John Pettigrew – A distinguished member of the “green finger fraternity”

(October 2009 issue Maxx-m, Jakarta)

Who is this jolly green giant of a man who has romanced Bali for nearly twenty years and is now falling in love again, this time with India where he had earlier spent many years hitch hiking across in the days of hippie hype, dharma bums and chillums (apologies to Jack Kerouac)?

John Pettigrew’s pedigree is unknown to many of his friends and clients and it was by accident that he let it slip the other day while we were nursing tipples and watching the sun set behind palm trees at his home in Nyuh Kuning, Ubud, Bali.

“My grandfather Professor Bell Pettigrew was a pioneer of the theory of flight and authored/illustrated many books on the subject (before the Wright Brothers). Today there is a museum dedicated to his memory at St. Andrew’s University, Scotland. The other ancestor of mine, Henry Bell, invented the first steam ship called The Comet. I wish we could do a book together on my family; I have all the original manuscripts of my ancestors’ works. What do you think?” he asked me.

The evening slide into night as the two men, one Indian and one Irish spoke passionately about preservation of cultures, languages and the environment.

Two days later we met over breakfast with his wife Anindra Novitsari and their petite six year old daughter, Nikita, to talk about his life and work. After the mandatory photo session which was gate crashed by a bevy of Bali street dogs that have adopted the family, we talked the talk.

John built the house in which we were sitting with his own hands. In the first five years there was no electricity and the toilet was a hole in the ground. Transportation then was by bicycle. His days traversing India had taught him how to survive the elements.

This green fingered Irishman’s completed works (landscape designing) as well as ongoing projects reads like a who’s who of Bali, India etc.:

Four Seasons Resort (Ubud/Jimbaran/Maldives/Singapore/Jakarta), Begawan Giri Estate (Ubud), Bulgari Resort (Bali), Bali Reptile Park (Singapadu), The Huguenot Cemetery (Ireland), Napa Valley Estate (California), Jose Grace Estate (California), Glenair Estate (Ireland), Infosys (Bangalore, India), Kabinkad Estate (Coorg, India), Ashtamudi Lake Resort (Kerala, India), Janice Girardi/John Hardy/Chris Gentry/Mark & Josie Mak/Ian Batey (Bali) are just some of the examples.

“What feeds your insatiable urge to consistently create, mould, sculptor and reenergize the environs of a given area?” I asked.

“My father, Stanley, is a well known landscape (oil) painter. In fact his work has often been auctioned at Christies. And my mother, Vera, is an author of children’s’ books. As members of the ISPCA both my parents have shared with me their intrinsic love for Nature, the outdoors and respect for all living things. I remember our home in Ireland was a shelter for stray/abused cats, dogs and donkeys. My wife and my daughter share this passion too.

My philosophy is to design the landscape of a proposed site by using as much indigenous plants so that the garden is not divorced from its surroundings. Water in the form of pools and streams is incorporated to sculptor the garden into a living, breathing entity that is fundamental to the aesthetics of Nature,” he replied.

“And your family, where do they fit in in the scheme of things?”

“John”, interjected Anindra “is a family man. Although he travels frequently to India he rushes home as soon as work is over. I first met him while working in Sales and Marketing at Begawan Giri (Como Shambala). He was the landscape designer. We feel in love but I was not too sure whether he would be a suitable husband until I met his parents in Ireland. Vera (his mother) narrated the story of John’s return to Ireland in socks after a long sojourn hiking across Europe. Apparently, he didn’t have sufficient funds to buy a much needed pair of shoes and Christmas presents for his folks. So he bought the presents and returned home wearing only socks in mid-winter. This changed my mind and I married him. But I still cannot get over the way the Irish drink (liquor). Aduh, I have never seen so much drinking on any given night. What is surprising is that everyone gets up next morning sober and are off to work as if nothing has happened. Hahahaha…”

“And you dear Nikita what do you want to do when you grow up”.

“I want to be an architect and build my own house. Also I want to have a big place to keep all animals that are hurt. To give them medicine to make them better. And to feed all those which are hungry,” said Nikita hugging her three legged Bali street dog.

“So what food do you like?”

“Soto Ayam (traditional Javanese chicken soup) and Irish apple crumble. They are so yummy,” replied the little girl.

“How do you get on with your mother in law, John?” I asked hesitantly.

“Hahahaha…when Nikita was born we had our differences on how to handle the newest member of the family. It’s the same in all cultures, there’s always a bit of sparring with the mother in law but then things settle down to a tentative truce.”

“Anindra, you and your family have been living for a long time in Bali…will this be your permanent home now?” I asked.

“No, we have been thinking of setting up another home, in India and probably Australia too. The fact is that 80% of John’s work is in India therefore it makes sense to check out these options. But Bali will always be an important part of our lives.”

“John, what are your future plans?”

“My dream is to get back to my painting. Many years ago I held exhibitions of my work in Ireland and Scotland. The other idea I have is to form a loose knit association with architects to design and build holistic centers that truly adhere to the natural elements. Presently, holistic centers in existence are not accurately harmonized with the environment i.e. architecture, building materials, landscaping, recycling, solar or wind power etc. But most importantly I want to spend quality time with the family. After all isn’t that why I am living – to make this world just a little bit cleaner, greener and wholesome?” he replied

I leave you now dear readers with this small note:

This morning, September 19, 2009, an earthquake of the magnitude of 6.4 on the Richter scale hit Bali. No apparent damage has yet been reported. May be this is a wakeup call from Nature reminding us as to who is really in charge of this beautiful blue planet. Fortunately we have people like John Pettigrew in our midst who can help us in understanding the importance of preserving our environment by not polluting it with non-bio degradable waste. Ultimately it is our choice whether we want to make this planet a garbage dump or a tranquil paradise for our children.

So what shall it be folks?

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

Momentary Lapse of Concentration

The night is still as the candle flame stands upright licking the air. A symphony of clicking crickets rises from the river bank. Darkness slowly creeps forward as the candle burns itself out to Dylan’s serenade…tonight I will be staying here with you.

An unfulfilled existence sits silently contemplating the emptiness while recounting the fading beats within. Should have, shouldn’t have, if, buts…ad nausea. The flood of years trickles down to this, a night out to come up with another plan to outwit the usurper Fate that is invariably lurking in the crevices of a fractured life. It is going to be an excruciating wait for an answer, if ever one comes along.

In the darkness he walks towards the all encompassing light of instant gratification to take cover in the thick overgrowth of humanity, to camouflage his solitary confinement amidst the chameleons.  Haunting rhythms of the spirits echo from speakers seducing the listeners with the lyrics and enticing them to partake of a revelry that ridicules common sense.

No one moves except the waiters expectantly waiting for a raised hand to satiate. In the corner he leans against the wall, hat covering his face, a straw barrier, a vain attempt to keep aloof from the goings-on and yet to be an active spectator.

A warm hand, kiss on the cheek from a perfumed lady awakens the inner self and the hint of companionship for the night. They speak with their eyes, bodies touching as the music subsides to loud chatter. Then syllables are exchanged which slowly merge into a torrent. He suggests they leave the restaurant and walk a short distance away to a quiet warung to continue the verbal intercourse.

In minutes they are sitting opposite each other on uncomfortable wooden chairs looking around awkwardly for suddenly they are confronted with each other without the static emanating from the pulsating crowd.

After the drinks arrive and are drunk, lips move slowly towards each other. Their fingers play a game of dumb charades. Her teeth are pearly white, hair raven black and her lithe body is draped with a flimsy floral dress. He is content for the moment knowingly fully well he will have to go back to his abode next to the river, maybe with her.

“My name is Rebecca. That’s all that you need to know about me. I want this night to remain as it is, so please don’t spoil it with esoteric and existential questions.”

“Okay”.

“You didn’t tell me your name”.

“Krishna”

“The Hindu God of Love”

“God no, it’s just a name”

A few drinks later tongues search out one another. Suggestions of moving to an even quieter place arise. So they leave together in his ramshackle car for the sanctuary of his room.

In the darkness of his shelter much is felt and heard and exchanged then silence. The only sound is that of a gnat buzzing the sweating bodies.

“Mosquito, quick spray the little f..k.r.”

When the deed is done they get up from the cold floor to lie on the bed, apart and on their backs gazing into the darkened ceiling.

“Where is the loo? Need to wash”

“No, please don’t”

“Why?”

“It’s like you need to cleanse yourself of me”

“I am ovulating. I think I will get pregnant, not that washing will help. Am wet, uncomfortable”

“So? You don’t want to be a mother?”

“No, I mean yes I want to be a mother.”

Silence continuing silence, except for the contents of the cistern emptying into the bowl. She returns to the bed and nestles in his arms; her hands cold from washing, rub his stomach.

He lies still contemplating the sick feeling. The chance of possibly being on the wrong side of karma is evident in his breathing. But she remains inert, her hands have stopped moving, she has fallen asleep.

The softness of the porcelain body next to him, the perfumed long hair and her q….b resting on his thigh are an aphrodisiac. He moves over her, entering while she spreads her hands and legs apart giving herself completely to him with all the trust a stranger can muster. Guilt fades into the bed sheet with another exchange of selves. She rolls him over and lies atop giggling, suddenly awake and energized.

“Have you ever loved anyone?”

“You said not to ask you esoteric questions so why should I answer one of yours?”

“Just asked, sorry”

“No I have never been in love, only lust, passion, possession and infatuation”

“Poor soul. You are scared, yes but why?”

“I am not scared just wary of women I have met as they have usually sucked my energy and departed after having drained the last ounce of me, my spirit. It has often taken months to rejuvenate my soul. Do you know what I am saying?”

“No. Never mind now let’s eat something. Is there anything in the fridge?”

He gets out of bed tripping over the clothes on the floor. She laughs while holding him from falling.

She cuts the cheese. He pours the wine and takes out a packet of biscuits. And when he sits down she sits on his lap, her soft naked body comforting. She eats and drinks and feeds him with a tenderness he has forgotten. Then smelling of cheese and wine with crumbs of biscuit on their lips, they meet once more on the strewn clothes.

Sleep blankets the passion.

Morning awakes with the sound of prayers from across the river. She gets up hurriedly wears her clothes and leaves. Not kissing him. Not saying goodbye. Just a furtive glance at the man she shared the night with.

A few days later he sees her dining with a male companion at a restaurant where he goes for a quiet dinner of a Cuban and margarita.

When the couple finish their dinner and are walking out she looks back waves then gets into a car which speeds away.

A waiter observing him remarks nonchalantly.

“Forget, she married, that’s her husband, he arrived today from London”.

Krishna smiles and lights the Romeo & Juliet for he understands now that it is as always, a momentary lapse of concentration.

But today is another night.

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