hints, allegations and things left unsaid...

A cock and bull story

2006-03-29T07:06:00.000-08:00

Update: You can find my new photoblog at http://www.deepakg.com/. If you follow blogs through a newsreader, you can grab the new atom feed from http://www.deepakg.com/atom.xml. See you there!

Today, the impudent moon once again tried; rather vainly, to eclipse the medium sized star largely responsible for life on Earth (and also perhaps, among other things, for triggering a long chain of interrelated events that spawned off the human species, which in turn ensured that I could write this blog post and digress). I say vainly because here in India, only about 1/6th of the Sun was eclipsed. The Sun must've felt rather apologetic for the duration of the phenomenon; for here it looked like a glowing cookie which had been bitten off by a teething toddler. The episode lasted for about 1/12th a day, and about 1/4th of the nation was in a position to witness it.

By dint of some queer cosmic design, I had the misfortune of being stranded at home. I tended to the extremely taxing chore of playing a couch potato. I usually surf the WWW, but today I surfed the tele in the hope of catching the eclipse telecast live. I had expected Discovery and National Geographic to have exclusive programming to cover the phenomenon. I was mistaken. It seems that the channels are well cognizant of the fact that bored housewives (the only ones watching the tele at noon other than couch potatoes, drowsy overfed pet dogs and insomniacs looking for a quick fix) would rather entertain themselves by viewing the immensely engaging episode of a 5 year old soap that chronicles the predicable plight of a fictitious bahu set in an Indian household that they (bored housewives et. al.) are supposed to relate to – I guess for the same reasons that you would read Nancy Drew Files instead of Encyclopedia Britannica.

The news channels decided to make up for the quasi-educational channels’ shortsighted programming omission. The entire bouquet of the 10 odd news channels that vie for your attention these days on cable, took up the subject in right earnest. As a mere celestial event the eclipse holds nothing for their target audience (bored housewives et. al.) and so most of them – the Hindi ones in particular, decided to color it heavily with astrology, mythology and the entire gamut of all that cannot be scientifically proven. They went to great lengths; like inviting astrologers that kept us thoroughly entertained with their balderdash, remedies for “ill-effects” of the eclipse (I can think of none other than retinal burns sustained as a result of staring into the sun directly) and other ignorant humbug while the moon zipped past in its orbit wondering what was all the fuss about.

Anyways, a propitious day such as one today must be put to a good use. I therefore bid adieu to this blog and will shortly start a new one at deepakg.com. The archives here will stay for as long as blogger doesn’t mind them.

And oh if I cannot blog regularly enough; blame it on the brain damage I sustained from watching the TV on a lazy afternoon.

Goodbye Spring!

2006-03-10T06:57:00.000-08:00

With the recent rains in Bangalore, I hope that we’ve simply skipped over Summers in the usual cycle of seasons. In any case Spring must be bidden adieu.

And thus; in a moment of Douglas Adams induced inspiration, so long and thanks for all the flowers!

Water

2006-03-07T23:53:00.000-08:00

My yearning for a few quiet moments to myself had taken me to Talacauvery recently. I got little quiet, no moments to myself and a few pictures. In retrospect, it feels that it was a yearning for some new shots that had taken me there. Perhaps one should seek peace within, or during those fleeting moments when the finger depresses the shutter, the ears cock up in expectation of the sweet sound of its release and the eyes make minor adjustments to the light hitting the retina in anticipation of a quick preview on the camera LCD.

p.s. Water doubles the crowd.

Afternoon Sky

2006-03-06T01:24:00.000-08:00

Taken on a cold day in London when the clouds and the weather (the two usually collude) could not make up their mind on whether it should rain or should the sky be allowed to sport a bald patch of blue or if the sun should be permitted to make its obligatory smalltalk.

Photo Friday: Masculine

2006-02-28T21:05:00.000-08:00

My entry to this week's Photo Friday contest - 'Masculine'

To the valley of clouds

2006-02-26T20:01:00.000-08:00

The last picture from my Chitradurga visit. The day I took my pictures, was a bright and sunny one. In fact, the showers of the preceding night had ensured that skies were a pristine shade of blue that one rarely witnesses in a city these days. I will visit the fort again, probably once the monsoon rains start. That should surely allow me to capture the fort in a new light.

Tall

2006-02-23T06:35:00.000-08:00

I had taken this picture while passing through Fleet Street on Christmas evening. I was held spellbound not only by the tall spire of this church, but also by the way it was illuminated by the dying rays of the weak winter sun. The radiance almost felt divine; as if the cathedral wasn't merely reflecting light, but held a luminescent source in its walls that was its own.

For the photographically inclined: A 17mm lens mounted on a camera body with a crop factor of 1.6x, would have never allowed me to capture the entire building in one frame; the street being too narrow for me to step back far enough. I therefore contended myself with a shot of just the spire - the sky behind being too irresistible to miss. I also shot the lower half (spire cropped) desultorily (hence the parked van which I now wish were missing), and for some reasons allowed it to linger on my hard-disk till date. Today, some two months later, it occurred to me that I could stitch the two halves up into a "vertical" panorama! The awkward distortion at the bottom is an artifact that arose out of having to "fit" two discrete pictures; taken without the intention of being sewed into a panorama.

Mischief

2006-02-21T10:54:00.000-08:00

I will admit without a moment’s hesitation that this picture was work of a handy accident rather than labor of conscious composition. A premeditated shot; on being viewed later, has the ability to transfer me back to the very moment in time (and space) when (where) it was clicked. I can feel the breeze, smell the smells, hear the sounds and experience the momentary stillness during shutter-release when the world ceases to exist. No such vivid memories flash past me as I look at this one.

I would have loved the composition to have been symmetrical. But if one could direct the course of an accident, it would cease to be an accident. In any case, had the shot been perfect, the temptation to proclaim it as a work that I had deliberately striven towards, would have been too high. The imperfection – for what it is worth - keeps me honest about my intent (or lack of it).

Now on a totally unrelated note, I am wondering, if Arjuna was a photographer instead of an archer, would he have worried about more than just the fish’s eye? I think he would have, because a nice bokeh is as important to a picture as what lies in focus. Would Dronacharya coach our ace shooter somewhat differently? Perhaps I am going kooky (there is this certain individual who would argue that I already was), or perhaps it is the result of writing this post after a tiring late night flight.

The remaining thoughts that dart through my head at the moment, in reverence to the title of my blog, are to be left unsaid.

West goes East

2006-02-17T06:09:00.000-08:00

I have been fascinated by the ironwork on the roof of the glasshouse in Lal Bagh from my very first visit. And in case you didn’t figure, the title points to the laterally inverted E and W of the wind-wane.

Heavily post processed, because there is no such thing as too much blue!

Blur

2006-02-14T02:37:00.000-08:00

I stood on my knees amidst a gentle snow shower to catch this shot. Every five minute or so the carousel will stop spinning to take in new riders. I would look at her freezing under the Hungerford Bridge, seeking her tacit approval for my indulgence. As another gentleman readied his tripod for the shot just a few yards away from us, she asked me, mischief floating in her eyes; 'have you wondered why this guy is alone?'

While I am alone today, this heart – unlike on St. Valentine’s Days of years before this, is no longer lonely.

Smile

2006-02-11T09:34:00.000-08:00

Pardon my penury of words and hear the picture gently whisper...

Fake

2006-02-08T21:13:00.000-08:00

fake façade - make believe
think of it as a dream -
when your very eyes deceive
and all your senses scheme

Devi (Goddess)

2006-02-06T21:01:00.000-08:00

This picture is a continuation of the theme that I had discussed in my last post. To me, it brings out the dichotomy of women's position in Indian society.

The Pigeon

2006-02-05T06:01:00.000-08:00

My friends often taunt me by saying “for Deepak to condescend to click us, we’ll need to be born again as a flower, a dog or a bird”. It is indeed true that human subjects usually don’t hold much interest for me. On those occasions when human subjects are involved (or are for some reasons, unavoidable) it is their juxtaposition with a non-human entity that I often seek. The human element is relegated to the background in the so called “grand scheme of things”.

There are various devices that allow me to achieve these ends. A shallow depth of field - which “shows” you the subject, without it being the focus of the composition. Distance or proportion such that the human form diminishes greatly - though it is still perceivable as human and is to be interpreted with the backdrop. And lastly, reflection – the sort of hazy, diffused reflection one sees in a puddle of water - though again the human form is still kept perceptible (if barely).

I hope to present this week, three such works – unfortunately none of them my best, but each one of them a demonstration of what came out of a conscious analysis of some of my pictures.

About this picture: I was focused (pun unintentional) on the pigeon when the girl made it into the frame. Sadly so did the truncated torsos of her family, which, had they been absent, would have rendered the composition far more interesting – but sometimes spontaneity overrules technique.

I wonder if this girl and this pigeon, will ever meet again!

Tuppada Kola

2006-02-02T21:20:00.000-08:00

Another picture from my Chitradurga visit. The picture has been touched up a bit to give the sky a dreamy feel (not that the sky on that day wasn't dreamy enough in the first place).

A starry night

2006-02-01T01:00:00.000-08:00

We lost our leaves to winter’s blight
And got bedecked with strings of light
But what the heck just see this sight
A cloudy yet a starry night

Lal Bagh flower show

2006-01-29T06:22:00.000-08:00

Lal Bagh botanical gardens in Bangalore to me are a sanctuary. Whenever the bustle of city life becomes hard for me to bear, it is here that I seek refuge. As you walk deeper into the park, away from its circumferential walls, the din of traffic diminishes to a barely audible whirr. If you listen closely, you’ll regularly hear the cawing of crows and rustling of leaves punctuated by chirping of other birds. Reading a book while sitting under a sprawling, old tree is a simple pleasure of life that increasingly fewer cities in India afford. However in Lal Bagh, years old trees and the often pleasant and mild days nudge you towards doing precisely this.

The extent of biological diversity one comes across here (even if it is by horticultural design), isn’t usually found (or sought) right in the heart of a busy city in India. This also allows me to indulge in my favorite hobby – photography. And there isn’t a better time for bringing your camera out than the two big flower shows that the Glass House in Lal Bagh plays host to; the first one of which ended on India’s Republic Day – 26th Jan.

Thousands of people visit the flower show (one conservative estimate puts the number to over a 100,000 on 26th itself!) and it pays to start early. While the show is a photographer’s delight, if you prefer a rake or hoe to a camera, you can also pick up seeds and gardening equipment.

This time, while I did pay my obligatory visit to the increasingly crowding glass house, I also spent a good deal of time outside; around the various flower beds bedecked with zinnias and marigolds.

A highlight of my visit however, was the many children I ran into – all of them most eager to be clicked. Often a lone child would walk over to me and timorously request me to take his picture. Within moments, his group would spot him and come running to be photographed. A good natured mêlée would ensue when everyone would try to fit into my frame, followed by a jostle to look at the just-clicked picture in my tiny camera LCD. The more enthusiastic ones would request a solo portrait but their equally enthusiastic coterie would render it extremely difficult, if not impossible. At last, everyone having seen their picture, would give me a generous smile and return.

My initial apprehension at being nudged and pushed around came to naught. The inhibitions of age and reasoning soon vanished. Thus on a bright and sunny day in Lal Bagh, my spirit soared.

Gull-friend

2006-01-26T21:32:00.000-08:00

On a cold, cloudy day in London, I came across a sea-gull that was as curious about me as I was about it. There is also a good likelihood that it was interested in the crumbs of chocolate-waffle being eaten by people all around me. Still; at least in this particular picture, it seems to be asking – “hey what’s that black thing slung around your neck?”

Heaven and Earth

2006-01-24T21:49:00.000-08:00

While standing at a hilltop in Chitradurga I caught a glimpse of rows of these wind-turbines far away in the horizon. The lighting and other ambient conditions (dust, haze) were such that no amount of wizardry with the camera (or help from other handy accessories such as a UV-Haze/Polarizing filter) would have salvaged this shot. I clicked nonetheless; hoping that I’ll be able to post-process and redeem it later. I clearly went overboard – to an extent that I wouldn’t even call it a “photograph” any longer. On the day of reckoning, this one will surely get filed under “digital art”.

Now if I was asked to provide an aural accompaniment to this picture, I’d point the interested listeners to “Tu Bin Bataye” from A. R. Rahman’s Rang De Basanti.

Ready... Steady... Go!

2006-01-23T00:54:00.000-08:00

St. Pauls’ cathedral again, this time, from the millennium bridge. I cannot be blamed for clicking this one edifice so much – it was the first that thing I would face (besides the winter chill) the moment I would emerge from my abode in London. And it is such a gorgeous structure that I would often click till the remaining daylight (eveninglight?) would wane away.

If you look carefully at the picture, you’ll see that the façade of the cathedral is actually just a white sheet with the façade printed on it. This ensures that the cathedral continues to look wonderful (acceptable?) from a distance while the repair works go on behind this veneer – in fact had I not ventured close enough, I wouldn’t be able to tell!

You can also spot; besides the usual tourists eager to be clicked against the picturesque backdrop, a child eager to dart to the other end of the bridge.

Past Present Future

2006-01-18T20:14:00.000-08:00

This picture was taken during one of my earliest jaunts to Lal Bagh with the new camera. A visit just a couple of months ago however, ended in a disappointment - for I hardly saw any flowers. Partly it was the incessant rains that we got last year and partly the fact that the flower beds were being readied for the upcoming Republic Day flower show. A visit last weekend again put the smile back on my face – I even caught my camera smiling (shh… it doesn’t yet know that I know it; it thinks that I was looking elsewhere).

Lights... Camera… Click!

2006-01-17T05:56:00.000-08:00

This is the London Imax Cinema – a detail which is rather visibly printed on the somewhat ungainly structure. While I was fascinated with it (as should be evident from the picture), my friend thought a comparison to a can of paint most befitting. The bright light-trail was left by a double-decker bus that rushed past the camera while the shutter was open for three seconds. The “tilt” in the composition is owing to the fact that the theatre stands on a road that gently slopes upwards (or downwards depending on the end you are approaching it from)...

Between this world and that

2006-01-14T08:04:00.000-08:00

This picture was taken at Gumbaz - the burial place of Tipu Sultan and his father Hyder Ali, in Srirangapatna. The window looks into the chamber where Tipu and Hyder’s graves are. The intricate wooden frame stands between this world and that.

St. Paul's Cathedral

2006-01-12T05:37:00.000-08:00

Another view of St. Paul’s Cathedral from the south bank of Thames, shot when a small window of evening sunshine presented itself on the last day of the year 2005. For over 300 years now, the enormous dome of this cathedral has dominated the London skyline (those from Manhattan might consider the phrase ‘London skyline’ an excellent example of what one terms an ‘oxymoron’), something I read is about to change.

When Motu met Meg

2006-01-10T05:56:00.000-08:00

‘Magazines’ store at Church Street in Bangalore deals in, well, magazines. Here, in addition to a good collection of Indian magazines, you can also find back issues of most foreign magazines. Though one can locate magazines on lifestyle, movies, current affairs, technology, gaming, automobiles and photography quite easily in India, it can be a little tricky to get magazines that cater to less common/niche interests (at least from the commercial viability of a magazine standpoint) such as philately or western classical music. Imports from abroad fill in this gap. While dated issues of magazines on latest gizmos might not make sense, I would definitely lap up an eighteen month old issue of the Gramophone magazine that chronicles a 1965 recording of Elgar Cello Concerto by Jacqueline Du-Pré and throws in an interview with the lady herself on the complimentary CD!

The shop owner also has a few (I am told five) wonderful cats as his pets. If you don’t see them chasing a bright orange ping-pong ball on the floor, you’ll find them comfortably ensconced in the piles of – what else - magazines. Surprisingly, I’ve not seen the cats litter or use the magazines as their scratch posts. One of the tom-cats featured here; Motu, is particularly fond of the Esquire magazine. On the day this picture was taken, he was found resting placidly on an issue which poses a very pertinent; an almost existential, question to its readers – “Have you seen Meg Ryan naked yet?”

Chitradurga Fort

2006-01-08T01:06:00.000-08:00

Taken during my visit to Chitradurga. The summit of the hill where the fort stands is littered with small temples and passageways like these. The boulders that dot the landscape, once ensured a ready supply of raw material but today they give you a feeling that the entire fort is still a work in progress.

My tryst with winters

2006-01-05T19:51:00.000-08:00

English winters are famously notorious. During these months, the sun makes an appearance only past 8:00 in the morning and by 4:00 in the evening it is already on its way home. So yes the sun rises but that does not mean that you get to see it - for it usually comes out wrapped in a thick quilt of clouds. There might be an occasional gap in its garb, but that is promptly patched by the very breeze which introduces it. The breeze also accentuates the cold and makes it feel like a good two or three degree centigrades lower than what the weatherman’s thermometer would like you to believe. Leave home without a muffler and a thick jacket on top of your 4 layers of clothing and the breeze will find a way to enter and tickle you in most the most intimate of your joints. Just when you are feeling glum enough, a gentle drizzle will make you realize that what you thought was miserable just moments ago, was actually splendid state of affairs. Having spent over three years in balmy Bangalore weather, I had forgotten what winters were like. London has made sure that this time I don’t forget them in a hurry. In fact, it snowed for just long enough for me to earn my bragging rights. (Yes, in subtropics/tropics we brag about having seen it snow!)

This picture was taken at Festival Pier (the bright blue structure visible in the background) near Embankment at around 1:00 in noon. It rained shortly thereafter. And no, I didn’t slap the gentleman on the extreme right though the cold wind might not have been as clement.

Photofriday: The best of 2005

2006-01-03T10:31:00.000-08:00

Locks are for gentlemen for they are unlikely to deter a determined thief. The same largely holds true for the liveried personnel from the mushrooming private security agencies one comes across in India these days. You’ll find them keeping a watch in your offices, cafeterias, malls or at ATMs. In most cases they are unarmed and demonstrate levels of physical fitness that hardly inspires any confidence. During office hours, they often end up helping with menial clerical chores, while at night they stare dazedly into a non-existent void in anticipation. I often wonder whether they have an equivalent of a trade union or if there are compensation guidelines should something unfortunate happen during the course of their duty.

I met the gentleman here outside a small office building at one of the busy roads in Bangalore. He looked quite gallant in his green uniform and was kind to allow me to click him. The expression on his face - which speaks of sadness and anxiety, was the best he could muster on being asked to smile.

In London

2005-12-31T05:03:00.000-08:00

My first visit to London comes to an end in another two days. No city abroad has ever impressed me so much as London. It is heartening to see the old and the new exist here in perfect harmony. The white, lit-up dome far away is that of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The metallic framework that leads to it, and for some reasons reminds me of the human spine, is the Millennium Bridge. A friend informs me that whenever a new building is constructed, it needs to be sanctioned by the city authorities such that it doesn’t obstruct the view of the cathedral from any important site!

While I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the stay here for many reasons, from a photographic standpoint, I am happy to have been able to pursue long exposure photography at night.

Photofriday: Depth Of Field

2005-12-27T05:09:00.000-08:00

Here is another picture of the same bottle-brush plant that I had posted for my Diwali entry. This one has a much smaller depth of field as a result of which the "filaments" in the distance look like one red, dreamy mass. Also notice the "buds" where these "filaments" are still curled in.

Enough said

2005-12-20T00:44:00.000-08:00

unexpected presence of a cannon
at Colonel Baillie’s dungeon
might also be mistaken
for a crazy installation

with a look of utter disbelief
I practiced my shutter release

Boom!

2005-12-14T23:52:00.000-08:00

An infantry unit is said to have held office right above Col Baillie's dungeon. A cannon that rolled through a hole in the roof lies at the very spot till date - it being too heavy for someone to endeavor its restoration to its original place. The hole too; in the vein of leaving things untouched, has been left unrepaired.

Alternative title: A cannon shot with a Canon

Update: This picture has been voted Noteworhty under the Photofriday theme 'Weight'. A big THANKS to all who voted!

Colonel Baillie's Dungeon

2005-12-12T22:32:00.000-08:00

Colonel Baillie's Dungeon at Srirangapatna, looks more like a low arched gallery or passageway than a dungeon. Even on a partially cloudy day, it seems sufficiently lit-up by the sun; the surrounding walls whitewashed in white, serving to highlight the illusion of adequate illumination. The overall ambience therefore is such, that you half expect to run into a whirling dervish lost in his meditative trance.

History however, informs us that the present appearance of the dungeon is signally deceptive. The dungeon is the very spot where Tipu Sultan's (usually English) prisoners were once kept for torture. Indeed, the watchful among you will be quick to point out protrusions in the wall that are purported to have once held the chains that bound the tormented captives. The present appellation in fact, couldn't have been a crueler irony. The dungeon is named after Colonel Baillie, who is said to have perished here during his imprisonment - though according to another prevailing version of the tale, he died several years later.

Green

2005-12-11T07:38:00.000-08:00

This post is here to break the monotony of gray and black which - though an inherent fault (if it may be a called so) of my blog template - had been accentuated by the last two posts. There isn't a better way to offset it than by the tedium of green with a hint of maroon.

Every blog, irrespective of it's blogger's actual intentions, performs an important function - that of feeding his/her vanity. To allow this blog to discharge that very noble office, I should point out that I cross the glorious 300 post mark with this post.

I will now go on and elocute on the journey which has led me to this remarkable achievement.

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On second thoughts, I'd rather have you go through my last three years' archives :-)

The boy at the fort (III)

2005-12-08T00:40:00.000-08:00

The last of the three portraits taken at the Chitradurga fort.

The sentence above might sound like title of a Dali painting.

The three portraits, from the first portrait in color to the sepia tinted one to the one I have posted here, are in a way representation of progressive degeneration of memory.

The boy at the fort (II)

2005-12-05T22:06:00.000-08:00

Another portrait of the boy at the Chitradurga fort, taken just a few minutes after the one I had posted yesterday. He had opened up to me by now - at least to the extent which the barrier of age and language allowed; the distrusting look in his eyes giving way to one more befitting a carefree 7-year old. For the first time in my life, I was meeting a subject who enjoyed being clicked! He took me to a spot near the entrance (built into the perimeter wall) that leads to the main area of the fort, where he had kept a gunny bag full of dried grass. That sack was to be our makeshift stool for the morning's shoot!

The boy at the fort

2005-12-03T02:39:00.000-08:00

I ran into this boy, the moment I was within the perimeter of the Chitradurga fort. For a moment, it felt like he had walked out of one of those Charles Dickens novels that often begin with an account of the humble, downtrodden beginnings of their adolescent protagonist. Seeing a camera in my hand, he requested me to click him. I obliged. He couldn't be happier. Nor could I have been.

Update: Sajith pointed out that the version posted here looked a bit out of focus. I've tweaked the original a bit and posted the sharper version. The softer focus (or lack of it) has been intentional a few times before, but here, it was clearly an oversight.

A photographer's recipe

2005-11-30T02:05:00.000-08:00

A sunny day and clear blue sky,
washed clean by last night’s rain

A polarizer that you buy,
and keep free from dust ’n’ stain

You dump the pic, then you try -
fixing through steps uncertain

Taken at Chitradurga. I got so many wonderful pictures there, that I began to wonder if the place is called "Chitra"durga because of it being so picturesque.

At the Chitradurga fort

2005-11-27T06:54:00.000-08:00

After the rains had washed out the first day of my Hampi trip, I decided to abort the rest of the journey midway. I checked with the Hotel reception desk at Hospet, and much to my delight found out that I could hire a cab back to Bangalore the very next morning.

I slept fitfully that night. The very fatigue which would have made sleep most inviting, kept it away from me. At dawn, while most guests at hotel were still ordering their bed-teas, I freshened up and stepped out for breakfast. The dawn, although it did not look like one that would herald a bright sunny morning, yet it held some promise. The sun had risen, but it shone only reluctantly – like a convalescing old man, who is still uncertain of his strength and therefore weighs his each step carefully.

The drive at 7:00 morning was one of the most delightful rides I have enjoyed in a long long time. I could now soak in the beautiful scenery outside without the accompanying dread of the night before. Yes, the ride was still bumpy for the road was riddled with potholes. The cab driver attributed them to the heavy rains, but given the insolubility of both tar and tarmac in water, I wondered if the much maligned showers were actually meteorite showers after all.

Two hours whizzed past me like a dreamy blur – literally so because I had dozed off! Had it not been for the loud music playing in the car, I would have felt inclined to treat what I saw outside as contents of a dream too. The sun had finally gotten the better of the clouds. There were sunflower fields on one side of the road, while the other was lined with squat hills that were dotted with numerous white wind mills (not the quaint European sorts – perhaps “aerogenerator” conveys a more accurate picture) – their blades turning lazily each time a gush of breeze would offer encouragement.

Just a few minutes later I found myself being driven through a town known for it’s grand fort – Chitradurga. What transpired at the fort, will be the topic of my posts this week, but for now I guess it is sufficient to conclude with this picture that is my entry to this week’s photofriday theme – yellow.

Harry P vs Evil V

2005-11-23T07:50:00.000-08:00

The picture was taken at Vizag beach a few months ago – I promise that I had not placed my subjects under a “freezing spell”. Now that I have got the tenuous connection between this picture and the content of today’s post out of the way, let me get down to the nub of the matter.

Standing outside the Symphony theatre at 9:45 in the evening, I eagerly awaited the opening of the cinema’s door to allow me in. I wasn’t alone. The night show on Sunday – just like the past shows of the day, had sold out. And so, kindred, Harry Potter seeking souls were close at hand. As people from the 7:00 PM show started streaming out, I examined their faces closely to see if they would betray a thing or two about the movie. They only spoke of descending mercury (evenings in Bangalore these days are rather nippy), pending dinner and impending sleep; the children amidst the crowd looking exceptionally dazed. The fourth installment of the Harry Potter movie has been awarded a U/A certificate by the censor board of India - the equivalent of a PG 13 (if I am not mistaken). A printout of the certificate was prominently stuck on one of the glass doors – no doubt, to inform parents of the unsuitability of the movie for anyone not yet muddled by pubescent hormones. A rule is one thing, its enforcement another. Children keen to watch the movie meant business with a capital B and the guard at the theatre doors knew it all too well. Their age was overlooked, or perhaps mentally padded to meet the censor bar. Once the crowd from the previous show had cleared, people (myself included) started growing restless. When we were finally let in, I couldn’t help notice that the kid in the blue t-shirt, who led the pack of eager grown-ups; but for his dark hair, resembled Malfoy.

The moment I had assumed my chair in the “Rear Stall” someone behind me politely urged me to slip down into my chair a bit. My head was obstructing the gentleman’s view of the screen. In line with the general bonhomie that prevailed in the theatre in anticipation of the movie, I smiled and complied (and muttered to myself – “thank God I am not a giraffe”). The moment the title of the movie was projected onto the big screen, the hall broke into a loud applause. “What was that!?” quipped my friend. “Globalization” said I succinctly.

It was obvious from the very first frame of the movie that its screenplay had little or no intention of being true to the book. What the (insert your favorite expletive here) was Barty Crouch doing at the ‘Riddle House’?

As the movie progressed I realized that there are characters and magical creatures in the book that’ll go missing altogether from the screen. The cinematic avatars of Blast-Ended Skrewts and Winky were sorely missed. This unfortunate consequence of having to squeeze 700 pages of rich, detailed piece of fiction into an under 3 hr screenplay is expected and accepted. What I don’t get is why these movies deviate so blatantly from the course of the book when they don’t need to. For instance, Longbottom is shown giving Gillyweed to Harry – it is Dobby who does so in the book. “Oh so it wasn’t that important to the overall story” I’ll be told. Well, how was the episode where Harry talks to Sirius in the fireplace important? Yes I am going into the minutiae – but it is minutiae such as these that make the books so interesting. Overall, the trend in the movie has been to eschew parts of book that don’t necessarily contribute to the movie in terms of narrative – unless they have ample room for histrionics.

Even if I were to forget the book, and consider the movie on its own standing, I wouldn’t be too pleased. The kernel of the movie - the Triwizard tournament, lacked grandeur. That arena where Harry fights the Dragon looked a bit too cramped. The maze sequence of the third task, which leads Harry and Cedric to the cup, was vapid at best. The cast has grown-up quite a bit and have a difficulty in passing off as 14 year olds - Ron and Hermione in particular! I hope they shot the other 2 movies in parallel or I can already imagine Harry sporting a goatee in the next movie – if nothing else, out of compulsion to disregard the young wizard’s sketch prescribed in the book.

People tell me to take it easy. After all it’s a movie – a different medium – and these things happen. The commiserations usually come from that quarter of my friends who haven’t yet read the book. My question to them is - why even call the movie “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire”? Doing so causes me to expect things from the movie that it can not, does not and will not offer. How about “Harry P versus Evil V?” or “Young Sorcerer is Soup”?

I am expecting disappointment from the next movie already. Still, there is a good chance that I will watch it. I call this the J.K.R Tax and all Harry Potter fans must pay it!

Dear Deer

2005-11-19T05:01:00.000-08:00

It had taken me more than 150 shots to get this one right. While I deleted a good number of those iterations, I left some of them intact primarily as an evidence of effort involved. On showing them off to Sajith, he suggested that I make a collage/filmstrip of them and post. Well, here they are.

Now the reason why none of the pictures on display here had made it was because either I would trace the 5 through the air all wrong, or overexpose my face, or assume a countenance which is somewhere between the expression on the face of a man who sat on a thumb-tack, and a deer on the highway who is facing the headlights of a fast-approaching truck.

Pink to Brown

2005-11-17T00:56:00.000-08:00

flashy pink, but now dull brown
still, it's one of nature's hue
once I smiled and now I frown
the old thus makes the way for new

The Hook

2005-11-15T01:12:00.000-08:00

In the backyards of several dams in Karnataka, you’ll find some of the most spectacular gardens. After spending a day in Hampi, the 'Nandan Van' (if I am not mistaken) garden, close to the Tungabhadra Dam, was our last stop for the day. Most of these gardens are landscaped in the Mughal style and more often than not, they have a ‘musical fountain’ that the parents are often tugged towards by their kids. While the lawns, flower-beds and nurseries in the garden were tended to nicely, everything else suffered from neglect. The fountains were dirty and defunct – their faucets leaky and rusted.

It is here that I had come across this weather-beaten, disintegrating lady whose amputated right hand reminded me of the pirates – I am sure not quite what the sculptor intended. The swans around her continue to look remarkably life-like.

A tale of two cafés

2005-11-12T00:19:00.000-08:00

Prologue: The portrait is my entry to this week's photofriday theme - Worn

Three years ago, when looking for a place to live in Bangalore, my eyes caught a glimpse of the “tract and church book society” buildings at St. Mark’s Road. One of them housed (and still does) a branch of the Indian Starbucks equivalent – Barista. It wasn’t my love for coffee that got me there for the first time, but my fascination for the imposing edifice. I have vague memories of sitting there mesmerized, staring at the extraordinarily high roof for hours, and lazily sipping a cup of hot mocha on a sunny Sunday morning. If there was one thing that the place unmistakably exuded besides an infinite calm, it was a sense of infinite spaciousness. That infinity was a sum total of part illusion – one accentuated by a tall mirror that still hangs at one of the walls, part ingenuity – a cleverly designed cash counter with a choice of colors to match, and part reality – fewer than a few chairs with a plenty of floor space deliberately left vacant.

The sort of place where you would expect the warmth of the sun streaming through the tall picture windows to be greeted by warmth of Haydn’s string quartets; an event I have witnessed just once in last three years. Yes, the music played here had never quite been to my taste. It was a minor shortcoming which was easily remedied by the marriage of a pair of good ear-buds with those inconspicuous portable musical devices.

A year or so ago, economics here usurped aesthetics. One of the two small rooms attached to the main anteroom was converted into a bookshop. (The other was - and is - a showroom for expensive French brand of t-shirts that proudly bear a crocodile as an insignia out of some misplaced concern for the amphibian). This was done without reducing the capacity of the cafeteria - the chairs from that room therefore, found themselves unceremoniously dumped in the main hall one fine morning. A new menu card was installed at the counter – surest sign of an upward price revision, and indeed, on another fine day, my mocha became dearer. I now had to wade through a maze of chairs and tables to reach my favorite mirror-facing seat. I also suddenly found myself not looking inside or at the roof any longer either, but at the old tree outside. “This place is still tolerable, ok barely so; still” I would often tell myself.

That was until this café called Barista still had something to do with coffee. On yet another fine day, I found all tables there bestrewn with pamphlets of a new product from the stable of a global cosmetics giant. I couldn’t sit where I wanted because the area was “reserved” for the same promotion. The café had now become an arena for “alternative advertising”. You can still buy a coffee here but it comes with free advertising – like those annoying browser pop-up windows. Have your coffee, but do buy that latest deo which is bound to attract women to you just like a lonely, weak deer on a moony night in a forest attracts a pack of hyenas, fill-in your details to be included in a raffle that could get you that newer, bigger, fuel inefficient car and don’t forget to watch that blockbuster flick on Saturday night.

Of the time I’ve spent in Bangalore, a good one third was spent in total oblivion of the Coffee House. In hindsight, I find it ironic that this place too shares a wall with a shop that sells apparel branded with a crocodile (the logo is where the similarity ends). A perfect contrast to Barista, the place is housed in an unpretentious, decades old building at the MG Road. Entering Coffee House is entering a place which has halted the forward march of time or perhaps time just waits outside while you finish your coffee.

The walls are dotted with decades old, paling Indian Coffee Board posters promoting the consumption of the beverage. Bright red letters below an old framed picture of Gandhi, a picture perhaps as old as Gandhi would have been now, tell you not to smoke inside.

Everything here, except the ostentatiously liveried (liveries that have seen better days but are now threadbare) waiters, has been stripped down to the merest basics. A coffee can be had here without feeling a pinch even on those last days of the month that I; like the salaried middle class in our county, never look forward to.

The picture I have posted will finish this essay for me by supplying those thousand words that pictures are fabled to. I’ll only add that there are no points for guessing where I am a regular now.

Three weeks after the flower show

2005-11-08T08:36:00.000-08:00

it feels like an enternity
though it's been just three weeks
people, petals both are gone

Glass House

2005-11-05T09:38:00.000-08:00

Taken at Lal Bagh, just outside the Glass House. The place is abuzz with activity when flower shows are held. On other days it is simply a sheltered passageway. The signboard outside informs me that the original glass house was built in 1889 to provide “sequestered locale for flower shows” and was modeled on the lines of Crystal Palace of London. It recently underwent restoration and its new avatar was inaugurated on 15th Jan 2004. The signboard, records the event in a rather pompous verbiage – “Today we are proud to be part of what history will call a day to commit to memory - a day on which the Jewel of the Garden City has been ‘regifted’ it’s sparkle”.

If only history books would readily admit in such trifles by mere hefty proclamations on sign-boards.

Photo Friday: Delicate

2005-11-02T20:52:00.000-08:00

I had to dig my archives for this week's photofriday theme. I like this better than one I've posted before because the expression on Kaushal's face has a degree of enigma about it.

Happy Deepawali!

2005-10-30T22:29:00.000-08:00

I wish everyone a Happy and Bright Deepawali!

Before you burst that cracker spare a thought for our already choking environment.

(This picture is of an abloom bottle-brush plant - called so because of the way its flowering branches look. Nothing quite as spectacular as the last time, but still).

At Vittala temple complex

2005-10-28T22:40:00.000-07:00

One temple after another passed in a flash. After stopping at just two or three temple complexes people had now completely lost interest. Perhaps the rains had dampened everyone’s spirits. The guide was quick to take notice of this. Places where we would have spent at least good 10 minutes, were now simply mentioned in passing - that too as our bus would pass by them. Before I knew it, it was time for lunch.

Our final destination in Hampi was to be the Vittala temple complex. A bus usually enters the complex area through a stone gateway which is a tad too narrow for a bus to pass. You have to enter the gateway dead-straight and once you do, there is no room for maneuvering. Our driver, in consistence with the conscientiousness he had demonstrated so far, entered at an angle to the stone gateway's left wall. As he drove on - oblivious to the yelling by the persons on the last seats, the glass panes of the last window seat rubbed against the stone and came crashing inwards with a report. The poor girl sitting at the window had to make a dash for it. Startled, I started and stared in disbelief.

I didn't enter the complex this time and roamed outside instead. I eventually struck up a conversation with the guard checking the tickets at the temple gate. I am usually very reticent in asking people to pose for me. It so happened that most people I did request for being my subject (the guard at the Krishna Temple Complex for instance) were equally reticent. The end result is a bit like the episode from Hunchback of Notre Dame where Quasimodo - who is deaf, finds himself being judged by an equally deaf magistrate during his trial. The man here was different. He not only shared tips with me about Saturday and Sunday nights being a good time to visit the temple for it is lit-up during those nights, but also posed for me - even if it involved momentary dereliction of his duties.

Marred by rains

2005-10-26T22:54:00.000-07:00

When we started our drive to Hampi, it was drizzling. A look at skies clearly told me that it would only get worse. I am no stranger to Hampi, and as we neared our first stop - the large Ganesha monolith, I could surmise that the route followed by us would be identical to one we had taken the last time. Whatever doubts I had were cleared in next few minutes when we were introduced to our tour guide - he too was the same person who had guided us during our last trip! The good part about all this was that I did not need to pay attention to what the rest of the entourage was doing. I could simply soak in things at my own pace. As I stood looking at the Hampi Bazaar from the pillared portico of the large Ganesha temple, memories of just months ago rushed me by. I tried to take pictures, but the wind was so strong the it blew raindrops straight into my lens. The stony floor was dangerously slippery. It would have taken but one bluster to send me tripping down. The camera was thus promptly packed back in. While I was lost in my thoughts, others had moved to the Virupaksha temple. I carefully tip-toed behind them.

This picture was taken as I waited at the Virupaksha temple's courtyard for everyone to return.

[Update]: After some deliberation (and considerable Paint Shop Pro tomfoolery) I decided to post the touched up version of the picture that I had originally posted.

Another visit to Hampi

2005-10-25T03:52:00.000-07:00

The pleasure I had derived from my trip to Hampi in January had left me asking for more. Sure, I underwent an appendectomy soon afterwards but I don’t think the two were related. In any case, I didn’t have more appendices to risk a statistical correlation between the two; why worry? With the trusted KSTDC packaged North Karnataka tour ticket in my pockets, I started counting the days.

A good part of my journey seemed like a misadventure; though hindsight has cured me of such ill feelings.

If you’ve bothered to read this far, you’re probably wondering what is this narrative doing next to a picture of flowers (or probably not, you are really not the curious sorts. Or you are simply too nonchalant - Hell it’s his blog, how does it matter?). In any case, read on. The not so subtle answer is not so subtly hidden in the words that follow:

The journey to North Karnataka began on Thursday. After a dinner with friends, and after having almost thrown a fit at how late I was going to be, I reached the KSTDC boarding point sharp at 8:30. We were to start at 9:00, but there was no sign of the bus yet. It arrived a good 45 minutes late. It was drizzling and I was somewhat drenched by the time I got in. I was expecting that there would be a luggage compartment – a boot or something at the bus’s rear. There was no such thing. I lugged the suitcase in and fortunately found room behind my seat where I could dump my suitcase.

Things started looking bleak this moment on. Firstly, when I reached my pre-destined seat – no. 36 – I found, to my utter disappointment, that it was not a window seat but one next to it. (In hindsight I was glad it was so, but more on it a little later). The girl sitting on seat no. 35 was told by her mother to ask me to sit somewhere else - seat no. 34 may be. I would have gladly obliged but the two seats next to me (33, 34) were occupied by two ladies from Hungary who, quite rightly, refused to swap just one of their seats. The mother eventually told her younger daughter (a 4th perhaps 5th grader) to swap seats with her elder sibling. I was wet, upset over this game of musical chairs which did not end in my getting a window chair, and offended because I consider what the mother did, disparaging – what a way to start a journey I looked forward to so eagerly.

Soon the engine was revved up and the bus trudged away to its destination. It was raining outside even heavily and thus all the windows of the bus were shut. The lights in the bus were soon switched off as well. Once the sensory organ of sight was rendered useless, the sensory organ of smell became over enthusiastic and tried to fill in. What it recorded was a mishmash of smells - of cut fruits, specimens of strongly perfumed hair oils and that of chameli flowers that a lot of ladies’ hairs were braided with. Each one of those scents - on its own individual standing is not bad – but their collaboration can only be termed repugnant.

We soon hit the national highway and this is where things started to get really bad. A good part of the highway is under construction. There are diversions every few kilometers. To make matters worse, there are hurriedly created speed-breakers before each of them to force people to slow down and take notice of the diversion. The driver – allow me to be a little romantic here; I rephrase – Our protagonist drove the bus through the dark, moonless, rainy night with the alacrity of a samurai driving a sword through his opponent’s chest. The romantic version would have served me very well indeed - had I been outside. To be inside the bus and to be sitting in the very last row and to be bumped around at 80 kmph over speed breakers that the driver did not see, means that it is you who are the victim of the Samurai’s fury. There was an instance – and I do not exaggerate here one bit – when we were hurled up like; sticking to the oriental theme of this paragraph – Schezwan noodles being toss-sautéd by a Chinese cook in his frying pan. On my way down, I bruised my back badly, others – if I am to go by groans of various intensities that I heard – fared no better. On the whole, by the time we got down at our first stop – Thumkur (at this time the camera was pulled out of the bag and examined for any damages; fortunately there were none) I couldn’t help but wonder why I took this trip.

I slept fitfully through rest of the journey. My back was hurting, I was holding to my camera bag like a mother monkey fearing an attack by the alpha male clutches to its child, and no amount of music on my portable player was helping my cause. Each time I would detect even feeblest of changes in the speed of the bus, my body would stiffen up in unpleasant anticipation and my hand would involuntarily tighten its grip on the plastic handle that dangled from the backrest of the seat in front of me by just one screw; knowing very well, that a bump of the same intensity as last one, would hurl both the handle and me into the air.

Dawn came. The light now revealed the beautiful terrain that we were being driven through. There were hills crowned with dark clouds, lush green fields and an occasional hut or two selling chai on either side of us. Then almost magically, a river appeared to our left side. The moments of comfort that visibility outside had brought about, turned to consternation. Our samurai might have done well while driving lorries carrying coal (or swords through foes’ hearts) but the living cargo of 50 odd people wasn’t to be entrusted to this skills (or lack of them). One wrong turn and the bus would keel into the river. For next few minutes I tried to ignore the river and prayed that the driver wasn’t doing the same. Then suddenly, the terrain changed. The river vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. We were now passing through a verdant hilly road. In hindsight it wasn’t really a road for most parts; just a muddy, slushy pathway masquerading as one. It was apparent from tens of trucks carrying truckloads of a red, dusty cargo that a lot of mining was being done in these hills. The red dust I remember well from my visit to Bellary and Hospet just a few months ago, was now; thanks to the incessant rains, red mud. It no longer settled on things; in its new rain induced avatar, it obstinately clung to them.

The picturesque (despite mining; nature - wonderful dark skies and lush hills - having made up for man’s follies) drive shortly led us into the main town. Our bus halted in front of a drab, grey (in keeping with the prevalent weather) 2-storey building – Hotel Malligi. Grudgingly, I hauled my suitcase from the bus and stood at the reception - like a dog anxiously waiting for his share of bones at a butcher's shop, for my room to be allocated. Each family (usually comprising of two parents and a child or one parent with two children) got a double room. Lone travelers, total strangers till moments ago, were paired up with lone travelers and given a double room. Friends traveling in multiples of two got the appropriate number of double rooms. I, perhaps out of some consideration for my family of an ungainly suitcase, an unwieldy camera bag and my tiny backpack (which in all likelihood was mistaken for a protruding hump), got a double room. On first sight the room conveyed a degree of slovenliness which I later discovered to be somewhat deceptive. The bed sheets after all were passably clean, the pillow covers were not the most edifying example of the color white but they weren't, what you would call, dirty either, and most importantly the bathroom did not have any leaky faucets and did not stink. Yes, the bucket was bent out of shape and looked every bit a specimen from an archeological site nearby, but that, given the filthy guesthouses I have seen in past, was a minor anomaly I will happily overlook. The room was shabby, without being dirty. It was small, without being claustrophobic. I locked my family in the room and rushed for a quick bite at the Hotel's restaurant. When I returned after my breakfast there was only one thing that I desired more badly than a bath - sleep. There was more than an hour to our reporting time of 9:30. I am not sure if the inventors of cellphone ever envisaged this, but it's usefulness as an alarm clock sometimes far surpasses it's utility as a communication device. I set an alarm for 9:15, and dozed off.

As is my wont, I woke up a good 20 minutes before the alarm went off (actually the alarm did not go off because I switched it off when I woke up – a detail you could have certainly done without). After washing my face and checking in the mirror to ensure that I was not looking like a seedy sidekick of a charming scoundrel from a B-Grade horror flick, I walked down to grab a tea at the hotel’s restaurant. As a minor digression from this paragraph’s core intent, don’t you think that it is rife with details you could have certainly done without (along with repetitive usage of the phrase “you could have certainly done without” that I am sure we could have certainly done without)? But let me assert that this paragraph does have a reason for its existence. After the tea, as I sauntered outside the restaurant, my eyes caught these beautiful flowers drenched in last night’s rain.

Mystery solved. An account of my escapades in Hampi to follow later this week :-).

Stillness

2005-10-23T01:09:00.000-07:00

When I take a picture, I usually go through a set of predictable phases.

“What a shot!” is the first congratulatory phase, which usually is the result of previewing the picture on the tiny LCD screen on the camera. Oblivious of the shot’s obvious shortcomings, I administer myself several pats on the back (of an entirely metaphorical sort only).

Then comes the shot’s first test – it is downloaded and viewed on a bigger 12” laptop LCD. “Hmmm… so what’s the big deal here” is what this phase is called. It lasts several minutes, during which about 40% of the unfortunate shots are deleted.

As days progress by, my respect for a few more shots falls below that critical threshold which allows them their lease of space on my hard disk. The phase comes in several sub-varieties such as “What a terrible shot”, “What a horrible composition”, “Can’t you hold the camera straight”, “What’s that tree doing in your frame”, “Steady dude! Steady! Hold it steady!!!!” The ones that survive now either have modicum of merit or demonstrate potential for digital resuscitation.

And at last follows the “I hate myself” phase – which although lasts for a few moments, yet takes the heaviest toll. At the end of it fewer than 20% of the original pictures survive.

On browsing some months later, I often think that I had been too lenient with ones I didn’t delete.

Now the shot posted here is over three months old and is precisely the kind that makes me wonder – “What was I thinking?” However, this one still escaped being axed because I thought that it was a decent “balanced” composition. Yes, there are things about this shot that make me cringe, and yet for some reasons I have now posted it.

Photo Friday: Conspicuous

2005-10-19T22:16:00.000-07:00

No, I haven’t divined the theme for tomorrow’s PhotoFriday; I’ve just been tardy in submitting my entry to the one posted last week.

Auto Driver

2005-10-18T01:19:00.000-07:00

We sometimes tend to slot people into good or bad. Often, an entire class of people is painted in black or white. We forget those subtle shades of grey in between. Case in point being the humble Auto drivers in Bangalore (or for that matter anywhere) - they are hardly ever spoken of in kind terms. We forget that driving an auto in Bangalore is not an easy job. The traffic snarl-ups that are so regular is so many parts of Bangalore might be an irritant for those of us who have a job that pays us each month, but for an auto driver to be struck in one simply means tangible loss of earnings. Then there is the case of roads where autos are now prohibited altogether! Like one-way lanes, they are only going to increase. Each such road is one lesser opportunity of finding commuters. (Yes, yes I hear you - they wouldn’t ever go where you want them to, but let’s be kind to them for the duration of this paragraph). Add to this mix those long queues for fuel (CNG) and stressed out, edgy traffic cops – voila! we have the perfect recipe for frazzled nerves.

This gentleman hails from Mysore. He is driving an Auto in Bangalore because he couldn’t obtain regular employment back home. This will sound like a touristy remark but the vermilion that he wore on his forehead, which stood in such vivid contrast to his dark complexion, was what prompted me to click him. It was just days before Dusara. I asked him if he was going home to celebrate – after all Dusara is big in Mysore. He was not. The look in his eyes seemed to tell me that it was out of compulsion to earn. If you’ve ever spent an important festival away from your family, you probably know what the feeling is. He looked so vulnerable.

I thanked him for agreeing to be my subject, passed him a sympathetic smile, paid the fare, gave him directions to MG Road and got down.

There is something about this brief encounter that has made me a little kinder, a bit more considerate. Each time an auto refuses to go somewhere or insists on overcharging, I just smile and move on. A smile after all costs nothing.

Update: What you see is a better version of the picture that was posted originally. It (the original) can still be seen here.

Bangalore (from the 13th floor)

2005-10-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

This one was taken on the Independence Day from the balcony of Ebony restaurant at the 13th floor of Barton center. I had recently come across a set of old photos of Bangalore from the 1950s and 60s and that has prompted me to post this one. I was very tempted to give it dubious antiquity by sepia tinting it, but then thought better of it.

Good Bye

2005-10-11T21:05:00.000-07:00

I recently attempted getting to the wrong side of the flowers. I say “wrong side” because honey-bees, butterflies, humming birds (and even photographers in general) don’t bother themselves with this side; making personages such as me a statistical minority.

And does it not look like that the flower farther away (one in sharp focus) is moving away from one that is near? They are even waving good-byes to each other!

Photo Friday: Five

2005-10-09T21:33:00.000-07:00

This one was shot in a pitch-dark room with an exposure time of 25s. I used a pen torch to illuminate only those things that I wanted the camera to see. The glowing 5s are caused by waving the torch to trace a 5 in the air.

I wouldn’t rate the picture very high on originality. I got this idea first from the recent issue of Time magazine, where they had published the picture of a scientist tracing an Omega trough air with a torchlight. Then I saw an entry by Dylon, that uses a similar technique, in this week’s photofriday noteworthy and decided to give it a shot (pun unintentional) myself.

More on the African Tulip Tree

2005-10-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

Here some more pieces of information that I’ve collected on this tree. The tree is also known as Scarlet-Bell tree, Fountain tree, Squirt tree and African Torch or Flame tree. ‘Tulip tree’ is merely an allusion to the resemblance of the flowers of this tree with Tulips and this is where the tenuous commonality ends. It is a native to equatorial Africa but is now widely grown all over the world in the tropics.

I am no authority on Indian names of this tree, but this is what the index of Indic names at in my Atlas of Major Flowering Trees in India (from where I’ve gleaned most of the information I present here) informs me:

In Hindi it’s called Rugtoora, in Kannada by several names - Nirukavi, Nirkai, Ucche Kai, Lujjekaye, Neerukaye, in Tamizh it’s Patadi while in Telugu it is called Patadi Patadiya

African Tulips

2005-10-04T21:45:00.000-07:00

You know you have been living in a city for too long when you tell the months not by looking at the calendar but by looking at the flowering cycles of the trees around you. The African Tulip tree (Spathodea campanulata) is in full bloom, so surely it must be September/October. I finished another year at Bangalore on the 3rd. It’s seems like yesterday, while it has actually been a year since my last post about this tree!

I have always wanted to click a definitive African Tulip shot. While that joy has so far eluded me, I’ll soon share another picture that came quite close to it.

Enchanted Landscape

2005-10-03T05:02:00.000-07:00

Never before had I seen these flowers at a distance that would allow me to smell them. They were being cultivated at; what we might call, a “lotus nursery” at Lal Bagh. The setup was comprised of several huge cauldrons full of murky water kept in the open. I was under an impression that I was clicking a lotus here, till Sajith came along and politely corrected this city-bred lad's misconception. I’ll do Monet proud - for this is a water lily (albeit minus a picturesque landscape which I request you to seek within the flower itself).

(I now love lotuses and water lilies for a photographic reason too. These flowers are so big that I can fill the entire frame without requiring a macro lens!)

Monochrome

2005-09-29T23:10:00.000-07:00

This was taken the same day as these shots. I like it in monochrome because it hides as much as it shows. You get to fill in the colors.

The beauty of decay

2005-09-28T11:31:00.000-07:00

On this topic I have not much to say :-)

Kaushu

2005-09-26T22:42:00.000-07:00

I visited Shivasamudram (writing as I see it spelled on the KSTDC map tacked on to my cubicle wall – feel free to correct me if I got it wrong) some two weeks ago. The drive, thanks to the monsoons and the resulting verdure, was one of the most beautiful drives I’ve had in recent times. Ok so I was being driven around in an old KSTDC bus - not quite most people’s idea of a “drive” - but still. The waterfalls; again thanks to the recent heavy rains, roared as water gushed down into the river (?) several feet below.

But a poetic (somewhat) description of the waterfall is not the point of this post. After all you don’t see a waterfall in the picture above. So I’ll stop beating around the bush and come to the real point. On a small hill facing the falls was a little viewing gallery that allowed us a closer look at the falls and a peek into the valley below. Just behind the gallery was a small shelter that for some reasons reminded me of a bus stop. The walls of the shelter were covered with graffiti; that on the face of a historical monument would be considered an act of vandalism; but which – given the monotonous, pale, brick wall background - I found, for want of a better word, exquisite. And there were several “layers” of it. Most of it was in English but a good deal in Kannada too. The content, as you would have probably guessed, was mostly predictable – a boy’s name followed by a girl’s name with a “heart” sign in between. At least one enterprising hotel owner had left his phone no. and address there for the weary traveler seeking shelter at the nth hour.

I was mesmerized with the bilingual graffiti alone and was quite content clicking it. But that was only till I saw “Kaushu” written on the wall in a rather prominent font. It then struck me that I was traveling with Kaushal. His pet name is not Kaushu – but surely it is the closest we could get to his name. So I requested him to stand next to the graffiti for a couple of shots. He consented. Of course given the lip-marks and hearts drawn around Kaushu, he would have had to do better than his usual genial smile.

The picture I’ve posted shows him posing in the meanest look that he could contrive for a few fleeting seconds. We shared a hearty laugh and moved on.

Mores and Superstitions

2005-09-25T10:16:00.000-07:00

I often wonder how superstitions come into existence and then go on to take deep roots in our society. Case in point, the custom of hanging red-chillies and lemon strung together, outside shops. This is the first time I had seen addition of a piece of coal (?) to the conventional chilli-lemon bundle (not to mention the charred lemon). The unlit bulb in the background is meant to be an allusion to darkness; not the literal sort but the kind that arises out of ignorance.

Of Pecking Orders

2005-09-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

~~Chinnapatanam~~ Chanpatna is a small town between Srirangapatnam and Bangalore. The place is famous for its wooden toys. While I have seen some outstanding wooden toys of remarkable ingenuity at numerous toy shops of ~~Chinnapatanam~~ Chanpatna, here, I present something more mundane. I found this giraffe amidst the wooden horses a little queer. Even the expression painted on its face makes you wonder if the giraffe itself is confused about its presence amongst all things equine; unsure of its pecking order.

Dog, Master

2005-09-21T02:01:00.000-07:00

Since Sajith and smilebringer have been posting dog photos, I thought I would post one too. I even wrote my dog a little poem:

I come storm your room
we go for a walk
Who’s the dog, who the master
is all pointless talk
I’m the one in control
where’s the confusion
You are holding the leash
and thus the illusion

Photo Friday: Divine

2005-09-19T10:43:00.000-07:00

In Hindu religious iconography, lotus holds a very special place. So prominent is its association with deities that I am tempted to call it Gods’ own flower. Brahma - the Creator in Hindu pantheon, is almost always depicted as seated inside a lotus. Many other Gods and Goddesses too (Lakshmi the goddess of wealth comes to mind) are often depicted as either standing inside a lotus or as holding one. Once you’ve seen a fully efflorescent lotus, its divine connection becomes obvious. Smell it and you realize that indeed it is a flower befitting the Gods.

This is therefore my entry to this week's Photo Friday theme: Divine.

p.s. Got a story to share about lotus and its mythological associations? I’d love to hear it!

A Fresh Start

2005-09-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

This blog was started on a fine Sunday morning over three years ago with the intent of expressing myself. My intent hasn’t changed much, but over these few years (and over last few months) the medium of expression has morphed itself into a largely visual one (from being a purely verbal one). The new design that you see is an attempt to reflect this very change. The old template was coming in the way of allowing me to post large pictures. And yes, that sidebar – with its user stats, google ads and other equally other inane things - like what I was listening to, was cluttering the screen. The sidebar – as you would have probably noticed already - has been done away with. The space for posts has been “expanded” to fill in a good deal more area on your screen.

I hope to post more regularly than what my past record would suggest. A post every two days will be my attempt. But since I don’t blog for a living, there might be occasional breaks that are longer.

As the template would seem to suggest, the content will be largely pictorial. As far as photography is concerned, I am still what you would term - a dilettante. And I have no qualms about it. After all, as the old adage goes, professionals are amateurs who did not give up. This blog therefore is still not what you would consider a “portfolio” but is merely a record of my journey as a photographer.

Do I stop writing altogether? No. The rants, the book reviews, the travelogues, the essays on musicology, the poems (if they can be called that) will still keep coming but I’ll try and give them a visual context wherever possible.

p.s. The gentleman holding the camera, is once again, Kaushal. I am sure that by now, we all know who Mr. Karkhanis is.

Bougainvillaea etc.

2005-09-14T00:33:00.000-07:00

Two of the "flower" pictures that I had taken when visiting Lal Bagh with my new camera for the first time.

I found that Bougainvillaea is as hard to click as it is to spell. Would love to find out what the second flower is called.

Photo Friday: Massive

2005-09-12T00:25:00.000-07:00

Since it's been raining

2005-09-08T22:29:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to the rains’ obstinate refusal to go away.

Here is a cropped section from the same picture. You can see a tiny, inverted reflection of the lamppost inside the droplets. The droplets look to me like transparent eggs bearing seeds of some alien life-form.

Happy Ganesh Chaturthi!

2005-09-07T10:25:00.000-07:00

When visiting Belur a few months ago, I had come across this small idol of lord Ganesha in a small niche at the Chennakeshava temple complex there. It was a little unusual in that it depicted Ganesha as having eight arms:

The norm I believe, even in those days (13th Century - Hoysala dynasty), was to sculpt Ganesha with four arms. A visit to the 13th century Keshava temple (at Somnathpur) today, allowed me an opportunity to click two Ganesha carvings there. Although both depict Ganesha as having four arms, interestingly, the first one shows Ganesha as having “human” feet, while the other depicts him in “elephant” feet.

Happy Ganesh Chaturthi!

p.s. During my visit to Belur and Somnathpur, the ambient lighting conditions, thanks to a rainy weather, were most inclement for photography of sculptures. Between not posting anything at all today and posting digitally salvaged (somewhat) versions, I chose the latter. Hope I'll be forgiven for unleashing these pictures on world at large!

Cropped (for want of a better title)

2005-09-06T01:38:00.000-07:00

These are two cut-outs from larger pictures. You have already seen the first one before. I hadn't noticed the delicate strands of cobweb in the second picture till I saw it in its full resolution on the computer screen. Both are touched-up versions of the original, because my intentions in posting them here are not entirely photographic.

Faux Tulips?

2005-09-05T01:13:00.000-07:00

I had come across these flowers at Nandi Hills over a month ago. I don't know what they are called, but for some reasons, they reminded me of Tulips. I spotted them again at Lal Bagh the very next day, and they were definitely not being cultivated there on purpose. So I assume that they are some kind of a weed/wild flowers for sure. Waiting to be enlightened.

to sleep, perchance to dream

2005-09-02T02:01:00.000-07:00

A picture is worth a thousand dreams. It is, as the common saying goes, worth a thousand words too and so I won't contriubte any more words to this post.

Mimosa pudica

2005-08-23T09:49:00.000-07:00

When I was a child, Ma often used to tell me about the touch-me-not plants. She had come across them decades ago when grandpa had been posted in Siligudi. Even as a child with an impressionable mind, I would often look at her in disbelief. I grew up in Delhi and as long as I was there, Ma was unable to produce a specimen of the touch-me-not plant before me. Then I read about it in my school biology book (class six I suppose) and even then it remained one of those exotic species of plants that you merely read about in school textbooks. Mimosa pudica, 'nice', I would often think.

I saw the touch-me-not plant for the first time barely three years ago on a trek near Bangalore. The discovery was accidental. On touching one, I don't know who suffered a greater visible change - me or the Mimosa?

Of course now, I am much better acquainted with the plant. I see it often - usually as a weed that has taken roots amidst other prettier flowering plants. Though Mimosa is a bit of a beauty itself - it bears bright pink globular flowers:

Harry Potter in Hindi!

2005-08-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

I was pleasantly surprised when I recently came across a translation of the first Harry Potter Book (Harry Potter and The Philosopher’s Stone) in Hindi (हैरी पॉटर और पारस पत्थर). Surprised because I was standing at a posh bookstore here in Bangalore, where the abundance of Hindi books at the shelf dedicated to the language, is usually marginally more than sum total of life destroying meteor collisions Earth has witnessed till date. Given my interest in languages in general and in Indian languages in particular, I picked it up.

The translation at first seemed thorough. The Times Literary Supplement quote found on the back-cover of the English version had been translated:

“The Harry Potter stories will join that small group of children’s books which are read and re-read into adulthood.”

“हैरी पॉटर की कहानियाँ चुनिंदा बाल साहित्य का हिस्सा बन गई हैं, जिने बचपन से लेकर बुढ़ापे तक बार-बार मज़े लेकर पढ़ा जा सकता है।”

Rowling’s dedication had been translated:

for Jessica, who loves stories,
for Anne, who loved them too,
and for Di, who heard this one first.

जेसिका को, जिसे कहानियाँ पसंद हैं,
एन को, जिसे भी कहानियाँ पसंद हैं,
और डी को, जिसने यह सबसे पहले सुनी।

My expectations from the Hindi translation therefore, were high. I am probably 1% of those readers who are reading the book for pure academic reasons and by no means represent the intended audience. The Hindi Translation, if it is being attempted for sound financial gains through staggering sales - which no doubt it is – needs to go beyond just literal translation of words from one language into the other. And this is precisely where it flounders.

Names of characters in the English version have an etymology which tells a lot about the general disposition of the character. Some name-character correlations might be more obvious than others, but in general they hold true. Take for instance Malfoy - the Mal here tells us a thing or two about Malfoy (the foy could be coming from foe but I am guessing here) even before the authoress attempts a character sketch. Hermione could be an allusion to the Greek god of cunning and invention, Hermes, which again is in line with what we discover about Hermione. Snape somehow feels like a play on Snake. And yes, the most obvious ones of them all – a person named Sprout could only be teaching Herbology just like a ghost named Peeves shouldn’t be expected to demonstrate congenial conduct.

Consider names an aid to character sketching. (Shakespeare does this often too – I am reminded of Andrew Agueface (from Twelfth Night), Agueface gives enough clues about Andrew being a craven!)

Now when you transliterate (or translate too literally) these names verbatim in Hindi, you lose this very aid. Worse, a lot of these names would appear tongue twisters to the intended, predominantly Hindi speaking, audience. Initially even I had trouble reading some names in their devnagri avatars; मैक्गॉनेगल for instance.

Harry Potter, despite the universality of its good versus evil theme, is set in a culture, a lot of whose aspects would appear alien to quite a few Indians. As far as I can tell, I don’t remember celebrating Halloween as a child. The title of chapter ten in the book – Halloween – wouldn’t have carried much meaning for me and I doubt if it would for children in Hindi speaking belt of Rajasthan, Haryana, UP, MP and Bihar. I don’t know if Halloween has an exact equivalent in India but Dushera might have come close. Many more such examples come to my mind where the translation has been a mere literal one, at times so literal that it is laughable:

Pg. 113 (UK edition): Ron had a piece of steak-and-kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he’d forgotten all about it.

Pg. 142 (Hindi translation): रॉन के हाथ में स्टीक-और-किडनी भरी कचौङी का टुकङा था, जिसे वह मुँह की तरफ़ आधी दूरी तक तो ले गया था, परंतु वह उसके बारे में भूल चुका था।

(दीपक: भई आपने कभी भारत में स्टीक-और-किडनी भरी कचौङी खाई हो तो मुझे अवश्य सूचित करें)

A little work on making the book relevant to the Indian cultural context would have gone a long way in making the book more accessible to its intended audience.

That said, this one takes the cake:

Pg. 194 (UK edition): So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down

Pg. 244 (Hindi Translation): इसलिये हमने उसे बताया, फ़्लफ़ी केक का टुकङा है, बशर्ते आप उसे शांत करने का तरीक़ा जानते हों।

There are a few disjoint, weak attempts to throw in some cultural relevance. The names of the four Hogwarts houses have been translated/substituted to what might be more palatable to the Hindi readers. So Gryffindor becomes गरुङद्वार, Hufflepuff becomes मेहनतकश, Ravelclaw becomes चीलघात while Slytherin becomes नागशक्ति (Pop quiz: was Salazar Slytherin our very own नागराज?). Attempts like these are very inconsistent which makes them a little annoying – for instance, while Quidditch stays क्विडिच, Chasers become धावक, Quaffle becomes तूफ़ान, Keeper becomes रक्षक, Bludgers become पहलवान (LOL), Seeker becomes खोजी and Snitch becomes सुनहरी गेंद. The Mirror of Erised (etymology: desire written backwards) also became शहिवाख़् (which is basically ख़्वाहिश written backwards and thus honors authoress’ original intentions even if it is awkward to end a word in devnagri with “half” a ख).

I wouldn’t cast aspersions on the translator’s abilities here. I do however suspect that it was Warner Bros. or Rowling herself who in their/her zeal to retain the original essence of the book did not allow the translator any room to “localize”.

As a reader who has read the original English title, I found it enjoyable despite these shortcomings. I suspect though, that the same might not hold true for the target readership. Still, if I spot book two in Hindi (रहस्यमयी तहख़ाना - which came out recently), there is a good chance that I'll pick it up!

An honest confession here – this is the first time since Class X (close to 15 years!) that I was reading a Hindi book back to back. Something I hope I can do more of.

Spidermen

2005-08-16T20:54:00.000-07:00

On Independence Day

2005-08-15T04:47:00.000-07:00

Monkey Business

2005-08-04T09:21:00.000-07:00

Monkey tells atheist,
Your lack of faith is sound
But I am scared of priest
So stop monkeying around

But now that you are here
free time - that must be ample
I know you do not care
Still go visit the temple

Who is Kaushal Karkhanis

2005-07-26T02:56:00.000-07:00

Kaushal is a friend and colleague who kindly consented to being my model last weekend. He demonstrated remarkable willigness to stay still while I experimented with various exposure settings. Thank you sire! A little stiller, and I shall hire you as my tripod :-)

And oh, the Moth - thanks to you too sir/madam.

This is my first ever attempt at portraiture and I can already imagine that Yoda doll softly whispering to me - "much to learn you have my young paduan!"

Mangal Pandey: music review

2005-07-20T09:53:00.000-07:00

It doesn’t happen often that you pick up a Rahman album that doesn’t live up to its hype. Yet this is how Rahman’s latest score for Mangal Pandey The Rising (abbreviated as MPTR for rest of this write-up), turns out to be.

Before I get into analysis of individual tracks, I must tell you why I didn’t have high expectations from this album. If my tally is correct, this is Rahman’s 77th album. Of these about 24 have been original Hindi scores (excluding dubs/remakes, give or take two). Of these 24, a good lot have been movies based on period/nationalistic/patriotic themes. Let’s count:

1947 Earth

Zubieda

Lagaan

The Legend of Bhagat Singh

Meenaxi (sort of)

Swades

Kisna (agreed, majority of this was composed by Ismail Durbar)

Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose

and now MPTR

Most of these movies demand a particular kind of music, which is bound to constrain even most talented of composers. Let me take up an exaggerated example to clarify what I mean: if you are making a historical movie documenting life of Bach, you wouldn’t use a Chopin sonata for background score. Movies set in 1850-1947, demand that a particular set of instruments be played in a particular style. The patriotic/period tinge demands that folk themes be used (if only for one or two tracks). The net result is that even before the director explains the composer situations that demand songs, our composer has been imprisoned by the movie’s settings. One can still come up with a refreshing score (Netaji Subhas Chandra is a great example IMO) but not if 7 out of these 9 period movies come out in less than 4 years!

With that background, let me take up individual tracks.

The album begins with war-cry like Mangal Mangal. Which is repeated twice in the album (Rahman fans are no strangers to track repetitions). Despite this, the album is barely 36 minutes and Yash Raj Music charge you a premium price (considering that most new albums now retail at under 100 Rs!) of Rs. 145 for it! There is very little in this track, and quite honestly Kailash Kher begins to get on your nerves by the time 2 minutes 30 seconds of it finish. Very heavy folk influence. The main melody sounds like something you’ve definitely heard before but at the end of it you are unable to place it exactly.

About Main Vari Vari I’ll only say that it sounds like one of those mujara numbers the likes of which can be found littered throughout the Hindi film music oeuvre. The melody is catchy. Nothing novel, though I’ll still rate it as one of the more hummable numbers in the album.

Holi Re brings back memories of Ghanan Ghanan from Lagaan. The opening dhol in the background is a straight rip from Daud’s title number which later changes to dhol / dholak beats from Kadhalar Dhinam’s Dandiya. Yes Amir Khan gives his voice to this number (besides Udit Narayan, Madhusree, Srinivas, Chinmaye). He is mostly restricted to saying wonderful rhyming words (that too in duplicate!) like chalak chalak, dhalak dhalak, dhamak dhamak, lapak lapak, dhumak dhumak, thirak thirak, matak matak, chanak chanak. Fortunately Udit Narayan takes charge before it becomes unbearable. Mr. Khan does make a comeback again in the middle of the song and says those inane, clichéd things about Radha and Kanha - says not sings. Stylistically, traces of Pal Pal Hai Bhari from Swades and Radha Kaise Na Jale from Lagaan are easily sought. Wonderful fragments of lyrics are to be sought too – “thodi thodi tu jo nashili hui, patli kamar lachkili hui”. Let me say it in just two words – utter tosh.

Rasiya for some reasons is redolent of Pas Aa Ja Balam Re from Mr. Romeo and Machli Pani Bina from the same movie. Richa Sharma, thanks to her contralto voice, ends up reminding you of Ila Arun; though the former definitely has much broader range. The longest track in the album - a tad too long.

Takey Takey’s snake-charmer flute opening is identical to one Rahman used in Nayak’s Saiyaan. Imagine Kailash Kher and Sukhwinder Singh in one track. No don’t.

Al Maddath Maula’s background instrumentation in the beginning reminded me of Escape from Warriors of Heaven and Earth even though the resemblance is tenuous. The intro definitely reminds you of Zikr from Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. Stylistically this is a kawwali but Rahman does treat it differently a little later on. (Kailash Kher can be heard again giving alaap in the background)

Mangal Mangal concludes the album. This is a longer, slower, more soulful version. The tempo picks up in the middle and crescendos into a frenzy of “Mangal Mangal Mangal Mangal Mangal ho…….”

Yes this is Rahman. Yes his music ‘grows’ over you over multiple hearings - but for that to happen, I should at least feel like going over the whole CD again. This is one CD my shelf could have done without.

Moral of this review – spend those 145 Rupees on a pizza. Better still, hold on to them till Rahman’s next movie – there is only one way he can go after this one!

Hello uncle!

2005-07-18T22:27:00.000-07:00

Lal Bagh botanical garden in Bangalore, is God sent for photographers still learning the ropes. Just amble here for an hour and you're bound to come across diverse subjects - both botanical and non-botanical. I was moving about with my camera slung around my neck when these school children came on their field trip. Their teachers kept saying - "look children, uncle has a camera! he will take your photos". The children of course are a lot smarter these days than we used to be and needn't be told what uncles with cameras look like (or what they do). There I was standing amidst them with joyous cries of "hello uncle" pouring into my ears from everywhere. The sun came out for those evanescent moments. The children rushed past me and it was cloudy again.

p.s. Canon 350D in action. Pictures cropped a wee bit.

Photo Friday Challenge (Silky)

2005-07-17T07:59:00.000-07:00

My first ever entry to the Photo Friday challenge. The theme for the week is Silky, and here is my interpretation:

p.s. Click to see the larger 800x600 version.

p.p.s. Taken using good old Minolta DiMage Xt a few months ago.

The morning after...

2005-07-14T21:39:00.000-07:00

...a rainy night.

When it rains, click

2005-07-12T01:04:00.000-07:00

Here are some of the pictures that I clicked while spending a restless, rainy (though lazy) day at home this Sunday. Hope I don't bring my camera a bad name!

An ode to my camera

2005-07-10T08:55:00.000-07:00

As I move to my next camera (finally a Canon 350D!), here is as an ode to my older Minolta. I already miss carrying it wherever I go.

A young man - of twenty four
Walked into a camera store
(Two years ago, in downtown LA)
Six months’ savings, ready to pay

“A digital camera is what I need”
“Sure! digital, uh.., indeed!”
“Yes, we’ve plenty come have a look”
“Is that Minolta? there, that nook”

A fresh piece was thus pulled out
(I almost uttered a joyous shout)
Ah, this is small! Fits in my pocket!
with charger that fits an Indian socket!

“See sir! it is hardly thick!”
“That is well, but let me click”
Features were then enumerated
Shopkeeper shortly remunerated

Since then, wherever I’ve been
Through this eye world I’ve seen
Yes, (like me) it now grows old
Still it’s worth its weight in gold!

This is one of the earliest pics I took with my first camera (cropped significantly). Yes it's very hazy - LA those days was riddled with forest fires.

Looking for a digital ('prosumer') camera

2005-07-07T06:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers, I am looking for a new digital camera. My Minolta DiMage XT (3.2 MP) has served me well over last two years but now it is time to move on. I need more control over my shots. DiMage Xt is a good digital camera with a mind of its own and I find that more and more often we tend to disagree over how a shot should look. There is nothing like a digital SLR but I intend to pursue photography without mortgaging my rented apartment or selling my kidneys.

So kind readers, recommend me a camera that can be procured under (or a little over) 1000 dollars. And yes, I prefer to buy in Bangalore, India. GK Vale is listed as the only vendor for Canon (one of my preferred brands), but GK Vale would pretend that I am an ethereal apparition unless I was there for getting my pictures clicked for Visa. Once snubbed, twice shy. GK ~~Wail~~ Vale aren't getting a single penny of my hard earned money.

So what are my options, really?

Good deal on classics

2005-07-06T07:25:00.000-07:00

Found out today that good folks at Strand Bookshop (Manipal Centre, Dickinson Road (just off MG Road)) are offering a good 50% discount on a decent selection of hard-bound classics. Most of these are on Everyman's Library (nice crisp binding sans garish leather/faux-leather engraved in golden ink; plus I love the smell!) and might seem steep to you even after the discount - though I think they are a steal! I've coaxed myself to be content with Hugo's Les Misérables (picked up for 545 Rs.) for now. I am afraid that my feet will drag me to the shop this weekend without my own volition.

Books

2005-07-05T21:26:00.000-07:00

I've been passed a book meme by at least three people (Geetanjali, Megha, Rajesh) - I better honor it before bad luck befalls me! So here is all you need to know about my books:

Volume of Books owned: Never counted - I do however see two towers of babel growing taller each day. I suspect the number is close to 110.

Books I recently brought: It has been raining books for last two months. Either generous friends have been gifting me books or I've been running into books/authors I've I always wanted to read. Here are the ones that I have picked recently (I'll need to sit with a large scroll to take stock of ones I've been gifted so I'll overlook them for this blog entry):

The Spire - William Golding

17 Lost Short Stories - Sommerset Maugham

The Little Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Last book I read: The Color Purple - Alice Walker. (A good friend's valiant attempt to introduce me to women writers/feminist works)

One book that I couldn't finish: Vikram Seth's - A Suitable Boy. It just droned on and on and on like of those despicable 'K' soaps at Star Plus. I finally gave up.

Five books I cherish:

To The Ends Of The Earth - William Golding. You can find my earlier review here.

A Tale of Two Cities - Charles Dickens. I seem to like anything by Dickens. This one is exceptional in its portrayal of French Revolution. The plot is brilliant too!

The Tempest - William Shakespeare. There is very little by Shakespeare that I've read but of what I have, his last work is my favorite. Yes, I like happy endings.

The Piano Tuner - Daniel Mason. The novel, set in 19th century, tells us the tale of a piano tuner who is summoned from London on an unusual mission to fix a badly damanged piano in Burma. Daniel Mason's first novel!

The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo. Djali and Gringoire feel like myself. Need I say more :)?

Now comes the hardest part! Who do I pass this on to? I'll start with Ink Spill, Esther and Manjusha.

Movie Magic

2005-07-04T06:01:00.000-07:00

One of the memories that I carried from my trip to Vijayawada in March is of a dilapidated two storey house whose walls were plastered with countless movie posters. What surprised me most was that not only local Telugu movies got place of pride in this colorful mosaic but also Bollywood and Hollywood fare! Most posters; besides the movie name, bear a prominent number which indicates the days since when the movie has been running in town.

This mosaic (with a little nudging from Jani) prompted me to watch two Telugu movies a little later that very month. If the ones I saw were an indication of the movie industry in Andhra, then not only are the folks at Bollywood grossly overrated, they are also downright boring! No, I cannot be told to explain myself unless you have watched at least two recent Telugu blockbusters (and then chances are that I won’t have to!).

Monsoon in Mumbai

2005-07-02T00:12:00.000-07:00

During monsoons, when it rains, it pours. This holds truer for some cities in India than others. But no matter what logic you apply to prepare and sort your list, you’ll find that Mumbai will always emerge on top. I have borne the brunt of Monsoons in Mumbai once – having checked out of our hotel to catch the 5:30 PM Rajdhani back to Delhi, we had once found ourselves stranded at the Station for over fourteen hours. But that was fifteen years ago and one would expect that either the rain gods or the city would have mended their ways; I found out just last month that neither have.

I was on a morning flight to Mumbai and it didn’t take a window seat to tell that I was flying at a time when monsoon is in its full force. Often the cabin would be engulfed in eerie darkness as the plane waded its way through tunnels of grey clouds. The seat’s tray-table and the contents placed on it would creak and rattle each time the plane negotiated a turbulent patch. When the plane landed on the soaked highway, I could see from my aisle seat that water was cascading down the plane’s windows in such abundance that it formed a redundant glassy layer over them, which under forces of wind and gravity strove constantly to muddle the view outside.

There was no aerobridge available for our plane so we had to get down the plane and hop into the bus parked close to the staircase. The maneuver involved fording a gushing ankle deep stream by placing at least one foot on the ground, while the other sought foothold on the bus. Surprisingly I spotted no school of salmons.

When I came out of the airport, the covered waiting area was brimming with crowd that was mostly comprised of placard holding drivers from hotels and travel agencies, waiting for their clients to arrive. I spotted mine who courteously beckoned me to come out of the covered portico under a flimsy umbrella that he held open for me. Given the intensity of downpour, that umbrella would have hardly covered my driver’s broad frame so there is no way it would have kept rain away from me and my backpack. Fortunately, Bangalore has taught me to carry an umbrella in my backpack wherever I go. It was pulled out with much élan – like He-Man pulling out his sword from his backpack scabbard (“by the power of gray-skull”), and unfurled in the glorious rain. My driver, happy to see me adequately equipped, smiled and told me to follow him.

Mumbai airport is undergoing construction. A lot of work is going on at the parking area as well. As I plodded through the water riddled road, I figured that most construction work had been abandoned temporarily – heaps of concrete mixture and columns of neatly stacked bricks had been left unattended under sheets of tarpaulin. My driver, while moving through the maze of cars and construction material, ran into a half-finished wall. He climbed the wall without looking behind, thereby subtly suggesting that I was supposed to repeat the feat too. Reluctantly, with my suitcase in one hand, umbrella in other, and with a heavy backpack bolstering my back from collarbone to hipbone I scaled the wall in the clumsiest possible manner. I am sure there are documented species of sloth that have demonstrated better skill, grace and agility in climbing 3-feet unfinished walls.

By the time I was inside my car, it was obvious that the umbrella had been only marginally effective against the forces of nature. My backpack was wet so were my arms and as for my shoes, it could be that I had worn aquariums to work.

After much honking and jostling the driver successfully steered the car out of the parking. The roads right outside the airport looked reasonably free of traffic but as we drove deeper into the city we realized how messy that ride was going to be. Traffic in most places was crawling at a precise rate of 100 nanometers per minute. I was certain that at this rate, by the time I was at hotel, the sun would already be looking forward to its red-giant days. Even that modicum of detectable velocity ceased at one of the traffic junctions. The rain picked up. Most people had realized the futility of blowing their car-horns or keeping their engines on so all I could now hear inside the car was the pitter-patter of hundreds of drops hitting the car’s metallic roof. The driver demonstrated remarkable optimism in keeping the car-wipers running. “He thinks that the traffic before him will clear any moment and he would drive away” I said to my cynical self. The wipers would sweep an arch every thirty second and provide a wonderful accompaniment to the monotonous drumming of rains – “khudak khat”.

Then, as is wont of “things”, “something” unexpected happened. A good Samaritan who had gone on a reconnaissance mission to estimate the outreach of traffic, returned and informed us that this stretch had been building for over three hours and would take at least as much time to clear. Our driver, in a rare demonstration of good judgment put the car in reverse gear and took a turn into the opposite lane. The traffic here was moving well though I was hoping that the detour would not involve looping Cape of Good Hope to reach my destination which on a good day would have been just twenty minutes’ ride away.

What happened after this, only my driver can blog about. I knew that I had fallen asleep and by the time I had opened my eyes we were entering our hotel gates – well within time for the presentations I was to make here.

What keeps me up

2005-06-22T02:10:00.000-07:00

Not fear of missing the morning flight,
nor work that keeps me busy as a bee.
When sleep assaults I put up a fight -
with a cup of chai or surfeit of coffee

Art of Fugue

2005-06-18T07:01:00.000-07:00

Bach has fascinated many – from performers to composers alike. His last work, left unfinished at his death; The Art of Fugue, has remained an enigma to date. It led to a Bach revival of sorts in the romantic era starting with Beethoven, who often introduced elaborate fugal themes into his late piano works. His Op. 133 Grand Fugue, originally intended as final movement for his Op. 130 String Quartet but later published separately for sake of overall ‘balance’ of the quartet (Grand Fugue was disproportionately longer and contained material much heavier than movements preceding it), remains one of the most elaborate tribute to the master.

I often find myself turning to Bach these days - at times for most unflattering reason of cutting myself off from the worldly noises, but usually for sheer delight of his works. I recently stumbled upon an unusual recording of the Art of Fugue by Glenn Gould. It is unusual not only because of Gould’s choice of instrument – A Church Organ, but also because of his ‘half-staccato’ playing. I won’t rate it as a fine rendition; on the contrary it might in fact offend sensibilities of a Bach puritan (so would Murray Periah replacing harpsichord with piano in his recording of Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 - yes even I have a problem with that! What next? Paganini on electric guitar anyone?). Still it is to be heard con brio – as one man’s highly personal and passionate treatment of the work.

Waiting for rains

2005-06-18T06:54:00.000-07:00

Just a week ago, rains were hitting Bangalore with a predictable routine of rains in a tropical rain forest. They are on a short recess these days. I entreat them to be back with us soon.

p.s. I had taken this picture right before one here, but have retouched it (tinkered with hue and saturation, added text) before posting.

My caffeine habits

2005-06-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

I am ‘ambidextrous’ as far as my choice of beverage is concerned. The quotes around ambidextrous are meant to indicate that the word is not to be interpreted too literally here – so no – you might not conjure an image of me holding a cup of tea in my left hand, sipping coffee from a cup in right. There are odd days – even weeks – when my intake of tea far surpasses coffee, but sooner than later, coffee makes a convincing comeback; usually as the sinful concoction that involves chocolate in good measures – as mocha.

Here are the pictures of my (rather messy) cup of mocha. The second version was result of some calculated fooling around in Paint Shop Pro.

.doc

2005-06-11T10:56:00.000-07:00

A blank word document,
is goading me to write –
for it has been a while,
since I made a blog post

A blank word document,
is a good source of light.
So I stare and smile,
as it becomes my lamppost

p.s. Inspired by File > New. Thanks M for the original!

Noun

2005-05-30T09:52:00.000-07:00

It will be, without a figment of doubt,
an utter disgrace
If what you mean to me, in words,
I try to trace
And yet words; for these are words indeed,
have been put down
Help me; for I know not what to say, or how,
help me invent a noun

Sultana Of Sand

2005-05-29T22:05:00.000-07:00

The day our hero saw the land,
I was christened – sultana of sand

Other queens, three in all
Were torn and thrown, for matter small

When in a noisy game of poker
A drunkard player took them for joker

Said his fellows; now at their surliest
“We are playing poker, poker's no jest!”

And so a way to land he was shown,
Like cards before him, into the sea he was thrown

Through his clothes, when water tore
He saw his peril, his stupor wore

He swam madly for an hour
On that night of tempest, shower

Fatigue, delusions, hallucinations
He saw mermaids, their apparitions

He started when one of them told
You’re lucky – a queen of spade you hold!

At first, (startled) he could not believe
A mermaid knew, I hid in his sleeve!

He swam and swam with lot of gumption
“I’ll see land soon” – his only assumption

The mermaids laughed, the sea dissolved
In his head his world revolved

Just then a lucky, giant wave bore
Our man all the way to the shore!

Minutes later, when dawn came
Birds of prey eyed their game

On his eyes when sunbeams fell,
Fatigue broke its cruel spell

His marvelous escape he didn’t realize
“Our vessel was fine, it didn’t capsize!?”

Then as he looked at sea from land
He recalled his ordeal at first hand!

He smiled, stood up and began to plod
Through the wet sand, the sandy clod

He took me out, and said this
“thank you lady, you deserve a kiss”

That moment on we parted ways
“He is a king”, the world now says

“I too am a queen” or so I tell them
Better here, than inside his harem

It's Raining!

2005-05-27T04:02:00.000-07:00

It is so beautiful outside that I have been rendered speechless, wordless.