Devils

"Souling"- the practice, on All Hallow's eve, of going from door to door asking for "soul cakes" and in return singing prayers for the souls of the givers and their friends. "Souling" is of medieval origin; now trick-or-treating.

via Robert Macfarlane.

~~~

A Christian woman accused of blasphemy has-thank God- been found not guilty. But the maulvis have been wailing and foaming at the mouth since last night ("who will rid us of these turbulent..."). Devils on the streets. 

Little r was dressed up as a devil for Halloween. God knows what the domestic help (a forlorn woman from a village) must have thought. [That really does make me sound like some sort of character in a Russian novel before the Revolution]. I'm not sure if there are depictions of the devil in Islam so maybe things are okay. r asked, "How do I look?". I replied in a mocking tone: "It's like, soooo you."

One of the fortunate consequences of the fanaticism of the mullahs is that the whole city is closed down today. So, it feels like the first day of the year in London. Grey skies, not a soul about, fresh espresso (which the Guardian, curse them, claim is not as good as filter coffee). I can hear the crows but they're lost somewhere up in the smog. Started Alexievich's Second-Hand Time. 

My double life continues, which is to say my half-life does. Dia-bolical: divided self? Note to self: But don't take your unbelief too seriously, old bean.

~~~

Ali Qasmi really looks the part. He has an old 19th c. beard that Marx would have been proud of. Dressed up in a suit and tie for Halloween. "Who are you?", I asked. "An Islamic banker", said Q. He's got a devlish twinkle in his eyes. In Qatar I thought he'd hung himself out of boredom. When we visited a shopping mall (what else is there?) he said to me, "look at that sexy woman over there". But, Q, she's wearing a burqa! "I know, I know, but I saw her ankles."

He's an old school historian who hates new-fangled words like "multidisciplinarity". Everyone wants to change things all the time. But it takes time, everything takes time. I look at his gentle face closely. Actually, it's not the historian speaking but a fellow Kashmiri. Leave it be.

In an age that has convinced itself that activity is preferable to inactivity it is a pleasure to meet someone who still wants to talk about books. A line from Brodsky struck me this morning: They [he and his friends] preferred to read rather than act. 

I prefer to read than write. And sometimes I don't. And then I don't care about "preferring" or even the "I" that prefers or prefers not to. Instead, a crow haphazardly making its way through the dense fog...