I used to live there,
It was a segundo primera: second floor first door.
The wooden door had an old eye and
you could see the opposite door from the old eye, where
a seventy-year-old Gracia woman used to live, alone.
Once it rained heavily and the woman invited me for a coffee, and I left my door open...
Somehow the ceiling of my study leaked and rain water made my printer
unusable for a couple of months...
In the adjoining room other stories used to live, the bed was big and creaky, and on the bed, which was made in early seventies maybe, I once dreamt that I was a pig, who could speak human tongues, and who was the patriarch of a clan of pigs from Mallorca, and who flew from Mallorca to Barcelona on being invited by the king jaume of Catalonia to be his political advisor... and the pig was, after being in service for some years, killed by his king and offered as a delicacy to the king of Spain who was visiting Catalonia. But the pig, on being brought to the table in silver tray, fully cooked, with all the garnishing and only black olives, came to life and cursed Spain and Catalonia, damning them to many centuries of dispute.
Did I say dream? Did I say that before dreaming or imagining or having this vision I had spent that whole night at the plaça de la revolucion, celebrating the fiesta major of sa poble or palma de Mallorca, eating open-air grilled salchichas, drinking wine and dancing or rather throbbing in a big circle with many other people from Mallorca, people I had never met before?
The corridor with tiles from the fifties led to another small room on the right hand which was a sneaky little room with one single bed where I made love to c. because she like it better than the big, creaky bed. I remember one of the wooden supports of the single bed broke once, and we didn't bother and then when I was suffering from c.'s withdrawal I used to sleep on that single bed and get good sleep.
Much ahead there was another room, on the right hand side, bigger than the sneaky room, but much smaller than the big bedroom, which by the way also had a balcony which looked down on sant pere martir and from where I could also see the corner of the opulent hotel, whose name now I don't remember. I know the name very well.
This third room was where the argentinian to whom I had rented the room for three months, no more and no less, kept an urn of ashes. I didn't ask him.
Beyond the third room was the room with the sofa, where I would receive guests. There was a round dining table there, a mini tv, a cabinet made of composite wood. And then towards the other side of this room was the back portion of the house, with a big window view of the interior of the manzana, backsides of all the buildings of the square. There was a table and two chairs there as well, and on nice sunny days this was the quietest part of the home. I once saw a girl in the back portion of the opposite building removing her clothes completely. And someone was teaching me to crack Wi-Fi networks those days and we analysed one Wi-Fi packet sent from somewhere in the vicinity... it was a booking of an alsa bus ticket to Girona. I imagined it would be the nude girl who was going to Girona in that bus.
The shower and toilet lay next. The shower gave me very light electric shocks sometimes, but the owner said it was normal, nevertheless I insisted and the electrician came and fixed it.
In total I think I wrote around six hundred pages in the study of that apartment. Wait, I also wrote a book of poetry there.
I also bought my first pair of espardilles in that apartment and wore them each summer for those two years I was there.
I also often ate mohammed's shawarma, which was in the next street, mozart. I have been told recently that mohammed is mustafa and he has his own place in mozart now.
I saw a scanner darkly, when I was living in sant pere martir. This was in verdi. It was with m. and afterwards we met her brother visiting from c.
J. took me to a lesbian bar when I was living in sant pere martir. She used her charm to get me in.
I came instantly when the other j. removed her panties on the creaky bed once in one smooth motion.
The bedroom had a heater that used to burn lpg butane cylinder. There was a news in those days that a group of friends on an excursion to a country house had almost died when they left their lpg butane heater on for an entire night without opening any window to let fresh air in. I didn't get scared, c. did.
M. the psychiatrist used to live down the street. Impeccable taste. Sorted.
I met l. for the first time at sant pere martir. Nobody could imagine the whirlwinds that would ensue.
I had to pay five hundred euros as cleaning charges when I left sant pere martir.
I close my eyes and I could still be living, in sant pere martir.
+the world of dunia (hindi translator for this vocabulary)
+article on gurgaon, published in 'vislumbres', magazine of the spanish embassy, new delhi - scanned copies here #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6
+the traveller's conversation guide (in spanish) for hindi, urdu and bengali, lonely planet/geoplaneta (contributed as linguistics/phonetics consultant in the project)
+universidad de granada
+universitat pompeu fabra
SARAI.NET/Frontiers, Essay on South Asian ADDA in Barcelona +details here but for d'loading check c.s.d.s. / www.sarai.net later when their +website is up!
+आया - hindi translation of La Mainadera (published), a short story by Merce Rodoreda
+outline of the desire multiplex - a proposal for a publication not accepted
+short story 'the king of malerkotla' published in the dhauli review magazine
+short story 'the sublime beauty of the mediterranean sea' published in the anthology 'la llibrera de portbou', ed. libros de la vóragine, barcelona; a piece of news on the anthology here: universitat de barcelona news piece
+piece on renowned and prodigious Hindi poet Vishwanath Prasad Tiwari, at present president of Sahitya Akademi, India's national academy of letters 'Vishwanath Prasad Tiwari, in Visat, digital magazine of PEN Catala' . websites of PEN Catala and Sahitya Akademi, here respectively: PEN Catala; Sahitya Akademi, India
This is a public place, you are free to borrow the material/writings on these pages but please leave a courtesy note indicating this website and Sameer's name wherever you use them and inform at the email address.
Sameer Rawal © 2014 - all rights reserved
designed by mpg