Life means More...

Arts Festival

2011-02-07T20:23:00.000-08:00

Back to Photography

2011-01-05T00:40:00.000-08:00

You Rock My World!

2010-11-11T00:34:00.000-08:00

The latest addition to our family, sis delivered a baby girl on the 9th of November, 2010. Here she is, yawning away to glory on her first morning.

:)

Reality Cheque

2010-04-29T23:21:00.000-07:00

So today I walk into a bank in a business suit (in between meetings with some important people*) and explain to the lady that I want to withdraw cash# from the bank but would it be possible since I have an account in another branch another city. She tells me politely to visit the teller and give him the cheque and withdraw cash. I go 'Ok, but in whose name do I write out the cheque - sounds funny - a cheque from me to me'. She politely told me to make it out as 'Self'. I could be hallucinating but I did see one raised eyebrow. Next I walk up to the teller with the cheque made out and present it to him. He signs and stamps it and gives it back to me. While he's counting the money, I wonder why the cheque was returned to me. And then, the guy looks up at me fingering the cheque back and forth, pauses a second, and politely requests me to sign on the reverse and hand it back to him. Never felt as stupid in a long time!

* that is how I make myself feel good about a shitty job
# courtesy one lost debit card and another lost PIN

Fantasy

2010-04-26T23:27:00.000-07:00

I don't know what opinion someone would have about me based on this but I simply love when she's styling / cutting his hair. It is a HUGE turn on.

Oh, and I haven't seen the movie.

Today I was in Florence

2010-04-08T03:28:00.000-07:00

The year began with the setting sun in New York, the shortest month of the year took me to that tall phallic icon, Eiffel Tower, and the last month of the financial year was spent in the tax-free haven of Monaco...

2010-02-19T03:09:00.000-08:00

So the kamina is married now...

Love means never having to say you're sorry

2010-01-21T06:04:00.000-08:00

Erich Segal is no more. Call me sissy, but my life was far more touched than by the other phenomena called Michael Jackson...

RIP...

Uninspired Me, this November

2009-11-05T22:59:00.000-08:00

Every Child is an artist.
The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.
- Pablo Picasso

Ok, I promise, there will be only one more post in this series. I am looking for a calendar.

Blooooooo...

2009-11-04T02:37:00.000-08:00

I took this with my cell phone. One of those rare occasions to be flying around sunset time. The only regret was that I was flying to the North and seated on the right side of the aisle when the other side was revealing a riot of golden hues every passing minute.

East is West and the West, East

2009-10-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

I love love this version of the Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan 'eternal' love song...

the video is inconsequential...

Just Finished Reading A Book

2009-10-22T10:19:00.000-07:00

Come, Comrade, let's eat. I, too, am a tramp.

The Motorcycle Diaries is such a romantic book. Tugs at my heart strings, it does.

October Calender

2009-10-09T01:54:00.000-07:00

Not all those who wander are lost.

- J R R Tolkien

Sign of Times

2009-09-27T10:08:00.000-07:00

There must be something really wrong with all of us if there is a 'reality' show on television that attempts to create entertainment out of pseudo celebrities trying to babysit...

my latest girlfriend

2009-09-09T08:23:00.000-07:00

there was an 'I love you' and a good night kiss. sadly its going to be a long distance affair. sigh!

Come September

2009-09-02T00:24:00.000-07:00

September could be a good month or it could be a bad month... or it could be both in parts. Bring it on, I say... At least I love this month's calender page.

2009-08-27T01:59:00.000-07:00

Old men's music

Of note: Tracks 1, 3, 4, 7 and the superlative Track 10.

Am I eligible for a quarter-life crisis? or a mid-life crisis?

Where the grass on the other side is seldom green

2009-08-12T11:15:00.000-07:00

I could be a farmer, tilling the land, watching in delight as the crop would grow under my care. I would work hard from sun rise till dusk, lunch and a simple siesta in between. An early dinner by candle light, sleeping in the moonlight, probably listening to the news on AIR. But then I'd be at the mercy of weather and perhaps the rains would play truant. I would have to borrow from the local money lender at exorbitant interest, which I wouldnt be able to pay back. Worse still, a corporate giant would decide to build an SEZ over my land, enter into a JV with the local govt. development body which would in turn 'fix' the rate of acquisition, which would be paid by the cash-rich corporate giant for my land. Effectively, a pittance. Id either have to shift to the city and do menial jobs or I could chose the easier way out and commit suicide.

I could be a 'floriculturist', growing exquisite flowers which can be exported to the West. I could watch the season change the colors of my produce, count the honey bees swarm around my produce. Perhaps have a side-business of producing honey the organic way. Make millions in a few years after I have set up farms over hundreds of hectares of land in a place with wonderful weather year round. But then, an automobile company would decide to set up shop in the vicinity. It would dole out thousands of dollars to the local politicians who would de-notify the forest and agricultural land and convert it into an industrial zone. The whole region would be attract a ton of migrants willing to live in squalid conditions in return for a job in the auto company. The pollution would harm the atmosphere and that would be the end of my farms.

I could be a call center executive, restricted to working for 8 hours a day only. Meet targets of taking calls by the minute, resolving queries from stupid foreigners and gradually moving up the value chain. I'd get an accent, perhaps a foreign trip thrown in now and then. But then I'd have to work odd hours, the pay would be a pittance and my health would go for a toss, life expectancy down by 25%, apart from the slur of having wasted by upbringing and education to do a 'call center job'.

I could be a tourist guide at an exotic destination, giving tours to firangs willing to shell out dollars in lieu of ludicrous tales of past generations. I'd work on my terms and refuse loud Indian tourists looking for a cheaper deal. I could take a few months off every year when the tourist flow is low and go explore other places and take tours myself. But then I'd be at the mercy of the exchange rate, stupid firangs (again) and be a part of the general cartel which is just as well adept in procuring hookers and dope for the tourists. Probably some day, the government of India would bow to firang pressure and declare the tourist place a heritage site, UN boards would be nailed across the entire area and the Department of Tourism would bring out printed tour guides and pre-recorded audio tour guides which would make the likes of me obsolete.

I could be in the creative field, a graphics artist, a photographer, a writer, painter, sculptor, an ad executive making a living out of the things he's created and the things he loves. I could work all day, all night, hold exhibitions that receive rave reviews. Over time, I'd receive awards and my work would be resold by investors for millions of dollars and give me a royalty. I could do dope, have models for girlfriends, travel to exquisite place and attend workshops to broaden my horizon. But then, I'd be probably disorganized, a junkie, depressive and prone to commiting suicide. The whole dream could go sour if I'm not good enough and I'd live a life making sketches by the footpath near the Jehangir Art Gallery or some such place. I'd have to work for a client who's paying for my creative work and therefore he gets to decide whether the color is blue or yellow, when all I want is a dull grey. Most of the times he wouldn't pay the final payment and I would be left with no recourse but to forfeit it. The worst of all would be the pressure of having to produce something creative / path breaking / revolutionary on demand and perhaps at short notice, which would eventually lead to a burnout.

to be continued...

Of Blogging

2009-07-26T10:27:00.000-07:00

The Dream

Split The Pain

Nothing To Lose

Summer of 69

To E16 and back again

You Bring out the Up-Walli In Me

I always wanted to do this post. Started making up this list a long time back, ages, it seems. As if the list on the side wasn't enough, I wanted to have a list of singular posts, and not blogs as a whole, or writers, that had, at some point in time, left me mesmerised. Influenced me so much, that I have gone back time and again to these words, sometimes for a moment of solace, sometimes to be mesmerised by the play of words again, to recreate the powerful imagery in which I lose myself... and sometimes, to just remember the tingle at the back of my neck when I read these the first, nay the second time, ever! Some of the links are perhaps obsolete, some blogs are perhaps forever lost, others are dormant since long, some of them have moved on... The list is of course incomplete and I can think of a few posts for which I am too lazy to hunt the links. Like the post on 'smells' by Smriti aka Soulcurry, or a couple of poems that I relate to very personally. Others, which I read ages back when I'd just started blogging, yet more which were more interesting for the stream of comments after, than the post in itself. There are other blogs, Ive chanced across since then, some of which I've devoured in a few hours of office time spent better. But, Gah! Now, Shorter or Longer, Never...

Breaking News

2009-07-01T08:46:00.000-07:00

In other incidents of no consequence, my uncle was complaining to my 22 year old cousin about constantly receiving porn links as offline messages from him (my cousin) on msn messenger. All attempts at convincing him were futile. He was simply unable to comprehend that they are chain viruses / spam that get automatically forwarded, leave aside the fact that he would be the last beneficiary in the whole wide world of such messages on my cousin's behalf. What's more, apparently, dear uncle has been receiving such messages from my hotmail id as well. Should I really be bothered, or should I simply enjoy a laugh?

any of you on my msn contacts list?

When I Was

2009-05-29T01:00:00.000-07:00

Urvashi, my 9-year old niece who stays in Canada won some poetry contest... here is how it goes

'When I was'

When I was one, I ate a drum,
When I was two, I ate a shoe,
When I was three, I ate a bee,
When I was four, I ate a boar,
When I was five, I ate a fish alive,
When I was six, I ate some sticks,
When I was seven, I ate the number eleven,
When I was eight, I ate a gate,
When I was nine, I ate a dime,
When I was ten, I did it all over again!!

2009-05-28T23:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, a colleague told me that I am one of the few uncomplicated people she's known. I can't say she doesn't know me. In the recent two years Ive grown older, with the newfound independence I have come to realize some harsh truths of life. I can't say Ive learnt enough, I never will. But the learning has certainly numbed me. I look back at my designs from Architecture school, I look back at some of the designs I created in B-school, many of the posts Ive written here and elsewhere now seem so alien that I wonder if i can ever do anything similar today. It's a realization that has taken its time to seep in, that I'm just another drop in the Ocean and that chiildhood dream of being someone was just that, wishful thinking. Yes, I have half of my life ahead of me (perhaps!), but I don't imagine it to be much different that the past. Just another brick in the wall, as was written.

Such is Life

2009-05-27T02:19:00.000-07:00

There is actually a tailor's shop in Baroda (if I remember correctly) called 'C'Lai'...

Man mein laddoo phoot rahe hai

2009-05-10T10:26:00.000-07:00

After years of being ridiculed as a member of the Bajrang Dal, a dear dear friend is now un-officially off the singles list. :)

Just in time, I'd say, buddy, just in time!!

What If?

2009-05-03T11:53:00.000-07:00

You and I will never know the answer to the question... and that won't make any difference now.

2009-05-01T08:10:00.000-07:00

it's a weird feeling to bump into an old school friend and find him working as a salesman at a departmental store which you used to frequent together years ago...

Gulaal, Anurag Kashyap

2009-03-21T13:22:00.000-07:00

a.vant-garde

n.
A group active in the invention and application of new techniques in a given field, especially in the arts.
adj.
Of, relating to, or being part of an innovative group

the Udaipur Palace

2009-03-19T01:15:00.000-07:00

I took these on a recent work trip to Udaipur and this time I didn't forget the camera. :) The palace offers an audio tour, which I highly recommend, and is similar to the one offered at the Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur. The last pic is of the Uday Vilas Hotel, (voted the best hotel in Asia by Conde Nast Traveler) as seen across Lake Pichola from one of the courtyards of the Palace.

2009-03-19T00:22:00.000-07:00

At times like today, I feel like Ive not been strong enough. There have been decisions to make, always. And the proverbial way, there is the easy way out with immediate rewards and the difficult way out with lasting rewards. I have done different things at different times, choosing one of the either way without so much of a guide book to help. And when I look back at those times and wonder what it would be like if I'd done differently, there is no clear answer. However, almost every time I have reconciled with it and made my peace with the decision and the outcome. It has of course, involved varying amounts of time for that to happen. But right now, I feel that there are some things that will never find peace in the natural course of history. Some levels of entropy will remain, till the time some things change, some barriers broken or some event occurs which turns you around to face a similar decision again. And this time, I wonder if there is a possibility of change. I wonder if there is time and opportunity yet to make that peace, and if it will in any which way undo or make up for whatever was the past. I wonder, today, if I should make peace with a few things in life...or wait for it...

My Twisted Philosophy

2009-02-19T02:32:00.000-08:00

I call this photograph 'Life'.

Fort Tiracol, Goa

2009-02-16T22:38:00.000-08:00

As has been the case often lately, I forgot my camera, so a cell phone* was all I could take pictures with...

*somehow Ive taken a liking to cell phone pics, in small sizes they appear like pretty stamps...

Shoebite

2009-02-09T02:33:00.000-08:00

Making a shoe is a very fine art*. Not everyone can makes shoes. Or chappals. When I was studying to give the entrance exam to Architecture, I studied under this eccentric old man who used to teach at Architecture School. He mustve been over 80 years old, had lost half his teeth, was a fan of Walter Groupius and all Bauhaus. In hindsight, he was a bit of an old lech, used to kiss his pupils (more girls than guys) on the cheek when he saw some good work. So this friend made a 'ladies chappal' out of cardboard, to which I didn't pay much attention. (Who though making a chappal was art then!!!). The only reason he probably didn't get a kiss was cos he was 6 foot 4 and kept moustaches. I was quite intimidated by the old man, though. He used to ridicule every generation after his, and half of his well. But I did make it to the School.

*Why I remember this? I bought a new pair of shoes that 'are' biting my ankles because the height of the shoe's side measured from the inside (sole to ankle) is more than what it should be. I shoudve known better than to buy shoes marketed by a company more known for its travel gear.

Kalaghoda Arts Festival

2009-02-08T22:18:00.000-08:00

Kalaghoda Art Festival+Rhythm House+Mondegar+Bade Miyan = an evening well spent

The Facebook Random Tag

2009-02-05T01:27:00.000-08:00

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page (you might need to click on the + sign), paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.

1. I am bored enough to do this.

2. I am in office, which means I don't have much work and therefore could be in the firing line soon.

3. Right now, I wouldnt care less.

4. I can type really fast without looking at the keyboard.

5. That surprises a lot of people who haven't learnt a subject called 'typing' in school.

6. I think that course was designed so as to provide a fallback option for anyone to work as a 'steno cum typist'.

7. I know a few people who are as aspirational as that.

8. I wish I had pursued an alternative career in sports.

9. I believe I take naturally to all sporting activity, though Pavan would disagree on my skill level.

10. I disagree with Smriti who says 'cooking reminds her of chemistry', to love cooking one needs to love eating.

11. Ive aspired to write a book, but looking at activity levels on my blog I probably wont have patience enough to write beyond a few pages.

12. Almost all of my good photography is chance.

13. I wouldve made a lot of money had I pursued a career in architecture post my grad degree.

14. I wouldnt have been a good architect though.

15. If I get to design my own house, I'll be a happy architect.

16. I am more particular of the way I look in photographs than the way I look outside them.

17. I am a stickler for the past, love my memories, good and bad.

18. To test my memory I resolved to remember a particular place where I pee'ed in the open, when I was a kid.

19. In school, when a lot of girls tied raakhis to my hand, I was convinced I would grow up to be famous.

20. Having a bday on the 1st of Oct (1 day before the Mahatma's bday) firmly supported that conclusion.

21. A few guys made fun of me for having so many 'sisters'.

22. A few people say I have intense eyes, I think they are clouded by cynicism.

23. I know I will make a damn good father.

24. I am not so sure about being a husband.

25. I am pretty surprised at having reached no. 25 so soon, I couldve gone on...

the Mumbai Skyline

2009-02-03T09:43:00.000-08:00

Took this from a cell phone camera, I guess more a question of being at the right time at the right place. This city's magic over me seems to be wearing off little by little. Maybe, its the after effect of the traffic jam which took me two hours to get back home from this place, today.

The image somehow ties in with the blog header image, don't you think? I was very tempted to replace it with a crop of this one here.

More of the same series here.

2009-01-29T02:27:00.000-08:00

I cooked last night. It is a good activity to do in these recessionary times* (read no late nights in office). I can now proudly say that after having mastered the art of cooking bhindi and fried eggplant, I can also make some really good aloo subzi. Next on the agenda is keema and then chicken curry.

p.s. One should also contain the enthusiasm for one's cooking. Between dinner and lunch today, I ate approx. 500 gms of potatoes. Burp!

*Apart from saving costs otherwise incurred by partying, socializing, delivery menus, it lowers guilt quotient of not going to the gym regularly and yet managing a 'healthy' lifestyle (little less of junk food)

Sunset at Miramar

2009-01-28T01:56:00.000-08:00

Sunsets never fail to amaze me, what with their innumerable variables that contribute to making one, it is almost certain that dusk will never be the same as another. I took this on a recent trip to Goa. For most parts of the trip, the camera was left behind in the hotel room. The only time I couldn't resist bringing it along was when I was sure of a sunset I could behold. Took this at Miramar and no, there is no photoshopping here (though the urge was strong). The hues and saturated colors are as a result of fiddling with the various options on the camera, and is one of the many I was able to take before the batteries died out on me. I felt the snap turned out quite poignant, more in retrospect, since whenever I have a camera in hand, I am as greedy as a pig to get as many shots as possible with the result that I sometimes miss the 'natural' beauty I could experience.

p.s. Since, the frequency of posts on both this and the photoblog is as irregular as has been the past year, I am now planning to only continue posting on this blog, pictures, words, et all...Also, I have gone back to black, as before, hoping that the change in someway inspires me to be regular.

p.p.s. I was very tempted to title this 'Apocalypse Now'

2nd post in a day!!!

2009-01-21T02:54:00.000-08:00

I have missed this blog. I have missed using it as a board to vent out words I never thought could be heard. I miss checking it as a daily routine, waiting to read the comments and respond to them. I miss my own words.

____________________

After all the surroors, tandoori nights and khuda-bidas of emraan hashmi (no offence), Hindi film music* does seem to have turned a corner. Listen to Dev D and Dilli che.

*discounting Slumdog Crorepati for obvious reasons

2009-01-21T02:11:00.000-08:00

For a very long time now I feel the words getting stuck in my heart, rarely any of them feeling the pleasure of being run along the full length of my tongue. It threatens to burst forth some day. And then it will be gibberish.

2008-12-12T10:15:00.000-08:00

Zee Studio is doing re-runs of this show. It is like a song, you hear it once in a blue moon, and you remember a lot more of time you thought you had forgotten.

Look what I got for my desk...

2008-11-06T21:42:00.000-08:00

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

2008-11-04T05:45:00.001-08:00

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know why nobody told you
how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
they bought and sold you

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know how you were diverted
you were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
no one alerted you

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at you all
Still my guitar gently weeps...

- The Beatles

2008-09-12T04:16:00.001-07:00

Sometimes there are so many questions, that there remains no point in asking...

Arbit

2008-09-12T04:12:00.001-07:00

How much is enough? How much is the past? And what, of the future? The many people we meet, zigzag roads across paths of time, intertwined, weaving a web of complexities. Sometimes they burn through, sometimes they simply collide and deflect. They leave a scar, a dent, sometimes. Sometimes they just kiss each other by. Like fingertips touching, while we drive through, while the wind courses through hair.

2008-08-26T22:00:00.000-07:00

And one lady was made to wait 40 years before being paid her dead husband's pension...

2008-08-09T06:04:00.001-07:00

There is so much of a difference between me and you, what I think and what you think. Of what we aspire for and what we cherish, what we are besotted with and what is dispensable, what we perceive of that beggar on the road and of the sky reaching skyscraper. There is so much of a difference when we look into a mirror, you yours and me mine. What does one make of all of it.

2008-08-09T06:02:00.000-07:00

I think I'm too scared to be honest, too scared to admit to what I really feel. I am even scared to admit that I'm confessing.

Drunk on Life

2008-08-02T13:03:00.000-07:00

you know...all of it doesnt matter...there are times when it doesn't matter what you want or what you wanted..it doesn't matter what you wished wouldn't be true and then it ultimately was... it don't matter that you thought the world was inherently good and sometimes it was vicious, to the extent that it made your abdominal muscles contract, as much as you thought was possible...and it doesn't matter that if you've believed in karma, not all that you wished for will be true...and it is no big deal for dreams to be quashed, daily, every moment, different places, all the time...

and yet, the inescapable spirit of what we call the most intelligent living things on Earth, strives on...trudging along...sometimes drearily...and sometimes with a little more of Hope...

Mission Impossible meets James Bond meets Silence of the Lambs

2008-07-25T14:03:00.000-07:00

Madness is like gravity. All it needs is a little push.

- The Joker

Dhandha

2008-07-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

Back in Baroda, they used to say, 'Sahvaar sahvaar nikli pade che, kai kaam dhando nathi?' which loosely translated into 'Do you not have any business, that you get out to loiter early mornings?'. I get out every morning and I still don't know what my 'dhandha' is. I feel like a whore, my company, a US MNC is my pimp, who pays me at the end of every month. My work involves deceiving a lot of people, making unsubstantiated claims and maverick presentations, fiddling with numbers to derive a result that I want and make tons of money for my company and some senior people alongwith.

2008-07-22T00:10:00.000-07:00

The urge to get my hands dirty with some paint, or get some clay underneath my fingernails, or to have my thumb smudged with charcoal, or the floor littered with crayon shavings, or to have my wrists hurt from hammering away at a wooden block for hours into the night. It is getting stronger.

wishful thinking

2008-07-19T03:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes one wishes conversations were one way...and one didn't have to really deal with what is said in response...

of when there are words but no sound...

2008-07-17T00:30:00.000-07:00

Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

I'm so tired but I can't sleep
Standin' on the edge of something much too deep
It's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard
But I will remember you, will you remember me?

Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

- Sarah Maclachlan

2008-07-16T01:35:00.001-07:00

11:40 AM - I receive my cellphone bill on my official email ID
11:44 AM - I receive an SMS from Vodafone informing me of my bill being dispatched.
1:10 PM - I receive an SMS from my bank informing me of phone bill received for netbanking payment.
1:30 PM - I receive the hardcopy of the bill in my office.
1:45 PM - I receive a mail from my bank informing me about the bill to be paid by netbanking.
2:10 PM - I receive a call from the Vodafone executive to confirm if I have received the phone bill.

Talk about convergence.

The Scale of Solitude

2008-07-15T01:28:00.000-07:00

The interpretation of our reality through patterns not our own, serves only to make us ever more unknown, ever less free, ever more solitary.

- Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Nobel Lecture, 1982

2008-07-14T06:59:00.000-07:00

Inert, yet an energy.
Tired, but a hope.
Calm, but for the coming storm.
Dull, but anxious.
Taut, but in control.

un-insipid times.

2008-07-10T07:53:00.000-07:00

Today, the only man convicted of the Kanishka bombing will be able to walk scot free after being jailed for 15 years. He wanted to avenge Operation Bluestar. Another man, a political leader, has been convicted of instigating communal riots. The sentence - 1 year. Time it took for the conviction - 16 years.

2008-07-10T03:17:00.000-07:00

You meet a Gujarati anywhere in the world, at any place and if he's eating something, he will always offer it to you and people sitting nearby.

2008-07-10T00:01:00.000-07:00

The canteen for the final 3 years of Architecture School consisted of a few stone and brick parapets that were built in the corner of the campus adjoining a small room that served as the pantry for 'kaka' to make some basic snacks. In the monsoons, the ground was littered with rotting leaves and insects of all kinds. One had to watch out for those large ants (makodas) that would crawl up over legs and reach behind ears and over necks. The smell, that of rotting leaves and fried snacks, of sugar laced tea, was quite intoxicating. Though such breaks were supposed to be small and in between lectures, i can remember times often when one has rested along the exposed brick wall (century old) and dozed off till the sun rose too high for comfort. It was a time of waking up late, attending a few lectures one felt could not be done without doing so and of spending long hours just doing nothing...one could then count the days passing by and realize the seasons changing, assignments completed, wardrobes turned over...college life.

2008-07-09T01:32:00.000-07:00

someone says its better to wait out while another urge tells me carpe diem...of how one seconds insanity can alter the life of so many. I think its time for a short but very important conversation. but in all likelihood its not going to take place today. Today, i begin a different life when an innocuous little wire transfer heralds a new coming and this transient time shifts into another era of being a man. The tide goes out and the tide goes in, a whole new circle of life begins...tick tock tick tock...tick...

2008-07-07T23:19:00.001-07:00

Today
Im thinking of the slums that I pass on the way to office. How they've expanded. Also, of midnights children and the jallianwala bagh massacre, of school history textbooks, of bdays today and tomorrow. I am thinking of resumes and media and entertainment, of movies, of retail, of visual merchandsing, of aperture and f-points, of black and white and sepia. of Ceejay house and credit suisse and of the sea and of the beach. Change is in the air, friends, job, colleagues, city, perhaps...thinking of blogs and old post, lovely conversations and sweet nothings exchanged over a period of time and how convictions alter and so do life plans...how important things turn inconsequential and random thoughts occupy centerstage...i can fling all that away with one stroke and yet i wont...and the meek shall inherit the earth?

2008-06-17T22:53:00.001-07:00

One of the first assignments that we did as part of Architecture school was to use a ten by ten cm cardboard with a white background as a canvas and stick small ‘punch’ dots and narrow strips of black paper on it with a glue stick. The directions were clear. There would be no restriction to the number of the dots and stripes we could stick onto that cardboard square. There was also no guiding instruction to what ‘pattern’ or ‘design’ we were to create. Being the first year students that we were, none of us had a clue why we were doing this exercise and it was pretty much a surprise to be made to do things without ‘rules’ so to speak. For example, in school, essays always had a ‘number of words’ limit set which had to be adhered to. After the initial confusion died down, more so after the guy teaching us told us to be completely free, we got down to the task of ‘creating’ something out of seemingly ‘silly’ tools. No one probably imagined that such an exercise could be part of a 5 year course that would enable us to visualize and design iconic architecture. A few stuck to the time-tested ploy of sticking to symmetry, creating patterns with the dots and stripes that resembled some kind of a twisted ‘rangoli’ or ‘mehndi’ design, while others focused on creating as much ‘disturbance’ as possible. It was a game to compare each of our ten square cm ‘murals’ with each other and try and imaging an object or an expression within the random stripes and dots. Finally, we realized, at the end of it, that what we were creating were in fact ‘compositions’. Which in turn led to a long debate on what exactly consists of a ‘composition’. Words such as harmony, flow, rhythm, emotion, balance were thrown about as easily as loose change, without it impressing much upon the minds of us novices. Just as it is difficult to teach a kid to appreciate world cinema, it was difficult for us to understand why a Hussain painting fetched so much on the arts market while others who painted nice landscapes to adorn your living room didn’t. At the end of it, all of us were told that by exposing ourselves to varied forms of art, we would eventually develop an eye that could discern between the mundane and the creative, and learn to recognize true creativity, that we would in fact grow more sensitive as we progress and channelise our thought process to think more, think differently, and yes, think ‘out of the box’, as the jargon goes. In the coming years, it was amazing to witness the output of 30 students from varied background collectively create so much of output, through wooden sculptures, through clay murals, through water colors and pencil sketches…simple architectural designs to complex landscaping, skews and Bauhaus’, all of it was a collective repository of thoughts leading to output leading in turn to further thoughts. It also led to some weird things, like one student opting to spend extend periods of time ‘meditating’ and living like a ‘hermit’. Others got hooked to drugs, alcohol or tobacco. Some were disillusioned with the process of starting with something completely abstract and then converting them into built space that was habitable, while others stuck to grids and practical architecture. It was a curious mix of ideas, each of us learning more from the students than from the teachers who merely facilitated this learning process by introducing us to involving design briefs and literature.

2008-05-19T02:48:00.000-07:00

Photoblog updated.

One of The Reasons I Started Liking SRK, After Thinking That He is an Idiot...

2008-04-14T23:08:00.000-07:00

Watch out for the frames between 2:10 and 2:45

2008-03-09T08:51:00.000-07:00

I think this picture is quite apt for the post below. From a time long gone...

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living Might mean taking chances but they are worth taking…
Loving might be a mistake but it’s worth making.
Don’t let some hell bent heart leave you bitter………

Promise me The Next Time you will give faith a fighting chance…….

And The Next Time you get a choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance……

Lee Ann Womack

It felt different this feeling……

Open Palmed.

The wind passing through the gaps between his knuckles….
The searching warmth of the sun enveloping his palm……
Her, hazel eyes caressing his hands…..

The uncontrollable ebb of emotion displayed only in the strangeness of the silence.

His spirit,
Soaring to heights, he had only dreamed of.
This feeling of oneness, to another being was new.
Yet it felt like forever…..At least for as long as he could remember.

Then like an ebbed tidal wave….
The emotion receded snubbed by stealthy creeping sorrow…..
The devious human mind steadily controlling his tipsy heart…..

Him and Her

Two disjointed ends. Spread across far corners of a complicated world.
Logically, there was No balance, No certainty, No tomorrow No future.

For Them.

The Choice.

He said.
It is better now, this way with happy memories. And little bitterness to mar the memories.

She looked at him, with eyes that begged him to stay. With a stance that was too proud to ask.

A Moment.

And then they turned at their heels and left.

People I Hang Out With

2008-03-08T13:53:00.001-08:00

Everyone loves beer and rock music. Everyone thinks Jimi Hendrix to be the baap of his times. Ditto for Janis Joplin. Santana plays the guitar like God. Kurt Cobain makes everyone curious. Everybody loves to hate Himesh Reshammiya. And Rakhi Sawant. Gulzar is synonymous with Hindi film music and poetry. Ayn Rand is everyone's idol. Or at least was. Everybody loved Requiem For A Dream. And Fight Club. Everyone read Amar Chitra Katha in school. The Complete Calvin and Hobbes Collection is on everyone's wishlist. Robert Frost's words inspire everyone. Everyone wants to own a house in Goa. Some prefer one up in the hills. Everyone agrees that Delhiites are snobs and Mumbaiyyas are miserly. Everybody has at least three credit cards and the next is going to be an Amex. The Swift is the prettiest looking small car, Skoda the most reliable and everyone will recognize a yellow Lamborghini. Friends is the best sitcom of all times and everyone has DVDs back home. And favorite episodes. John Abraham is the hottest. Abhishek Bacchan too. So is Katrina Kaif. Golmaal and Hera Pheri is always funny. The N Series is uber cool. Everyone thinks they are underpaid and overworked. Everyone wants to love and everybody loves to hate...

When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone,
When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on
Don't let yourself go, 'cause everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on

'Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone

If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
When you think you've had too much of this life to hang on

Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
Everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on
Everybody hurts. You are not alone ...

- Everybody Hurts
REM

2008-03-02T20:53:00.001-08:00

Three differing experiences within the span of 24 hours can make someone think so much. Standing on the edge of a local train whizzing by stations at 80 kph, hanging out, feeling the wind in your hair and between your palms, death is only an instant away. One jump and none of it would matter, none of the worries for the future, regret for the past, joy at small things, angst at everything that seems unfair. One can easily be one of those numbers that get thrown about often enough. Of railway accidents, of youth suicides, or mystery accidents, or aged parents left fending for themselves, of youth and big city blues...just about any of them. And then one thought keeps it all at bay. That of life being a gift from a supernatural force that is well worth living through. It has to mean something, doesn't it, that you were conceived from an act of love and that a woman bore through the pain and weight of 9 months that culminated into a delivery worth long hours of pain.

And then happy memories follow, when one is ambling through the streets of childhood, where one took long walks on the pretext of brushing teeth and taking an unpolluted walk in the open lands near the house. Of how an year was planned around the routines of school, a few festivals and the season, which guided what you wore, what games you played and how inclined you were to study. And how one learnt the art of holding the cricket bat and whacking the ball so hard that it shot through the sky like a bullet and landed on someone's tin roof like a mortar shell. Well, at least in your imagination, you wished that happened. When you remember the brother you learnt it from, who, now can probably gain sit in the best seat possible for any international cricket match...from up above, so high, like a diamond in the sky.

And then, talk to a terminally ill relative, alongside an irresponsible out of work drunkard and the responsibility of two kids to boot, one of them quite inclined to follow in his fathers footsteps. A lady whose throat pipe blocked with a tumour, rendering even the simple act of drinking water seem like forcing a fork through...and yet, find an immeasurable sense of strength, the will to survive inspite of all odds, yet realize, that wishing something so hard does not always mean that really much. Death, followed by a strange act of good luck, as if He, up there, wishes to serve a consolation, His way to telling everyone of how hard some jobs are, yet they need to be done and if at least in a small way, He tries to be fair.

Freedoms Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Lose...

2008-02-18T23:03:00.000-08:00

One day up near Salinas, Lord
I let him slip away
He's lookin' for that home, and I hope he finds it
But, I'd trade all of my tomorrows
For ONE single yesterday
To be holdin' Bobby's body next to mine

- Janis Joplin

2008-02-16T23:51:00.000-08:00

From a friends' mail signature...

'A chicken and an egg are lying in bed. They chicken is smoking a cigarette with a satisfied smile on his face, while the egg is frowning and looking put out. The egg mutters, to no one in particular...

'I guess we answered THAT question.'

2008-02-13T04:18:00.000-08:00

I think this place is a whole load of shit.

Little Treasures

2008-01-18T01:05:00.000-08:00

I look for the name, wanting to discover more of you, now that there is the silence. I look up old books, to see if you've left it there, scribbled in pencil. I hunt amongst old bags and leather pouches, perhaps a photograph will fall through. I reopen drawers of that big antique almirah, sneak peeks in the mirrors, hoping for a lost reflection. I yearn for the scent of your skin, between faded cotton tees, and lingerie that I've left unwashed since you left. I drive by our friends' houses, wondering if I can get a glimpse of you. I look up old letters, reading them all over again, in search of something that I missed the last time around, something that opens the smallest of windows back into you, now that all doors have been irrevocably shut. The search is arduous, and very very painful. But sometimes, I am rewarded with a line that evokes beautiful memories that I thought were long forgotten. Forgotten along the path where I discovered you, when I explored the you and me. Once in a while, I am rewarded with a story or a verse that you wrote to me, hidden between countless words of mundane conversation. Or an epithet that you used for me, for us. Sometimes, I chance upon stains on the pillow cushions, where you left your tears. And I relive. Recreate those dreams that once fired us up. The house in Manhattan, overlooking the bay, through enormous glass walls, or the coffee, at a street cafe on the Champs Elysees or the lights across the Bosphorus. Or the dream of making love in the open, on a secluded beach, the passion of the moon taking us over. Those dreams are fading a little by little, I know, overtaken by a few others. But I keep them with me, in a corner not so far, to revisit, when I cant stay afar. They are mine.

2007-12-25T23:28:00.000-08:00

This city is an animal. Rowdy, uncouth. A boa constrictor. It wraps itself around its prey and starts squeezing, all the while looking at the contorted face of it's prey, enjoying the agony, an award winning actor admiring his trophy. It crushes your ribs, forcing your guts out and finally, your heart explodes, unable to bear all the pressure. And then the animal gulps it down. Noiselessly. Except that the prey is human, and those guts forced out are a million dreams.

Requiem for a Dream

2007-12-15T12:59:00.001-08:00

Every waking moment,
Every sleep memory,
Every comforting voice,
Every thought, worrying.

The wait for you
The peace with you
The desire of you,
the angst, without.

My insecurity,
Your confidence,
Your emotion
My words, against your tongue.

Every photograph that spoke,
Every verse that didn't rhyme
Whispered nights,
Morning Sighs, entwined.

My fingers, your waist
A caress, warm lips
Your breath, my name
Lives, conjoined.

Starry skies,
fluid constellations,
Guided by the moon,
Destinies, unrepaired.

Symphony of the Sea

2007-12-10T10:50:00.000-08:00

On a calm salty evening,
I rest my chin
on Her shoulders
the chill of smooth moon curls
caress them aside,
short breath of anticipation
I play with Her words

flows along my skin,
the malleable trickle of emotions
cool, until you delve
part its folds
caress the depth within
and find the warmth,
that envelops me all around
the solace of loneliness

She talks to me, you know
starts with a whisper,
Her secrets building up,
slowly,
reaching to a crescendo
a little too soon,
the crash, cascade
the final sigh
the calm again...

Me and Her.

Staah-fish

2007-12-09T10:18:00.000-08:00

And like that small story about the difference each of us can make, I tried putting a few back in the water...

A Shore Afar

2007-11-30T07:53:00.000-08:00

A shore so far
a distance that long

lights of joy
mellow melancholy

a shroud of uncertainty
cloaks hope for the future

and words unsaid
amidst dreams unforgiven

2007-11-29T11:16:00.000-08:00

when you're tired

and when the the waves seem high

when your legs get weary

and the only path leads you down under

when your tears blur the distance

and you can't make out whats straight...

Stigmata

2007-11-18T22:08:00.000-08:00

Hi, and what are you doing?

I’m waiting for the rains to stop so that I can go home and sleep. I’m not feeling well.

What happened, sweetheart?

Oh nothing! I’m just aching all over. I guess it is the strain or work, the change in weather maybe. I need to sleep it off.

I miss you.

But I am here...still talking to you. What did you have that you are now missing?

It began with a verbal duel, an argument for the sake of it. Sparring, only to make up later. She was a strong woman, miles from home, miles from family. In the big bad corporate world, with a few people to call as friends, she knew they were with her in as much as their insecurities as their need for someone who was equally lost. She kept wandering, between groups, between jobs, picking up few people on the way, losing a few.

I wish u weren’t so far away…just one of those days, you know, when the distance does matter.

I wanted to say something to you, but I don’t know if you are up to it.

Go on, please. Say your mind. You know I want to hear every word you think of. Sometimes I wish I was inside your head. Inside you.

Sigh. I don't know where this is going, you and me. I didn’t expect you to call back...after that day. I was ready to accept it that way, the way it ended. I feel it is much wiser to walk away now than later.

He always ends his sentences with three dots. She begins hers with them. They discovered more things that were different. She knew hundreds of English song lyrics by heart. He was more into world music and the rhythm touched him more than the words. She had been a wanderer, studied in half a dozen schools. While, he had had a steady childhood. He told her how they fit those lines by Danielle Steele perfectly well. ‘From opposite ends of the world, they came, trundling their bags, their treasures….’

Right now the feelings are warm. Happy. And I think if we go on this way it’s going to get worse. I’d rather live through the rest of my life with a few good memories than drag it to a point where every thought of you hurts. I really felt like that Sunday, the evening before last. And I don’t think I’ll be able to take it again. It crushes my ego. even though ego is something I can manage...To be told that I am thought of as a dear friend, just a few hours after being told three precious words that mean a lot more.

Ok.

And I really don’t believe in the concept of friends forever...in the sense that I will always feel much more for you.

Seen the future, haven’t you?

She liked the way he spoke, stressing each word out right, as if an accent would be a sacrilege. He liked the way she went off to sleep listening to him ramble about the latest investment deal. She was a morning person, preferring the energy of the rising sun, while he preferred the calm of late nights. She would often wake up with a smile, thinking of the previous night’s conversation and give him a call. She knew he’d be sleeping, but couldn’t resist the temptation of hearing his groggy voice. She felt close to him. His gruff voice felt special, as if it was meant only for her ears. Don’t you have to get up, love?.

Right now our lives have very few things intertwined...like common friends or something, and there aren’t many memories of being together...I think it would be easier to go our separate ways, than later, if we have to.

Isn’t that a big ‘if’?

I’d rather cherish what we had...than fight with you over trivial issues, hurt you and get hurt...

So, this is it then, huh? It ends this way. Just the way it started, over the Internet. Within the confines of a window. I would have preferred being told this to my face. Do you have to hide behind the curtain of this voiceless, faceless interface?

Don’t you have anything to say?

You choose not to notice. I am saying something.

Yes, I know what you mean. I didn’t want it that way. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn’t wait till that time.

I don’t think anything I say would make a difference; you’ve already made up your mind.

I haven’t. I am thinking aloud. I am not passing a statement that you have to accept. I am being honest in my words. It is the least I expect from you in return. I was hoping you would say something and convince me otherwise.

I don’t show weakness, not even to those I love. Go, if u must. That is all I have to say.

I’d be disappointed if this happens this way. I would have hoped you try and understand why I am doing what I am. Either agree with it, or fight it. You are doing neither.

And thats the way I am...my parting gift to you, to find solace in any way you want. My silence. It simply means that you can deal with it, the way you like best.

You can be harsh, can’t you?

Can I? Well not as much as you at any rate. And I am not being harsh, I am letting u do whatever you want to. How much easier it can get?

I was hoping you would try convincing me otherwise. I am not doing something I want.

You think you are being wise. I think you’re too afraid. You are pushing your insecurities onto the both of us. On this relationship. I won’t say much. But this is going to be your decision. Solely. To leave or to stay. As for me, I am not going anywhere.

And I don’t feel like staying here, like this, halfway between nowhere. I don’t feel peace. Every morning I wake up I think of you. I yearn for what isn’t mine. You ask for me, but you want only a part. I asked you to take the whole of me. As I am, what I am. Perhaps, it is the way I am. I’d rather not have anything that live with bits thrown at me. You think it is ego, I think it as expecting from life, cos everyone deserves it. I deserve living a full life. A full day. I don’t know how long can one go on living half a life.

Well, then I respect you choice. It is not easy, to take the harder path. I don’t hold anything against you for taking the easier choice.

No, I am not doing that. I take risks too, but when I have a goal of reaching somewhere. With you, I will always be behind. Your life, your social circle has no part for me. I will forever end up being only a refuge in times of turmoil. I don’t see anything else happening. We’ve already had the best there could be between us.

That, my love, you will never know.

I don’t have hope, that’s all.

It is a weird place, the future. But it’s sad, what you said about hope. I didn’t know you would give up so easily.

I don’t think I am giving up. I will have what I have with you. Like you did, with him. Or me, earlier, with her. We are part of each others life. Like you used to say, different parts of a jigsaw puzzle, pieces traded once a while, so as to make the picture a whole. No piece the same, opposites fitting each other, remember? And I see this as just preserving that something we had. It is too precious for me to scar that with bad memories which is what it is turning out to be.

Of course, the future is all bad. Seen it with your third eye, haven’t you? Anyway, I don’t want to argue. Like I said, leave, if you must.

I love you. And you will be that special part of me that will be mine. I won’t part with it, I won’t replace it, I will not share it. Now and then, I will think of us and be glad that I met you. Destiny can’t take that away.

I can’t beg and plead. And I am going to say this only once. I don’t know the future. I can’t promise you it will work out. Or that it won’t hurt. But right now, I can’t say goodbye, cos it’s killing me and I love you too much. So I am going to ask you to stay this once, even though I’ll respect whatever you do. And I will love you.

I love you too much and it’s hurting too much to stay.

2007-11-07T01:03:00.000-08:00

hazaaron khwahishein aisi
ki har khwahish pe dum nikle...

2007-10-26T03:45:00.000-07:00

There comes time when one wishes one had a friend or an acquaintance who has a direct hotline to God, and to whom you could request or plead to get on it, make your wish come true. Something that you want more than anything else in the world and with as much conviction that wishing it so hard takes away a large part of your soul, that void, somewhere deep inside.

Fantasies

2007-10-08T00:17:00.000-07:00

Today is official 'Sod off' day. You can tell anybody to sod off and they will. For real.

:D

2007-10-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

There were four of them. Corpses. One was a young girl in a gown, in tatters, barely reaching to her ankles. Her hair was unkempt, face black. And there was the old man. White hair, dark sunglasses covering the eyes. Thankfully enough, perhaps. Or headless, perhaps. There was also the old lady, his aunt. Broken teeth and the glee of a toothing baby. Kept waving her hand, as if enjoying herself. And there was a dark form on the cupboard. Hung over the corner by the lapel of his long overcoat. He was afraid of the door banging into the young girl when he opened it. He knew it was right behind. Perhaps causing any movement would make it come alive. He sneaked in gently, trying to find an as inobtrusive a corner as possible. For he belongs there. People come and go from that room. But he is still there. Sits in a corner, hugging his bare knees, feeling a little cold. Furtive eyes, he sits, in a corner.

Oscar Mania

2007-09-28T03:19:00.000-07:00

I sometimes wonder if one can separate a product from its maker. Like Vidhu Vinod Chopra. 'Parinda', his first directorial feature film, remains one of my all time favourite movies and I remember long drives with someone who I had to keep telling to rewind an audio casette in the car tape. That audio cassette was the soundtrack of the movie WITH dialogues. His second venture, '1942, A Love Story' got killed at the box office for reasons I can't understand still. I liked that movie as I did the two 'Munnabhais' and 'Parineeta' that he made. I didn't have the chance to watch Eklavya though.

But this man, I remember one of his earlier interviews on one of those Shekhar Suman shows when he talked about his achievements as a young man, short documentary, ad film maker something, did seem quite impressive. Even then, he seemed more boastful than modest at that time. The last time around, when Rang deBasanti was chosen over Munnabhai MBBS as India's official entry to the Awards, he decided to go ahead and enter the film as a direct entry for the foreign film category, supposedly after the support he got from viewers across India. That was yesterday and then 'Eklavya' gets nominated this year as an official entry and it creates quite a ruckus for being a box office dud of no repute and yet get the nomination. An elated Vidhu Vinod Chopra, now, says people in India need to grow up.

City of Djinns

2007-09-18T23:09:00.000-07:00

I came across this from here. Some of these photographs also occur in the latest issue of M.

William Dalrymple puts forth an explanation to why Delhi is today what it is. Renowned as a shallow and fake culture, accused of being a heartless city with a soaring crime rate, where weddings are as lavish as common are drunk brawls, William says it is in part due to the fact that Delhi today is a city reborn again and again throughout history. Over the years, the metropolis has been the most powerful seat across the whole of the Indian subcontinent, and therefore, has witnessed more wars, coups, 'power' killings, betrayals than any other city. The current set of 'Dilli-wallas' are a curious mix of people, right from Punjabis who migrated during the Partition to the Jats from Haryana and the 'Bhaiyyas' of UP who came to the city in search of a better living. Therefore, William says, the culture of Delhi has, over the years, been covered by veils over veils of these various cultures, each trying to stamp their authority on what Delhi should be. Who or what does Delhi belong to? I guess that is a question that will remain unanswered till more of history is made.

edit: with fond memories of the place...

2007-09-16T07:27:00.001-07:00

The mind conjures up a Sunday evening. Sitting by the river front, perhaps across the bay, a patio laid with wooden boards, some grass around it and smooth pebbles of cold white marble drawn from a river bed. Watch the boats return from a sojourn, light emanating from the tall glass buildings on the other side. The deep sky a brilliant hue, crimson now, violet then, a spattering of misty clouds streaked across the wide canvas. The air just nippy enough to tingle one's toes as it twirls around bare legs, lying on the crisp cotton bedsheets laid out on the couch. Some Sarah Mclaghlan, Travis, REM, Floyd, Annie Lennox gently crooning inside the amber hued room. Perhaps, a fusion of Talvin Singh, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Michael Brooks could do too...earthy songs, sufi mystic, deep vocals...The world of written words of another time, another city left behind, as one gently returns to the present and lets it seep into one's spirit, like wine that draws strength from the wood of its cask, brought out once in a while to catch the warmth of the setting sun to give it the perfect blend. Time, the fourth dimension overwhelms the other three and yet time, that does not know where else it could belong, but this moment. Here, now, is where you belong, for tomorrow is another worry and it does not matter if you had a fast depleting bank balance, or that people were slowly drifting away, perhaps, on one of those very yatches across the bay, their course set. It does not matter that you are away from where you began this journey, and all that remain are memories that you bracket into something called childhood. And that you are still away from time that calls upon you for a debt that you must pay back and pehaps sell your soul so you could...

Here, now is where you belong....

Ganpati Bappa Morya!!

2007-09-15T11:55:00.000-07:00

We were kids. There used to be times when we did not have the luxury of playing gulli cricket, courtesy, the Patel chap, who with his bald pate and heavy voice would drive us away. Old couple with kids who'd migrated to the States could not bear a few kids making a ruckus every evening. At such times, we used to take refuge on the flat terraces of an unoccupied tenement near our houses. No. 75 and 76 were our favourite terraces for it meant we could run around and jump over the parapet that partitioned the terrace of the adjoining houses, and no parent would bother us. On one end lay an empty plot while the next house was just as empty.

Religion was something that neither of us in the bunch understood quite well. Except that it was a series of rituals that elders followed. Ganpati was no different. Every year, this time would mean a few elder guys from the row house side of the colony would go door to door and ask for contributions. With that they would build up the Ganpati pandal with a blaring music system, daily evening aartis and prasad that drew us to the spectacle. That, and the chance of shouting Ganpati Bappa Morya at the top of our voice. One day, when we were old enough we decided that we could manage a Ganpati pandal of our own. We used to setup our own pandal on one of these terraces with the help of unused slabs of kota stone with jagged edges. The flattest piece formed the floor while the remaining formed the walls and the roof. The back of the one square foot abode was the parapet wall. We spent hours decorating it with colored paper. Someone contributed the motor that had been salvaged out of a broken remote controlled toy car. A circular cardboard piece colored in bright patterns with our sketch pens was stuck onto the shaft of the tiny motor that was connected to a single pencil cell. This formed the chakra behind Ganpati's head. Tiny electric bulbs from someone's electric play set enabled us to light up the tiny pandal. The idol itself was painstakingly carved from blobs of mud rolled and dried and held together by tiny sticks or paper pins. One big mound over which rested a smaller one, a curved rolled up bit of mud formed the trunk and two flattened flaps made up the ears of the great God. Beads stolen from elder sisters' trinket box made up the eyes.

And every evening, just after dusk, when we heard the chant of the 'aarti' over at the colony's bigger organized pandal, we would gather at our little pandal on the terrace, with a small cup of sweets that would make up the prasad for our little Ganpati. A bunch of four five kids, one of us was the wiser kid who knew the aarti by heart and would therefore guide the rituals. We would light a small diya and incense sticks, agarbattis and chant His name over and over again. After the shouts of Ganpati Bappa Morya had died down we'd greedily divide up the prasad amongst ourselves and gulp it down. Cut fruit, sweetmeats, et all.

One year there was a feud and our group was divided into two. Each decided to have their own pandal on the very same terrace and an unspoken competition was set off with the aim of building the better pandal. That event brought about use of actual cement stolen from some construction site in the colony and therefore better constructed pandals where the air could be kept out of God's abode and the flame of the diya would not be at risk from the stiff September draft.

The dipping of Ganpati into waters was a problem every year since none of our parents would let us go by ourselves and carry the Ganpati to the nearest water body for 'immersion'. It would be left up to one of us to find a family who would take our Ganpati with the family one and immerse that too. Sometimes, when that was not possible, we would gently lift Him and place him in the empty plot of land nearby, consoling ourselves that we were returning him to his natural abode. The pandal would be gently dismantled and we would have the use of the terrace again for our daily evening games. Games with large balls held by the knuckles, 'Monkey in the Middle', 'River or Mountains', 'Sattodiyoo', 'Color, color', 'I Spy', and a dozen others.

Kids. We made up our own games, our own religion, our God and our own politics...

2007-09-03T05:05:00.000-07:00

From the drafts in my mail..unedited

The perfect way of pretending to be working while Im actually blogging. Open a word document or a powerpoint, the better if it is the current project you’re working on, start typing somewhere in the middle in the same small font. When you are done, just open blogger, copy paste the post and publish. Whoosh! Important point is of course, not forgetting to delete it from the report / presentation you pretended to be busy with. Or else, it could lead to you being fired and your company sued. Ghastly a thought to imagine our clients reading the melancholic and sometimes downright cribby posts right in the middle of a feasibility study for a multi-crore real estate project. :D But I can’t help it. The new workplace I am seated in is situated right in the way of a busy walkway towards the pantry and the loo beyond, which makes it very easy for bored employees to just have a peek into my comp while on their way to another leak. As was proved by the senior from Bschool I chanced upon and who has since commented more than once on what I am doing. Searching for more seniors on Orkut??, she purrs coyly, while I am flabbergasted as to how did she see what I was doing on Orkut. Yeah, I was checking her out, among others. It was definitely easier in the Delhi office where I simply pretended I was drafting an email to a friend. The only raised eyebrows I had to encounter were those of Tania, who kept grumbling why noone ever wrote her so long mails. I finally had to tell her that it was in fact a post for my blog. That made her curious and she wanted to read me. I politely refused.

By the way, my new maidservant speaks English. Sis did warn me of it when she called to tell me that she’d managed to fix her up to clean the place and wash clothes. Next morning, a Saturday, a groggy me hears the knocking on the door (the doorbell doesn’t work). I get up and peer through the peephole to see a thinly yet cheery woman on the other side of the door. I open it up and I am greeted by a ‘Good Morning’. That drove half my sleep away, my Saturday morning. The next day she took out the newspaper from the latch and handed it to me on the way inside. Bade bade shehero mein aisi chotti chotti baatein hoti rehti hain.

I am enjoying the new house. It is, as written earlier, the first time I have a place to call my own. The cosy one room apartment is something I look forward to at the end of my day. Even as I right now have no means of entertainment, courtesy the broken Thinkpad, I still yearn to get back to it. I have yet to figure out the Internet and the daily newspaper, a fridge to keep milk, water, fruit juice and beer (in that order), a television sometime later this year and a music system. But it has my bed and sky blue bedsheets, the few books Ive managed to keep with myself and a few trinkets. By the next week I shall also have a few potted plants.
And as I stood by the window of my place, watch the rain beating down the tin roofs two floors down, a few words kept looping in my head.

Aazmaale aazmaale aaj khud ko aazmaale

Phirta hai kab se yeh dil sambhaale

Bol ye lab pe ruke hain

tere sajde mein jhuke hain

Pal pal bhikre hain kitne ujaale

Kya karoon kya sochta hai

chain dil ka dhoondta hai

Apni kismat ko jagaale

beech ka parda uthaale aazmaale

Aazmaale aazmaale aaj khud ko aazmaale

Phirta hai kab se yeh dil sambhaale

Bol ye lab pe ruke hain

tere sajde mein jhuke hain

Pal pal bhikre hain kitne ujaale

Apne gham se khelta hai, dard kitne jhelta hai

Sochta tu aur kuch hai, aur kuch tu bolta hai

Apne dil ko tu manaale

beech ka parda uthaale aazmaale

Aazmaale aazmaale aaj khud ko aazmaale

Phirta hai kab se yeh dil sambhaale

Bol ye lab pe ruke hain

tere sajde mein jhuke hain

Pal pal bhikre hain kitne ujaale

Kashmakash ko chhor de tu,

rukh hawa ka mod de tu

Khaali pe maana hai tera,

ho sake to tod de tu

Ek nayi mehfil sajaale

beech ka parda uthaale aazmaale

Aazmaale aazmaale aaj khud ko aazmaale

Phirta hai kab se yeh dil sambhaale

Bol ye lab pe ruke hain tere sajde mein jhuke hain

Pal pal bhikre hain kitne ujaale

Kitne ujaale, kitne ujaale, kitne ujaale

- Taxi 9211

ps

2007-08-29T01:34:00.000-07:00

to add to the comments on the previous post....

This seems adventurous enough...

an ode to the humble auto rickshaw

Meter Down

2007-08-26T23:23:00.000-07:00

Living in Bombay on your own without flatmates and not exactly near to the office, can be expensive. I am considering alternative careers. An auto rickshaw driver for example. The one I drove me to office today lives a much better standard of living. He doesn't have to bother getting wet in the rain on the way to work, while I had to face the ferocious rain today morning while I walked to the main road. His workplace, meanwhile, sits right outside his house. Moreover, it obliges if he decides he needs a change of view from the work desk. He put his legs up and sleeps after a heavy lunch. His work timings are flexible. His workplace has a CD music system (something I don't right now). I might even start liking Himesh. If there is a cricket match, he can take half a day off and relax in front of the idiot box. In any case, he can hear the commentary live on his radio, without worrying about office protocol. He doesn't worry about the Internet being down. When the gas pumps are on strike, its a holiday for him.

Hmm...

I need a HOLIDAY!

another weekend is here...

2007-08-24T06:04:00.000-07:00

but
life
means
a lot more

2007-08-17T04:43:00.000-07:00

This post is in response to Dobereinerr's comment on 'Street Tales'. It got me thinking. Long years back, one of my uncles told us a humorous incident from life. On one of his training sessions in the city, he was with a bunch of colleagues traveling from one point to another. Most of this group wanted to get to a different side of the railway line. For those who are not familiar to the city, it is divided along the North South axis by the local suburban railway lines and therefore you have an Andheri East and an Andheri West. There are overbridges at each railway station to get to either side and to the platforms. These can only be used by commuters and for the rest of the public, there are separate overbridges / underpasses at a distance from the railway station. Getting back to the incident, one of the members of the group was not really a commuter and was merely crossing over from one side to the other side. As luck would have it, he was caught by one of the ticket checking staff and fined for using the overbridge without a ticket. The only genuine explanation this person could come up was that he didn't realize when he just got caught in the tide of people along with him and didn't remember using the bridge for non-commuters.

Anyways, the point being, I wrote earlier about people being everywhere. It can be disconcerting for a lot of people and takes time to get used to. At no point in time, be it early morning or late night will you find tip toe silence in Mumbai. There is always movement and there is always some sound, the trains, the flights, the cabs, autos. People are always in a rush. To get someplace. Get back home, get to the office, to the shopping mall, not be late for the movie or a rendezvous with friends. A friend here told me recently that people don't smile here. Even if you happen to get into a longish eye contact with someone, you merely look away. Scowl, at the worst. There simply isn't time to pause, smell the flowers, as they say. It is a daily fight, from hunger, for a shelter, for power, for money...and for affection, perhaps. Sometimes, you just wish that you could get away from the maddening rush. The crash and squeal as dreams mesh and collide with each other...the city of dreams.

I chose to be here. I chose Mumbai.

If You Were A Song

2007-08-17T04:13:00.000-07:00

I don't get to watch so much of television. When friends talk about Southpark, Frasier, Scrubs and more, I only say 'hmmm'. When I did get to watch television, I didn't like sitcoms and soaps because I didn't have the patience to remember what happened in the last episode or remember the show times. Hell, I don't even know who is who in Friends. Yah! Hang me for it! But I love the ads. They've changed a lot since the times of 'roshni deta bajaj'. Not that they were any less memorable.

I love this one. If you were a song....

I could even float a meme on this.

ps. I'm sure each of the captions are songs. I can name a few. How about you?

Street Tales

2007-08-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

In another curious incident today, a little kid with bunny teeth walked up to me as I stood waiting by the roadside for my transport and mumbled something pointing to the other side of the busy road. After asking him twice, I gathered that he needed assistance to cross the road. I agreed and started towards the other side. Without a word, he grabbed my hand and we scurried across, a worried look on his face. I felt his small hand tightening every time some vehicle honked in protest at us. He did mumble some gratitude at the other end as I dropped him and made my way back to the other side.

Last year in Delhi, something similar happened outside the office. That time I helped a blind man cross the street. Then, a couple of cars actually stopped when they saw me, my colleague and the man crossing the road. I could not help but compare that no one even thought of that, here in Mumbai. So much for prejudices.

2007-08-16T01:49:00.000-07:00

They are everywhere. On the streets, in supermarkets, at tea stalls, in local trains, on top of them, in subways, on flyovers, on overbridges hawking plastic toys, on the beach, on the higway, on the sea front sidewalks, on red BEST buses, walking across roads, in black and yellow FIAT cabs, on two wheelers, in expensive Beamers, in shopping malls, at the theater, in pubs, in cafes, in video game parlors, at the hair saloon, in the atrium to the office, on the road to Baskin Robbins, around the banana vendor, standing in queues at the ticket window, and at those outside a sale store, making out at Bandstand, begging at traffic signals, jogging in public parks, working away furiously at desktops in AC offices, shouting inside the financial bourses and in non-financial ones, hounding firangs at Colaba, inviting people at ice gola stalls, jumbo vada pavs at the malad station, in blue plastic sheet covered jhuggies along the railway tracks, at Shivaji Park playing a Sunday afternoon game of cricket, at the gym, at night, noon or dawn, long, short, black, white, fresh, stinky, callous, tender...

In sight, smell, throb and crash...human...

People.
Everywhere.

2007-08-09T07:56:00.000-07:00

Earlier, I thought I could forgive but never forget.
I think now I can forget, I can never forgive.

Like Janis said...Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose...

Balls.
:)

Classic

2007-08-01T06:32:00.001-07:00

Life throws up turns at you often. A few of them appear to be blind turns away from the straight path that appears thorny and difficult but with a view of the distant dream. The turn you contemplate is into a blind alley that might take you to the same or an even better but distant and hazy dream. That turn also is about survival. For you and for a few more others.

Noise

2007-07-03T21:39:00.000-07:00

The light is a brazen red. He guns his bike, but the engine is disengaged from the wheel. Like reality playing catch up with thoughts. With a flick of his heel, he unhinges the rest stand and lets the bike lean on to it. Ambient noise from a traffic signal along the Western Express Highway. A few steps to the left, he walks up to the leper, who has his stub of a leg wrapped up in a polythene bag to prevent the water from seeping in, and hands him a few coins. 40 year old man in the red car behind is impatient. He honks loudly.

The light is still red.
He will give him a glare.

2007-07-02T10:18:00.000-07:00

No. 1 is a Delhiite. No.2 is a Goan. No.3 is a Parsi Bava. No.4 is a Kannadiga. No.5 is a guy from remote interior Vidarbha.

Thats Mumbai.

Vague

2007-06-30T10:34:00.000-07:00

There is a faint whiff of the past in the air today. Like a gentle mist that hangs around on some days. The overbearing feeling that something of the past changed your life irrevocable. It gave you contentment that IT couldn't have been different. Or regret that IT wasn't better. A faint smell, not inhaled since long, but very very unforgettable. Of skin, of clothes, of the land and of familiarity. Sweet pain after a climax, the tinge of disappointment that it didn't last long and that it is now gone. Like a peak that was reached and the only journey forth is downwards.

Or perhaps, the past will overtake the present and crash into the future....

From the drafts in my gmail.
________________________

No one knows what its like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what its like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

But my dreams
They arent as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
Thats never free

No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They arent as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
Thats never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what its like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

- Behind Blue Eyes
The Who

Thats Me In the Corner

2007-06-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

One song that will always bind me to this city. No Friday night in Gurgaon was complete without Shiv playing this song, and the night rounded off by 'Romeo & Juliet', the bunch of romantic idiots that we all are. I will forget every pub, every disc, every other damn watering hole I have been to, but I won't forget any place that got this song, be it CNT in Gurgaon, or Blues in Connaught Place, Someplace Else in Kolkata, T-Oaks in Pune.