Carrom by street light

How to keep your room clean when you live with 11 cats and a younger sister...

YOU CAN'T.

Umm..

Spread out your feathers

Startle your whiskers

Stretch your feet

Uncurl your tail

Wiggle your feelers

Feel the bone in your wings

Itch your scales

Brush your teeth

For it will take a very long time

(The previous stanza did not rhyme)

To evolve into that

Oh shoot, dammit, drat

Which animal would need

Wings, scales and webbed feet?

Perhaps in a world

That has fallen sick and hurled

Its oceans over every shore

Leaving no land and therefore

A need to swim

And to fly at whim

This was amusing

For while I was drawing

Was simply reclining

No poem came to mind

No theories opined

Only animals combined.

Chapter One

From the road, a cobbled path led to a wrought-iron arch. Through this arch was an ill-maintained garden, long overgrown with weeds and wild berries. Every few feet, blue bells peeped out over the little white flowers of the berry bushes. A long-winded mud path showed the way to a heavy door with a metal knocker adorning its center. To the corner rested a three-legged footstool. Creaking on its hinges, the door opened into the vast living room. It was modestly furnished with a sofa-set by the fire place, a table- upon which rested a dim lamp, a book and a pair of spectacles- and a grandfather clock in the far corner. To the right of the room was a door that led to a dining room and to the left, broad stairs went up to the rest of the home.

On the first floor, Sam sat in the study that used to be her father's. He would sit in that stuffy, cabin-like study  for hours at end reading and writing till his eyes were sore from the text and his fingers stiff around the fountain pen he held. Busy scribbling down one of her latest masterpieces, Sam was lost, deep in thought, with her glasses nearly slipping off the end of her nose. "This just isn't right.", she whispered to herself and threw her father's old, worn pen into the ink pot- making blotches all over her long essay. She sat in the shapely, velvet blue chair, rocking restlessly, thinking of a way to fix her work, searching for inspiration.

Hearing the moaning squeak from her overused chair, her mother popped her head into the study and let out a gentle, "Sam?". Sam jumped in her seat, startled by the sudden break in monotonous creaking. "Searching for inspiration, are we?", asked mother mockingly. "Yes, though my brain seems to have no more space for inspiration of any sort! I am very inspired. But not for the topic I write of.", said Sam weakly. "Maybe the market place will be of some help. Get us some bread for dinner, won't you?", saying this, she left a basket at the door and left before Sam could refute. "That sly, old woman knows me all-too-well.", laughed Sam after her as she took off her father's white-turned-yellow work shirt to reveal her simple frock- laced with light blue and dotted all over with little blue flowers. She dusted off her sleeve cuffs, wishing she had straight sleeves like her father's instead. She pocketed some coins and her unfinished work, picked up the basket and fluttered out of the study. The coins jingled in her little pocket as she hummed down the stairs. She set down the basket to pull open the front door and left.

The sun pierced her eyes. It had been days since she left the house or even sat by a window- bent over her work, she merely stopped for dinner. She slowed down her pace and considered going back in for a large, straw hat but decided against it. Her eyes passed over the garden that seemed to have grown considerably since she last saw it. She never took the mud path. Straight through the growth, she shuffled through- looking down at the freshly bloomed bells and the little berries sprouting. She noticed a white rose bush growing in a corner and made her way toward it. She sat down, examining the plant- looked around to find anymore. She found a baby snail climbing along the fresh shoot of the bush. She put out her finger and waited patiently as it climbed onto it. Touching its mucilaginous feelers, she timed how long it took for them to extend out again. This tiny creature made her forget her work and engrossed her completely. She laid out her coins on the ground and made a passage for the snail. She set him down on the first coin and waited for him to walk over their cool surfaces. She sat cross legged, head in her hands, staring at the tiny snail follow the trail back to the rose bush. She christened him Shell-o and felt around her pocket for more coins. She found her essay and took it out. She began reading it aloud to Shell-o, asking for his opinion. He seemed to have very good taste in English literature and found him a sympathetic critic. He gave her some curious suggestions and she suddenly cried, "You're right! Come along, we must fix this at once." With that, Sam pocketed her coins, her work, a good many rosebush leaves and a rose (just in case) and tenderly lifted Shell-o on her finger and bounded back to the house.

She pulled the footstool, knocked hard several times and waited twiddling her toes. Her mother came to the door and on seeing the basket on the floor, shook her head with a sigh before yanking it open. Sam jumped inside with a big grin on her long face and her big, brown eyes beaming at her mother. "You were right, Mum-o! Inspiration is out there!", saying this she lifted Shell-o to show her mother and then darted back up to her study. Weakly, mother followed her upstairs and looked inside to find her propped up at her desk again, with Shell-o surrounded by a bunch of leaves by her ink pot. Sam looked ever so pleased with herself, that mother just smiled and left with the basket, half wishing she wasn't so much like her father. 

28th Oct 2012

8 years ago, I rushed up the stairs of the nursing home where my mom had spent the day. There I found my grandparents sitting together. I sat across from them. We looked at each other with anxious, half-smiling faces. We heard a baby cry. I nearly jumped. My grandparents said it's a boy. At the age of 10, when all I wanted was a little baby sister, I blatantly disagreed. Just then, the doctor emerged from the delivery room. His sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows and his pants rolled up to his knees. He held his shoes in one hand. He looked at me and said, "Congratulations, it's a girl." I was over the moon! Not only because I had a sister, but because my prediction was correct. With ants in my pants, I tried to stay seated in the waiting room. A few moments later, the nurse emerged with a big flat tub. Inside was my sister. She whizzed past us into the nursery to get her warm. I got just a fleeting glance of her. A small, pink lump with short limbs sticking out and a head full of hair. Next to leave the delivery room was our mother. She was being wheeled back into her room on a bed. She looked tired and terribly worn out. I followed her into the room and sat on the spare bed, looking around me at all the people passing by, doing things. No one noticed me sitting there, but that didn't matter: I had a new sister.
The nurse walked in holding the baby. She walked over to our mom to hand the baby over to her. But in her weak state, she told the nurse to give the baby to me first. I was touched. I had expressed a desire to be the first to hold her long before she was born. The nurse walked up to me with very suspicious eyes. She curtly told me to sit up straight, back to the wall with my legs crossed. Then she gently placed her in my arms and stood over me, watching keenly. I took no notice of the nurse. In my arms was an incredibly tiny baby. She had a wrinkled up, chubby face, slightly closed but big eyes, lots of very soft, short hair on her head and little red hands. Her small hands and little stubby fingers were so cute and felt so sweet in my hand. I didn't get to hold her for long, but I loved those few moments. Holding a cute, warm bundle that filled up my arms completely. That was the start of a whole new life for me; one with a sibling that I waited a long time for.

Today, I don't remember what life used to be like before this hyperactive, monkey-ish, humorous, witty, silly sister of mine was born. But I can't imagine life without her now either.
Happy birthday Ilina!

Volatile moods

I can't take it anymore. This city. These streets. These buildings. These bridges. These cars. This house. This lack of activity. This lack of excitement. This static scenery everyday.

There is no greenery worth looking at. Nothing is lush. All the trees have a carpet of dust on them. The green is dull. There are no hues.

There are too many people. There is too much noise. There are too many shops. There are too many signals. There is nothing to do. There is no simplicity. There is no beauty.

It's claustrophobic. It's nauseating. It's disgusting.

Jessica Ghawi

It's been two months now since I read in the paper about one of the victims of the shooting at the Dark Knight screening, Jessica Ghawi. She caught my attention because of what the article stated. Ironically, she had escaped open gunfire at the Eaton Mall only 20 days prior to the fateful day. The article mentioned a blog post she published after having survived the first shooting. I made a note to read it but never got round to doing it. But today, I did.

A Run On of Thoughts, the blog that she maintained, opens to her last post; The one speaking of her near-death experience. Reading that made me realize how much for granted we take each waking day of our lives. How lucky we all are to have been given another day. When we put something off for another day, what's saying we'd actually have that day? Life is so daily, but still, so unpredictable. Death is inevitable, unavoidable, but we never know when it's lurking around the corner. Should we never take steep turns then? Should we never skid off a cliff? Should we never unbuckle our seat belts? 
But more than thinking about when, where and how death awaits, I really feel for Jessica. When she saw through that first shooting, she was snatched away from the jaws of death in the nick of time. She must have felt like she was given a second life. She was barely given the time to assimilate what she had been through and change the way she wanted to. Her outlook changed, but did she really have the time to live that change? To begin to appreciate all those around her? 
How scary it must be to look at an injured person lying on a stretcher- bloody clothes, crying their heart out, staring death in the face - and thinking that could have been you. 
Oh so many ifs, buts and phews! 

Modelling lessons from a dog

Carl Akeley

Carl Akeley was a taxidermist. A taxidermist with inordinate amounts of perseverance, passion and patience. A man who redefined the purpose of taxidermy and made it an acknowledged art form.
Working at the American Museum of Natural History, Akeley worked on a plan to build the African Hall. It would depict lives of animals of the great African wilderness as they truly are and not as a figment of human imagination.
He had a special love for elephants. These large, gentle giants were the center of his art through his life. He had many testing expeditions to Africa in search of the perfect specimens to shoot down. He would acquire large males, females and young calves. On being shot, their skins were painstakingly removed and cured for use. A master in his own line, Akeley kept working on better methods of taxidermy. He would often completely change his methodology and strove to share his knowledge with others. He was keen on projecting taxidermy as an art form. He created some of the finest specimens ever produced. Renowned scholars and artists highly commended and validated his work.
Akeley came to be a close friend of the then President, Theodore Roosevelt. He accompanied Akeley on one of his expeditions and even shot one of the elephants that stands today at the museum. It was on this expedition that they acquired a small elephant family for another display.
Akeley also worked extensively with gorillas in his later years and they inspired him to build a moving picture camera especially to record African wildlife. It was his quest to prove that gorillas were not the easily-angered, dangerous and violent creatures they were always made out to be. He was genuinely annoyed when a specimen of a charging, teeth-gnashing gorilla was presented to the museum. He shot a number of gorillas for his own creations. He also went on to be the first to record gorillas in their natural environment.

Akeley faced numerous near-death experiences with the animals he hunted. He had been attacked fiercely by both elephant and gorilla. But he never let these incidents keep him from continuing on after them.
Although Akeley wasn't alive to see through the end of his dream project of the African Hall, his close colleagues and his wife completed it for him. Today, known as the Akeley Arfican Hall, it stands with its life-like specimens against realistic painted backgrounds. Over two million people honour this hall every year through their visits.

Carl Akeley was a great man, a perfectionist in every respect and a pioneer in his field of science. But I refrain from being full of praise for him. He was looked up to for his love of animals. He was angered to hear of animals being hunted down. This amuses me. How was what he did proving his love for animals? He shot down numerous elephants, including calves and group leaders, breaking up their families and dismembering them; just so they could be reconstructed for human viewing pleasure. Study of anatomy is one way of looking at it. But I ask myself, was there no better way?
Elephants are perhaps, the most emotional of all mammals. To them, every member of the family matters and is loved. Even the natural death of one of their herd calls for a long mourning. The sudden death of the most important links of their herd, including their young ones has the most heart-breaking impact on the herd. To be able to kill so many, without having a conscience to stop you, is an extremely selfish ability. The love for his work far exceeded his love for nature. I wouldn't sympathize with him for the injuries he acquired from an agitated elephant. I would sympathize with the elephant and its entire herd for having to endure such cruelty. Just as the elephants suffered at his hands, so did the gorillas. Gorillas are gregarious animals that are highly dependent on their alpha male leader. He is a symbol of security for them. These males were Akeley's main target and was the first gorilla he managed to shoot; a large, silver back. This caused an  immense outcry- an actual, sulking outcry from the females of the group. This first experience didn't prick him, it made him go forth and shoot two females and a baby.
The results of these killings may be beautiful artworks that spreads knowledge about animals; but was it really worth all the pain and death? Does that justify what Akeley did? Does that make him different from hunters?
Shooting of animals shouldn't be influenced by their populations. It should be influenced by an inner conscience. This conscience was lacking in Akeley. He was obsessive about his work, for a need to do better. The fact that he was never satisfied and always wanted to push himself further, just lead to the death of more and more animals. He turned elephants into guinea pigs.
He was, in my eyes, a hypocrite. And delusional about his true passion. It is important to have perspective. To be aware of your actions and be responsible for them. Akeley neither thought he was doing wrong, nor took any responsibility for what he did. All he took was praise of the highest order and large monetary gifts that allowed him to carry on with his sinister work.
There's nothing more valuable than life. Life of a fly, life of a wolf, life of a monkey, life of a whale. Humans must come to terms with the fact that we cannot play God. It is not our prerogative to decide who deserves to live and who doesn't. All life must be respected, must be cherished and nurtured. And if not these things, in the least, should be left at peace. Each one unto itself. Nothing is more precious than a life.

Graffic Mumbai

gummy bears

Off the top of my mind

I can't believe how long it's been since I last blogged. There seems to be a dearth of things to say. Or maybe I talk too much and run out of things to write about. Either way, something's got to change. And so here I am, writing an article with absolutely no topic in mind.
I seem to be going through a series of phases in quick succession. There was a period when I loved the company of like-minded, fun and interesting people. Now I seem content even without it. I'm starting to realize the importance of some 'me' time everyday again. It felt good to finally get back to reading. It felts good to dance again. It felt good to dust off my diary and make my first entry in 3months. It felt good to take my camera out and get some good shots. And all this without having to compromise on my friendships. Why then, was I depriving myself of these little, easy joys for so long?
I want to start being more organized. Get my timings straightened out. My life is turning into one wherein 24 hours just doesn't suffice. I hit the sac every night thinking of five things I would've liked to do which I didn't. I resolve, with you as witness, to make that change.
On a lighter note, it has finally begun to rain again! The last two days have been wet ones with at least a drizzle in the air. The cracked, dense clouds that filled the sky yesterday took my breath away. It filled me with a squirmy happiness. During the day, the trees were glistening green, with their barks a deep brown. The air felt heavy with the full clouds breaking overhead. The chilled breeze on my face and neck was welcoming after the endless days of heat. My wet shoes and socks clung to my feet.
The feeling of being warm and dry after being cold and damp all day was heavenly. Much better than being safe and dry all along.
Here's what I memo'd last night-- ' Now I sit at my window, looking into the inky-black sky; the pitter-patter of the raindrops clear on the empty road. A cold wind makes me shiver, but I like it. I'm in a strangely pensive and peaceful place. A sense of unknown happiness. I'd like to walk this lonely road with a close friend. Walk in silence, just knowing we're there together, sharing the tranquility around us, soaking in the rain and calm.'

when the world annoys you....

.....show the world your bum.

Human ego irks me no end

Everything came from nature. It's only after all these years that man has been able to come up with things as colourful and manifold. We've become so obsessed with ourselves and our creations that the few times we observe nature's bounty, we're astounded. We are nothing without nature and her plentiful. If we can create something beautiful, nature will have something thrice as beautiful. We can't compete...it's as simple as that. We just have to sit back, admire every bit of life nature has to offer us and accept defeat.

Next station, Marine lines

The trains of Mumbai are full of curious characters. When I first started traveling by train, I was the type who sat quietly (preferably at the window seat) and observed all the people around me. I was, and still am completely taken in by the myriad of people.

There's the middle class, marathi bai who sits with her handbag (and extra plastic bag) on her lap, eating nick-knacks all the way. 

There's the chillar shopaholic who'll want to buy something from every hawker that gets into the compartment. 

There's the dare devilish college student who chooses to stand, hanging out the door despite there being room to sit.

There's the fisherwoman who sits in the most inconvenient spot with her unwieldy basket of dry fish, perfuming the place with it. 

There's the eunuch who walks around tapping everyone on their head and waking up anyone asleep.

There's the loud office-goer who's always fixing meetings and discussing budgets over the phone.

There's the big-bummed aunty who gives dirty looks to all the seated folk until someone gets up.

There's the twenty-something year old, with earphones plugged in, sitting oblivious to the crowds and announcements.

There's the idiotic guy who jumps into the ladies' compartment just as the train's pulling away, spending his journey to the next station getting abused by old aunties.

And there's the tired lady with 2 rowdy kids who sits by the window with her feet up, refusing to let anyone sit opposite her.

I've probably missed out on some specimens. Time will unveil more of them. Till then, I continue being elbowed and stepped on in the mad rushes, jostling among these people. 

Mumbai is fun.   

Juhu Chhaapa

Almost every little girl in Mumbai has put chaapa-mehendi. The strong smell of Mehendi combined with tea leaves and other oils that comes from their stamp pad makes me nostalgic.  

It's A Magical World

Juhu beach is the essence of mumbai. It’s where people from all classes, rich or poor come to lose themselves and have fun. Adults become kids again. Kids take off their clothes and dive into the waves. They eat gola and drip it all over their clothes. This boy here, strayed away from his mother to jump around, playing with the bubbles. He was lost in his own peaceful world. Just him and the bubbles.

Chota Shah Rukh

I see big dreams in this little boy’s eyes. Perhaps one day he’ll be famous. The future is full of possibilities. In a city like Mumbai, ANYTHING can happen to ANYONE.

Everything But Money

On seeing me taking photos of her grandson, this dear granny requested me to take a photograph of them together. Never before have I captured so genuine a smile. It was touching to take this picture and share this family’s joy.

Gajra- Dus ka Chaar

Children growing up on the streets with their families are forced to grow up faster than those living in sophisticated high rises. The masses of mumbai toil and work hard to support the richer classes. And even in the seemingly small jobs that these wonderful children do, there is dignity and pride.

Shit Happens

I wonder what this man is thinking… perhaps he’s just tired… or maybe even bored… maybe waiting for the phone to ring. Shit happens with us all, yet we put it behind us and move on. Isn’t that what the real spirit of Mumbai has always been?

My World In A Bag

Sitting on his chapals, this man, with his bag of belongings was just waiting. Waiting perhaps for a bus or a friend, for a job or family…or maybe just for tea time. Comfortable in his make-shift seat, he wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere.

The art critic

Opposite St. Xaviers College, this old lady in her bright red saree caught my eye. She was strolling down the road and checking out the paintings and graffiti. Who can say what was going through her mind?

Aata mi kay karu?

Every Mumbaikar has been faced by a clerk or a policeman who said, “aata mi kai karu?”. It’s the laid back attitude that we all joke about. Yet, somehow, things get done. We’re a lazy but active folk!

Salaam Mumbai

This picture was a lot of fun for me to take, but not nearly as much fun as it was for these children! They were thrilled to be photographed and posed immediately with a salute. It was their 30 seconds of fame and they enjoyed every bit of it.

Just Chilling Yaar

These two children were sitting nonchalantly on the divider near Dharavi. This scene was irresistably photogenic. So often around Mumbai we see children playing, hanging around and just living their lives without a care in the world. It really makes you realize that there’s a lot to admire about the spirit of this city and its people.

"LOL" material

The following is the very important message printed on the cover of a children's plastic scale. I just can't get over this:

" Matters Needing Attention:

1) This product is easy to burning, aloof the high temperature please, because maybe beget any danger and the product's definition distort.

2) The product only befit measure and study, unable to do other definition's measure.

3) Needed the paterfamilias accompany, if the children haven't 3 years. "

It was a dark and stormy night...

The following is what I typed out on my grandfather's old typewriter. I've always loved using it. It has been years since I used it for anything. ( Isn't it ironic how out-dated machines fascinate us so much more than all our new-fangled technology? )
I just needed an excuse to use it. Here's a nonsense story- put down on the spur of the moment with no idea or inspiration behind it...except, perhaps, Snoopy.... 

"  It was a dark and stormy night. The sound of the chill breeze blowing through the gaps in the trees and the eerie darkness was blood curdling. Shadows seemed life-like, for even life seemed shadow-like. The trees swung violently in the wind. The leaves flung off branches and made for the ground. Downward they spiraled, often getting carried far from their parent tree. Foxes stealthily made for shelters through the fur-drenching rain. Squirrels dashed into tree hollows and wrapped their long, furry tails around their shivering young. The monkeys sat on their haunches up in the trees, trying to evade the pouring rain in a canopy of leaves. As lightening broke through the black sky, the startled primates jumped in their seats, lost their balance and gripped the branches with their tails just in time-only to be startled again by the thunder. They made for the undergrowth in desperation as one would dive for ice on receiving a nasty burn.

Speaking of burns, one particular monkey had received one just that morning. At a nearby campsite, some other primates who seemed in no way different from him apart from the fact that they wore clothes, had left the overnight campfire to die out. The coals were still hot. The red gleam from the coals attracted his attention and he jumped right onto them. Not expecting the heat, he leaped up and landed on his buttocks. The heat launched him ten feet into the air. Luckily, he landed away from the wretched things this time. He had run off yelping. Now, this particular monkey was thanking his stars. This cool rain, no matter how stormy, on this dark night, was for him- an ice pack. He climbed victoriously to the top of his tree and hoisted his backside in the air. His sore arse was now soothed.

And so, this dark and stormy night was perhaps destined to ease the burning bum of the monkey who thought he was doomed to the life of a red bummed baboon.  "

Black-crowned night herons

An evening stroll

silent observation

The art critic

Some of my many, very random memos

It's a beautiful world, you know? Well, it is- and you'd better believe it; cause beyond this veil of urban garbage and raucous lies the unhampered natural beauty of Mother earth. Her green trees and blue streaming waters call out to us, arms astretched to come and bask in her utmost glory.
Why then, do we chose to sit in a concrete building away from her bosom? I fail to comprehend.

...................................

What is it about people that makes them such selfish brutes up there seated on the pivot of the food chain? Tigers deserve to be well above us. They are undoubtedly the most fantastic mammal to roam the earth today- except it isn't so much 'the earth' as small pockets of human-free thickets. It's a disgrace to know the whole world is dependent on us, India, to see these wild cats through the many generations to come; and it's a disgrace because this is the worst country for them to be stuck in. Their fate lies in irresponsible, lazy, uninterested and incompetent hands. If the tiger is to survive, it must do so in another land- not one infested with ignorant fools and undeterred, greedy poachers. How disheartening it is to see these fierce, magnificent, dominating cats being reduced to vulnerables at gunpoint.

....................................

You see those lights above the sea?
We wonder aloud, 'what could they be?'
A star and a lighthouse, maybe,
No wait baby, it's you and me.

Mmm.

 HOT schezwan rice is lusciously, gorgeously, delightfully, exquisitely delicious.

That is all I have to say. 

I don't know

Orange hues