe), Baden Baden-Oos, Offenburg, Gengenbach with its ‘Schalk wach uff’ cry, Hausach with its witches with hearts, the march at Haslach, the red devils on Dirty Thursday at Triberg. And Villingen, which is known for its motto: fasnet-meets-carnival.

In Donaueschingen, Hansel and Gretel are woken up from their Schwarzwälder beds by means of a fanfare at 6am on February 19, 2009. There’s a children’s procession at 2pm and the singing of fasnet songs. At 7pm you see people going around with long white sleeping-gowns and white caps with a pom-pom hanging at the end. You can see thousands of people taking to the cobbled streets: there’s music of all manners, costumes and stork wagons in which the wicked witches of Elzach entice beautiful girls from the streets, dump them in their rickety wagons, throw tons of confetti on them and finally set them free with a ‘narri, narrow!’ farewell greeting. The Schuttig procession is known for the cracks of the long whips on the streets, but if you tease and laugh at him, the Schuttig might clobber you with a swine’s bladder. It’s good for a laugh anyway because humour is useful.

And on March 2, 2009 there’s, of course, the famous Swiss Morgenstraich in Basle, an unforgettable experience after the German merry-making is long over and the witches have shed feigned tears, burnt effigies symbolising the banishment of winter.

Exactly at 4am the lights go out in Basle’s inner town buildings. An uncanny silence shrouds the city, and thousands of spectators listen and look around, holding hands lest they don’t lose themselves among the sea of humanity around them. Suddenly, 200 lanterns begin to shine and make their appearance with masked figures elegantly distributing colourful leaflets with the sujet or motto of the respective cliques, which are actually lyrics lampooning Swiss politicians, Sarkosy, Brown & Merkel included, their speeches, promises, collateral decisions that have backfired, scandals or whatever. I love the sound of the shrill piccollo flutes and drums of the Swiss cliques. When you come to think of it, you’re one of the 10,000 fasnacht revellers. There are witch costume balls everywhere in the evenings, where you eat salted pork, drink schnaps, but hopefully not one too much for the road, for fun is the order of the day.

Whereas the Breisgauer members of the Narrenzunft celebrated their 75th jubilee on February 1, 2009, in Switzerland’s small Klinen Valley the ‘Wild Maa’ reached land at 11am on January 20, 2009 and was greeted with firecrackers. On the bank of the Rhine were the bird Gryff and the ‘Leu’ waiting to greet the ‘Wild Maa,’ surrounded by hundreds spectators who’d come to see the spectacle. The three symbolic Swiss fasnet figures danced all the way to Small Basle for the big-shots of Basle. The highlight was the dance in the middle of the bridge across the Rhines near Käpplijoch, and a thunderous crowd, accompanied by blue coated drummers, wearing white wigs and quaint hats like the Tin Drummer.

In the middle of Thun, a town in Switzerland, the Merlinger group ‘Grönbachgusler,’ costumed as blood-suckers with vampire-like canines jutting out of the corners of their mouths, black and white striped clothes and big drums were to be admired. This was the day of the ghouls.

On February 24, 2009 the town of Breisach invites all fasnet-friends to this lovely town upon the Rhine, where the Brysacher Fasnet will be celebrated the whole day. And on Ash Wednesday, when everything’s over, the people of Freiburg wash their wallets at 10am in the clear, cold water of the Freiburger Bächele, a sort of canal that runs through this Schwarzwald town, as it is thought to be auspicious and will bring one happiness and financial benefits in the course of the year. What a pleasant thought, now that the WEF is over, isn’t it?

About the Author:

Satis Shroff is a prolific writer and teaches Creative Writing at the Albert Ludwig University of Freiburg. He is a lecturer, poet and writer and the published author of three books: Im Schatten des Himalaya (book of poems in German), Through Nepalese Eyes (travelogue), Katmandu, Katmandu (poetry and prose anthology by Nepalese authors, edited by Satis Shroff). His lyrical works have been published in literary poetry sites: Slow Trains, International Zeitschrift, World Poetry Society (WPS), New Writing North, Muses Review, The Megaphone, Pen Himalaya, Interpoetry. He is a member of “Writers of Peace,” poets, essayists, novelists (PEN), World Poetry Society (WPS) and The Asian Writer.

Satis Shroff is based in Freiburg (poems, fiction, non-fiction) and also writes on ecological, ethno-medical, culture-ethnological themes. He has studied Zoology and Botany in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and the United Kingdom. He describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Since literature is one of the most important means of cross-cultural learning, he is dedicated to promoting and creating awareness for Creative Writing and transcultural togetherness in his writings, and in preserving an attitude of Miteinander in this world. He lectures in Basle (Switzerland) and in Germany at the Akademie für medizinische Berufe (University Klinikum Freiburg) and the Zentrum für Schlüsselqualifikationen (University of Freiburg where he is a Lehrbeauftragter for Creative Writing). Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Impressions From Switzerland (Satis Shroff)

Switzerland:

Impressions From Central Switzerland (Satis Shroff)

It’s a sunny afternoon when Claudia and I boarded the ICE (Inter City Express) train from the Black Forest town Freiburg, then switch trains at the Swiss Badische Bahnhof (SBB) and travelled via Olten in a Swiss regional train towards Luzern. The train sped past small hills, spurs, lakes, scores of tunnels and towns with church spires, Swiss cows and horses grazing on the lush green meadows.

Inside the train were young men and women in trekking outfits, talking rather animatedly and laughing incessantly at their own jokes told in the Schwyzer dialect with a lot of guttural sounds and softly produced words with ‘Ts.’ If you know Schwyzer Deutsch, you’ve won the hearts of the Swiss people. I find it just wonderful to hear and reproduce the Schweizer sounds, especially the Basle dialect.

A grey-haired obese lady was siting with her husband near us. She was wearing spectacles and had a cloth bag in beige leather dangling in front of her legs with the words: ‘Wir handeln für die Umwelt.’ There was a pun on the word ‘handeln,’ which means ‘we trade for the environment’ or ‘we do something about the environment.’ The Swiss engage themselves a lot in humanitarian, cultural, environmental and money matters.

We are surrounded by hummocky hills and then blue snow-capped mountains. There are Swiss farms in the foothills of the mountains. Miles of maize fields appear. The Swiss train is heading for Central Switzerland. We’re approaching Luzern. An impressive grey castle fleets by and then you come across pompous mansions. An Appenzeller advertisment appears with the message: ‘Seit 700 Jahre in Einklang mit der Natur,’ which means that the Swiss cheese is in harmony with Mother Nature since seven hundred years.

A well-dressed, curt train-conductor comes along the gangway with his ticket-puncher looks through his glasses and says, ‘Richtig, gute Reise.’ Something like ‘Richt ho! Have a good journey.’ We’ve left Luzern behind. You see myriads of Schreber gardens, which are small patches of gardens for city dwellers who want to flee from the smoggy cities and enjoy a bit of greenery, flowers and barbecues in the weekends. A lake algae-green water dashes past and hundreds of houses on the lakeside hillocks and spurs. That’s quality of life for you. The hills in the outskirts of Luzern reminded me of those in Grindelwald, where you can ride up almost to the mountains Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau in scarlet cable-cars. Suddenly a wonderful view of a lake and mountains appeared, with the Swiss autobahn below. An ugly landslide scar made its appearance. Aqua-ducts, bridges, hills, meadows, houses with the old traditional church of Arth-Goldau.

A merry holiday whiff floated in the air. A sleek train from the Südostbahn came by. Near the railway station was wood stacked for the winter. A crane, a lorry and cars sped by. The well-fed and obese Swiss youth in the train were having a jolly time. We went via Schwyz and took a bus to Morschach at an elevation of 800m, with mountains all around.

It’s evening and the sun is going down in the central Swiss Alps. You can see the snow on the summits and the ice-walls from the spacious balcony of the Swiss Holiday Park. There’s a serene and tranquil atmosphere, and the air is so fresh in the Swiss Alps. That’s landluft for you.

Morschach lies on a plateau at the foot of the 1922m peak called Fronalpstock with 900 souls, and its known for its Swiss Holiday Park and also Landal Parks. Morschach lies above the Lake of the Four Cantons (Vierwaldstättersee). A cable car brings you to the skiing area of Stoos-Fronalpstock, where you can also do a bit of trekking in spring, summer and autumn. The scenery of the Lake of the Four Cantons really took my breath away, even though I’m originally from the foothills of the Himalayas.

After a sound sleep with an open window to let in the fresh alpine air, you are woken up by the ding-dongs of the Swiss cow-bells, as they are herded and walk languidly on their way to the higher meadows. As you look out of the window you see the black and white coloured cows grazing in the green meadows above the Bauernhaus which is three-storied with white windows and dark brown wooden walls.

The next morning it was refreshing to go to the local bakery run by Ms. M. Judd and her lovely Swiss girls. You could buy balance bread, Schnitzer, Kneipp and Ballenberg-bread in addition to croissants and small round buns. Digestion is excellent in Switzerland due to the cereals and high percentage of Ballaststoff (roughage) in the bread in addition to folic acid.
After a hearty Swiss breakfast we went from Morschach (800m) to Stoos (1300m) and from there to the Fronalpstock (1922m), which is the highest viewpoint of the Stoos region.

There is a relative easy panorama walk up to Fronalpstock but you can also use the cable-car and ski-lift to the top and can see the healthy cows grazing below you. They don’t even bat an eyelid when the ski-lifts come near. They’re used to visitors from all over the world. There’s an excellent summit restaurant and naturally souvenir-shops. Last summer, one of the most beautiful ridge hiking trails in Switzerland underwent thorough reconstruction for the 150th anniversary of the hiking trails in the Canton Schwyz.

A burly Swiss man and his wife who had rosy cheeks said to me in the cable-car, ‘I’ve worked in Basle for 41 years. We live in Morschach now and are very happy. In Basel I had a brain-stroke and had to take Marcumar, and as a side-effect I developed asthma. I had to inhale all the time.’

He made a hand movement as though he was inhaling.

‘Don’t you have to take Budes, Salbutamol and Singular anymore?’ I asked him.

‘Nein, Gott sei Dank! Meine Lungen sind frei.’ Thank God, my lungs are free now.

I ventured to say, ‘It’s the wonderful Swiss alpine air, I suppose.’

‘Jawohl, it is. We’ve bought a house and don’t want to leave this place anymore.’

From the summit of Fronalpstock you can not only see the Lake of the Four Cantons but also the village of Brunnen, where we went later to visit a dear friend Gertrude, who is a nun in retirement. Her home-peak (Hausberg) is the Mythen.

An expression of cool exhilaration comes across as you peer at the Swiss landscape unfolding before your eyes. Nature manifests itself in every season in its characteristic way and all the four seasons have their own charms. The Spring in the mountains with its Crocus flower mantle and patches of snow covered meadows. The Summer with its magnificent and colourful alpine flora pristine in beautiful sunshine. The grey misty and rainy days, accompanied by thunder and lightning, landscapes after the torrential rains and Swiss houses under water and schlamm. Muddy everywhere. The Autumn with its brocade of diverse leaves in the trees and everywhere. Strewn wantonly by the wind in yellow, scarlet, light green and brown colours. And in the distance clear views of the mountains, valleys and spurs. Just as in Nepal’s hills you hear the grass-cutting women singing their ghasi-geet (grass-songs) and a refrain or even a spontaneous reply comes from the other side of the hill, the people of the Alps fold their hands to a cup in front of their mouths and shout their prayers to the Gods in the Alps. It could be Jesus, Holy Mary or one of the many Saints. The prayers deal with the protection of the people, cows, Alpine-huts, meadows and they expect the blessings from God or Maria Hilf.

When humans are confronted with the elements and Nature they have similar lines of thinking irrespective of their domiciles. In Hinduism and Buddhism for instance when a bhakal (Gelübde) or promise to God has been made in exchange for a favour, then it is expected that the promise is held. My Mom had wished a son and had prayed to Shiva, Sita and Mahakal and had promised to go on a pilgrimage if her wish came true. She got her son and complied by undertaking a pilgrim’s journey to Darjeeling’s Mahakal temple, Kathmandu’s Pashupatinath temple, Jagannath Puri, Hardwar and Sita’s temple in Janakpur. If she hadn’t fulfilled her promises then she’d have remained an uneasy, restless soul for the rest of her life.