For you, a thousand times over.
- Hassan
'The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini'
Jun 29, 2006
Jun 28, 2006
Jun 27, 2006
But It Rained...
It was dark when I woke up today. Dark clouds. Luckily I got to the cab pickup point before it started pouring. And I was lucky, apparently it was raining cats and dogs in Delhi. And it was an amazing drive to Delhi. 'The Kite Runner' had to wait. I couldn't take the chance of missing that beautiful moment when the rain is pattering on the windshields, cool breeze in my hair and the dark grey clouds in the foreground.
They reminded me of my drawings in primary school. I think drawing classes then were one of my most uncreative times. Invariably, for most classes and for every exam, I used to paint the same picture - hilltops in the distance, a rivulet emerging from a valley in between (snaking down), a brown and green foreground and a reddish brown hut. The hut had one door and three windows and crossbars. When I felt interested enough, I'd draw a few shrubs and red berries or flowers, a human figure - or two. And that was the worst, I never knew how to draw hands - they always looked like paws...or hand gloves. Draw it all first on the paper with pencil and then fill the colors. The Camlin water color set that had 12 circular cakes of dry color and a brush, a bowl of water was needed to wet the colors and put it on the paper. Again, the same grey shades to the sky. The paper would bend and warp because of the water, always more than required and the bowl of water was muddy brown, or black, at the end.
Funny.. .school days.
They reminded me of my drawings in primary school. I think drawing classes then were one of my most uncreative times. Invariably, for most classes and for every exam, I used to paint the same picture - hilltops in the distance, a rivulet emerging from a valley in between (snaking down), a brown and green foreground and a reddish brown hut. The hut had one door and three windows and crossbars. When I felt interested enough, I'd draw a few shrubs and red berries or flowers, a human figure - or two. And that was the worst, I never knew how to draw hands - they always looked like paws...or hand gloves. Draw it all first on the paper with pencil and then fill the colors. The Camlin water color set that had 12 circular cakes of dry color and a brush, a bowl of water was needed to wet the colors and put it on the paper. Again, the same grey shades to the sky. The paper would bend and warp because of the water, always more than required and the bowl of water was muddy brown, or black, at the end.
Funny.. .school days.
Jun 25, 2006
Jun 16, 2006
One-hole penny
A weekend of thoughts
A penny for your dreams
That is your destiny
Nothing more,
....nothing less.
His Karma
Open fists
And bare feet
Nothing to gain
Everything to lose
Take the chance
And roll the dice
Until she turns
Smiles at him
Heya, how do you do?
Meaning to talk
And not to ask;
Wanting to share
But not to bear
The price that I carry.
Goodbye
It felt so strange. Leaving our hotel after the ten day stay. I felt like meeting that sweet lady at the counter and saying a goodbye. I had pestered her for my courier and she'd always smile back at me. I didn't. It reminded me of so many things. I am such a coward. I wonder how it must be for them, seeing people come and go every day, some who stay longer than others. Do they get used to it?
Freeze frame
Standing at the door
Unwilling to knock
He will wait
Buried dreams
The foggy future
He will ponder
With feet of lead
And memories of stone
He will walk
A hint of adrenalin
And an aim
He will surge
Till a blow from the dark
Weak at the gut
He will bend double
And slowly, crumble.
Oh Calcutta!
It must have amused a bystander. A guy in the business suit and the driver, both trying to catch a fly that had ventured into the car. But it broke the ice. Shambhu, the urban idiot I'd call him. Because he always grinned, even when my partner was firing him from being late. And then that day, the car was giving him problem, so every few kilometers we would stop and he'd stick his head inside the bonnet. Shambhu aur uski mehbooba!
The city seems stuck in time, making attempts to break out of it's archaic mold and embrace the future. People here are not as hard working as you'd expect in a metro. It is a difficult task to get an appointment before 11 in the morning and then after 1230 till around 2 it's lunch time while 530 is shutter down time. Blame it on the weather, as one wise guy told us. The buildings are still old, the occupants seldom the true owners, which makes reconstruction all the more a sticky issue. There are crumbling, diesel buses sputtering along it's flyovers and yellow ambassador cabs across the engineering marvel called the 'Vidyasagar Setu'. It is one of the longest suspension bridges of Asia, I am told and it reminds me this conversation sometime final year of Architecture when we were studying Advance Building Construction. We'd pondered if there was any such bridge in India.
The people have a smile on their faces, the cab drivers, the people near the hotel, especially the guy who comes up to take the laundry, M. Ali. All except the waiters, who are a surly lot. But the restaurants are good - Flurrys, Magnolia, Marco Polo in China, Sourav's, the local Subway and of course - Oh Calcutta! which by far was the finest, plates with R. K. Laxman's impressions of the city painted on the plates. The final day we were guided by the driver to this small cosy place called 'Kewpie's' who was on the 'Times Food Awards' for the best Bengali cuisine and we had some yum Bengali food - the name of delicacies I can't remember. And then there is this happening place called Roxy's where you get served by some classy waitresses (not a strip joint). We tried our luck the first week (courtesy our local partner) and were given a humiliating look by the bouncer at first and then sweetly told by the lady at the counter that entry is by invitation only. Ha! What an ass we made of ourselves. And then the last night in Kolkata we did manage to gain access to the place. Sexy interiors with blue lights and stainless steel furniture combined with exposed brick walls. The girls serving us lived up to the reputation of the place - sexy chicks there at your beck and call. But the real kick of the place was the bloody music system. The DJ played some odd combination of songs - Dire Straits, Shakira (her hips didn't lie), Blue, the Beatles, Billy Joel and all of it mixed up with some trance. Listening to all of it on their bloody multi-hundred watt Bose stereo system was an experience worth the expensive daroo. When will I have my own!
And then across the foyer, there is this place called 'Someplace Else' which is so much like 'Thousand Oaks' in Pune - good music and a good crowd, barely any place to stand, we got out in a jiffy.
There are a lot of bazaars - Raja Bazaar, Shyam Bazaar and Burra (Bada) Bazaar, one of the biggest I've seen, and I got lost in it's tiny lanes. Didn't get the chance to travel in the tram, or the country's first metro. In the meanwhile, I've been enjoying all the luxury that my company money will buy me. It does suffice for most things...except...maybe good company.
The city seems stuck in time, making attempts to break out of it's archaic mold and embrace the future. People here are not as hard working as you'd expect in a metro. It is a difficult task to get an appointment before 11 in the morning and then after 1230 till around 2 it's lunch time while 530 is shutter down time. Blame it on the weather, as one wise guy told us. The buildings are still old, the occupants seldom the true owners, which makes reconstruction all the more a sticky issue. There are crumbling, diesel buses sputtering along it's flyovers and yellow ambassador cabs across the engineering marvel called the 'Vidyasagar Setu'. It is one of the longest suspension bridges of Asia, I am told and it reminds me this conversation sometime final year of Architecture when we were studying Advance Building Construction. We'd pondered if there was any such bridge in India.
The people have a smile on their faces, the cab drivers, the people near the hotel, especially the guy who comes up to take the laundry, M. Ali. All except the waiters, who are a surly lot. But the restaurants are good - Flurrys, Magnolia, Marco Polo in China, Sourav's, the local Subway and of course - Oh Calcutta! which by far was the finest, plates with R. K. Laxman's impressions of the city painted on the plates. The final day we were guided by the driver to this small cosy place called 'Kewpie's' who was on the 'Times Food Awards' for the best Bengali cuisine and we had some yum Bengali food - the name of delicacies I can't remember. And then there is this happening place called Roxy's where you get served by some classy waitresses (not a strip joint). We tried our luck the first week (courtesy our local partner) and were given a humiliating look by the bouncer at first and then sweetly told by the lady at the counter that entry is by invitation only. Ha! What an ass we made of ourselves. And then the last night in Kolkata we did manage to gain access to the place. Sexy interiors with blue lights and stainless steel furniture combined with exposed brick walls. The girls serving us lived up to the reputation of the place - sexy chicks there at your beck and call. But the real kick of the place was the bloody music system. The DJ played some odd combination of songs - Dire Straits, Shakira (her hips didn't lie), Blue, the Beatles, Billy Joel and all of it mixed up with some trance. Listening to all of it on their bloody multi-hundred watt Bose stereo system was an experience worth the expensive daroo. When will I have my own!
And then across the foyer, there is this place called 'Someplace Else' which is so much like 'Thousand Oaks' in Pune - good music and a good crowd, barely any place to stand, we got out in a jiffy.
There are a lot of bazaars - Raja Bazaar, Shyam Bazaar and Burra (Bada) Bazaar, one of the biggest I've seen, and I got lost in it's tiny lanes. Didn't get the chance to travel in the tram, or the country's first metro. In the meanwhile, I've been enjoying all the luxury that my company money will buy me. It does suffice for most things...except...maybe good company.
Me
What is my time,
and my rightful Earth?
What is my memory
and my emotion?
What is my purpose
and my value?
What is my solitude
And what is my community?
It's Showtime
Been watching movies of late. The local CD guy doesn't have a fancy collection, but still I do get enough for consumption.
Water
This a Deepa Mehta movie, the last of the Fire, Earth & Water trilogy, met with controversy right from the word 'Lights'. An attempt to portray the plight of widows in the holy town of Benaras, this movie was banned in the country and Mehta had to shoot on location in SriLanka. Well, the movie is just about Ok. Like any other Indian filmmaker, the movie has stereotypes. There is the wicked Indian family, the nasty old hag, a wise eununch and the goodhearted Hero (ably played by John Abraham). The movie is a visual treat with some good cinematography and editing. Rahman's music delivers too and the little girl has really acted well. All in all, worth one see.
The Motorcycle Diaries
Ah, this is a movie worth writing tons about. But I won't. It's got to be experienced. A bio of the Cuban revolutionary Che Guevera, pre-revolution days though, it's about two guys, a budding doctor and a bio-chemist who take a bike trip across the South American continent. Each day is an experience, with no idea where the food for tomorrow is coming from, or where they're going to lodge their asses for the night. It's a movie of an experience that changes people. Stiking. And those bastard Americans had him killed.
Lost in Translation
A different movie. Two people, a 25 year woman and a 50 something Hollywood star happen to be in the same hotel in Tokyo. One is feeling lost and confused and the other is having a mid-life crisis. A wonderful friendship develops with much less words and it's not adulterated with sex and betrayal. A touching portrayal, good sense of humour and some good music.
Water
This a Deepa Mehta movie, the last of the Fire, Earth & Water trilogy, met with controversy right from the word 'Lights'. An attempt to portray the plight of widows in the holy town of Benaras, this movie was banned in the country and Mehta had to shoot on location in SriLanka. Well, the movie is just about Ok. Like any other Indian filmmaker, the movie has stereotypes. There is the wicked Indian family, the nasty old hag, a wise eununch and the goodhearted Hero (ably played by John Abraham). The movie is a visual treat with some good cinematography and editing. Rahman's music delivers too and the little girl has really acted well. All in all, worth one see.
The Motorcycle Diaries
Ah, this is a movie worth writing tons about. But I won't. It's got to be experienced. A bio of the Cuban revolutionary Che Guevera, pre-revolution days though, it's about two guys, a budding doctor and a bio-chemist who take a bike trip across the South American continent. Each day is an experience, with no idea where the food for tomorrow is coming from, or where they're going to lodge their asses for the night. It's a movie of an experience that changes people. Stiking. And those bastard Americans had him killed.
Lost in Translation
A different movie. Two people, a 25 year woman and a 50 something Hollywood star happen to be in the same hotel in Tokyo. One is feeling lost and confused and the other is having a mid-life crisis. A wonderful friendship develops with much less words and it's not adulterated with sex and betrayal. A touching portrayal, good sense of humour and some good music.
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