3 NOMADS

This blog has moved

2011-09-16T19:58:00.000+05:30

Over tons of coffee and Floyd, my friend and i built me a website.
Do visit http://www.aratirao.com ~ the blog is there now.

hasta luego!
A

postcards from kabini

2011-04-07T19:47:00.000+05:30

elephas maximus, i love you.

postcards from 2 herds, 2 lovely encounters.

Kabini - Rajiv Gandhi National Park | April 2011

Scenes from a lovely herd of 2 adult females, 2 babies, one juvenile on the banks of the Kabini. April 2011

A second herd with a very protective matriarch and a mom-baby and a few other adult females and juveniles.

the matriarch indulges in a glorious bamboo-dust bath

the protective matriarch and the mom shield the baby

the baby is in-between.

The wall - so close to us that my 70-300mm lens was cutting the legs off - i had to shrink all the way back to get them in the frame. they were not threatening, just gently urging us away :)

Portrait of the mom

the reassuring trunk-communication between the matriarch and the mom

In Central India

2011-04-03T13:29:00.001+05:30

Just got back from a mind-blowing first trip to the forests of Central India. Tadoba, Kanha only this time, and came away wanting to see much more.

Grey-headed Fishing Eagle, Lake Tadoba, Tadoba NP. March 2011

A yawning ruddy mongoose, Tadoba NP.

longing for lhasa

2011-03-19T11:04:00.003+05:30

six years ago, today, at about this time, i stood on top of probably the holiest temple in Tibet: Jokhang and made this picture. drokpas did their koras below me and the huge incense burners spewed their juniper smoke into the cold Lhasa air. i stood there transfixed, i remember, overawed that i was on Tibetan soil. finally.

i came back and wrote "Waiting for Sunrise" which was published in India Today Travel Plus (unedited text below). It was almost cathartic, but much of Lhasa and Tibet remained in me and, i suspect, i left some of my soul back there.

now i want to go back, the pull is irresistible.

Barkhor Square as seen from atop Jokhang, March 2005

WAITING FOR SUNRISE

Arati Rao

March, 2005

33,000 feet above Sichuan province in Western China I looked out at white and blue peaks that reached up to me like meringue and tried to imagine what Lhasa might be like. For twelve years now I have dreamt of going there. Finally, I was on my way. A propaganda movie blared its jaded message into the cabin. Awkward English flippantly spoke of Tibetan dances and ‘Chinese culture on show’ in Tibet. An in-flight magazine in stiff, formal, equally awkward language referred to the ‘peaceful liberation of Tibet’ more than once. Statistics told a different story, I thought to myself closing my eyes - 1.2 million Tibetans killed, only 65 monasteries remaining while several thousand were destroyed … We dipped suddenly below the clouds and a glimpse of Tibet shook me from my musings. An intense blue-green band of a river – the Yarlung Tsampo (Brahmaputra) – snaked between layers of impossibly high mountains, neat rectangles of moss green fields and bare aspens. An occasional lonely road embossed itself on the landscape with determination. Little hamlets dotted the plains… and we touched down. I stepped out of the airport and took in a lungful of Tibet.

Mountains embraced Gongkar airport in a gauze-like hue. Everything seemed perfect when I felt something in my back. I turned around to see two green military uniforms piercing me with their searching gaze. From then on was to begin the duality of my visit to Lhasa. Golden and green, blissful and wary, serene and suspicious, innocent and cynical, hopeful yet resigned. Climbing into a minibus with a Tibetan guide (who spoke Hindi and Kannada!), I bumped my way towards Lhasa.

Melting snow capped stark brown furrows, rows of tall aspens and droopy weeping willows dissected fields where lone farmers worked their yaks. Occasional ruddy shelducks dived headfirst into the river to come up with fish, and Buddhas carved into rocks swathed in prayer flags pretended to look away. Groups of Tibetan mothers with their children strapped on their backs, made the long trek in to Lhasa, which lay beyond a bridge patrolled by more green uniforms. Almost two hours later tall steel and glass buildings screamed China Telecom at us and hoardings yelled back in Chinese brand language. Was this Lhasa? We were on the Friendship Highway that stretched from Nepal into Tibet, and yes, we had just entered “Beijing Dong Lu” or Beijing East Road, Lhasa. Wasn’t this stretch of the Friendship Highway called Dekyi Shar Lam? Not even the guide recognized the traditional Tibetan name for the street anymore. Just as I was trying to reconcile the ‘new’ Lhasa, I suddenly saw it.

Above – high above the glitz of the hoardings, something stole my breath away. White, maroon, ochre, gold, serene and riveting stood the Potala Palace – emptied of its haloed inhabitants and witness to many atrocities and yet, or perhaps hence, unimaginably magnetic. I felt breathless and suddenly realized why. I had forgotten to breathe ever since we entered Lhasa.

Just a few hundred yards past the Potala, our minibus lurched to a stop. “Not the Yak, it is under renovation. This one is also very good.” Hotel Lhasa Kyi-Chu was right on Dekyi Shar Lam (I insisted on using the old name for the road) and a stone’s throw from Barkhor Square – and was owned by Tibetans, I happily noted for myself. For 320 Yuan a night, I was comfortably put up in a double room that overlooked a little courtyard in the back. The hotel lobby seemed the place to be – to acclimatize, drink jasmine tea, meet locals and the other residents of this little, homey hotel. The owner’s daughters seemed to be everywhere – checking us in, refilling hot water over our jasmine tea leaves (that smelled divine and tasted even better), manning the curio shop, answering phones and scurrying around with our heavy 20 kg luggage pieces.

As I gazed out of the huge window in the lobby, I was introduced to a snatch of everyday Tibetan life. Nomads (or drokpas, as they are called in Tibet), monks and Han Chinese, all went about in the high afternoon sun -- shopping, waiting for the bus, peering into windows, bargaining, chanting, speaking on their cell phones (yes, monks too) and swinging prayer wheels. Cycle rickshaws, green taxis and buses plied their regular routes by the hotel. Inside, visitors checked in and hung out – all sipping tea and acclimatizing to 3750m above sea level. Hydration and rest for the first couple of days was paramount to keeping altitude sickness at bay.

I longed to walk to Barkhor Square but was wary of doing too much too soon. You traverse the Barkhor kora (pilgrims’ circuit or parikrama) clockwise around the holiest temple in Tibet – the Jokhang. Lined with little stalls and shops selling all kinds of trinkets, prayer wheels, flags and scarves, it was a microcosm of Lhasa. Nomads from far reaches of eastern and western Tibet came to the Jokhang at least once in their lifetime to pray. Some make the journey prostrating the whole way, others prostrated a thousand times in front of the temple to cleanse themselves of their sins. Dressed in traditional Tibetan nomadic garb, several kids in tow, mothers with turquoise beads and heavy silver, fur-lined cloaks and matted hair, these drokpas came caked with dirt and weathered by the elements but with hearts full of hope and prayer.

Through the entrance of the Jokhang, between two large incense burners and two tall prayer flag-swathed poles, pilgrims carried their traditional tall jugs filled with yak butter to fan the prayer lamps. Everyone went in and out chanting ‘om mani padmi hum’ under their breath. As if to make up for the bright sun outside everything inside the monasteries was dark but, once your eyes accustom to the dark, colorful beyond compare. I stepped into Jokhang with the reverence of a first-time visitor to this holy land and imagined it would be this way no matter how often I came. There was the smell of centuries inside Jokhang. Incense and yak butter mixed to form an unforgettable aroma that caked the colorful murals. Traditional white awnings on doorways, red and blue carvings on moldings, yellow and maroon walls with bright blue beams holding up the ceilings and monks in red and gold all spoke of the festive spirit that was Tibet. Pilgrims filed slowly past the murals and on to the golden Buddha statues in the center of the temple completely consumed by their chants. The Jokhang also has the throne where the Dalai Lama used to hold audiences and give discourses. And all of this made for a very solemn visit but one that made me feel strangely at home. As I lingered in the corridors watching the monks go about their daily business, I felt like I had been here before.

The Chinese have posted many a spy inside the monasteries to keep an eye on rebellious monks or foreigners sympathetic with the Tibetan cause for freedom and I found myself often wondering who was a spy and who a monk. From the roof of the Jokhang, overlooking the Barkhor square, you see the Potala Palace in the distance. As you look closer and focus in on the scene at Barkhor square, you see unending line of stalls owned by Han Chinese but sometimes fronted by Tibetans, the ubiquitous green uniformed Chinese army personnel, drokpas with their large families strolling by, unemployed Tibetan youth playing pool, ugly plastic palm trees in psychedelic yellow and green on what is jokingly called “Las Vegas street,” and you cannot help wondering what this square must have been like at the height of Tibet’s prosperity. If you want a flavor of what is left of traditional Lhasa, stick to eastern Lhasa where the Tibetan quarter (around Barkhor) is, and avoid the westernized (Chinese) parts of western Lhasa. That said, you cannot escape the large consumerist hoardings or the ubiquitous “China Mobile” advertisements over (almost) every shop.

During one of my tea-sipping sessions in the lobby, I met a spirited local Tibetan woman, Tashi. “Have you seen the Potala at sunrise from the roof?” she asked. Sunrise. That night I woke every 2 hours until it was 5:30am and sat up waiting for the sunrise. Lhasa lies above Arunachal Pradesh in India and only slightly east of Thimpu and Dhaka. But all of China is on Beijing time. So, of course, 5:30 am “Beijing time” was going to see no sunrise in Lhasa. I figured this out slowly through soporific logic, when I saw the darkest night and brightest stars outside. Snuggling back into my double-layered comforter (ask for those if you go during spring time – the nights are still very cold) I decided to wake only at 7:30am. Sure enough, dawn was just breaking as I panted my way up four floors to the roof and pushed open the door to the terraced balcony. I was not prepared for the sight that accosted me. The Potala stands over a 1000 ft above Lhasa and once could be seen from everywhere. What was the winter palace of the Dalai Lamas, it used to be abuzz with monks and Tibetan officials. Replacing them now, ironically, are hordes of Chinese tourists who come there to take pictures in front of this architectural marvel that Mao so desperately wanted to destroy. It still inspires and enthralls locals, pilgrims and visitors alike. The thousand roomed palace is today a largely empty museum bearing mute testimony to history.

But this morning, in the nascent rays of the day, through fluttering prayer flags, the Potala gleamed. The rising sun then shone on a bright red flag waving in front of the Potala and shook me from my reverie. Traditional and colorful Tibetan prayer flags blowing their spiritual messages over the wind were, unfortunately, no match for the march of the red flag with its large red star. As I climbed down to my hotel room I thought of the outlawed Tibetan flag with its brilliant sun and mythical snow lions, and wondered if it will ever fly again. Later that morning, I climbed up to the Potala and walked slowly through the rooms, my hand on my camera but clicking nothing. No photography is allowed inside. Not only did I notice video cameras in every room, but also that I had a shadow. A uniformed Chinese guard stayed at my elbow and peered at me closely (could he read my mind?) from the time I bought my ticket till I left. In front of what remains of the current Dalai Lama’s study room – walls full of thangkas – he especially nudged me to get a move on. I don’t think I could quite describe the turmoil inside me at that point. But a few months later when a monk in exile in Mysore (India) who had never been to his motherland told me that he was at peace with what had happened and with the fact that he will probably live out his life in exile, I began to understand the faith of the Tibetans that afforded them peace of mind wherever they were.

One afternoon, walking in the Muslim quarter with Tashi, I was curious to find out what the lay person thought. Praying that I would not be overheard, I asked her about the changes. I knew that she had seen much, including the revolution of 1988. She tactfully spoke of the architecture and how the government had preserved the Tibetan styles in making over the ruined buildings. I said “Ok, that is on the surface, but what about inside? What about the people?” She shook her head and gave a half-smile. The look in her eyes said it all.

The next day I reached Sera monastery in Lhasa just as the monks were engaging in their ritualistic debate. Claps pierced the calm afternoon air as monks asked and answered. This was the traditional examination that the Dalai Lama also went through as a boy monk. Rigorous examinations in the form of debates with high abbots from Sera, Drepung and Ganden monasteries are part of the religious indoctrination and this process is supposed to be as much a learning process on both sides, as a test.

Ganden (the first Gelugpa monastery) is 40 km north east of Lhasa and takes about two to three hours to reach. Pilgrims raced our vehicle up the mountain (and won) that rises almost 1500 ft to the monastery that sits at 4500m – way above the Kyi-chu valley. I noticed big black yaks perched at impossible angles at dizzying heights as I tried to get my mind off our vehicle negotiating hair-pin bends with no banked roads or restraints. As we neared the top, Ganden came into view. Built by Tsongkhapa in 1409, it was almost completely ruined by the Red Guards in the 1960s. It has been rebuilt since, though one can still see some ruins. But the spirit and fervor here was so strong that one at once feels the special pull of Ganden. As I went in, the now familiar smell of incense and yak butter flooded my nostrils as my eyes got used to the dark insides of the assembly hall. Monks were just finishing up their prayer session and robes were strewn all over. Irrelevantly, I noted the Cola wars were rife even in this removed, holy place -- there were Coke and Pepsi cans – one on each of the monks’ desks. Amused at this incongruity, I walked into the main sanctum to find the throne of the Tsongkhapa and the Dalai Lama’s yellow hat while monks filed out. Inside the tomb of the Tsongkhapa, monks washed a sand mandala away to symbolize impermanence. The chorten there now only holds remnants (parts of the skull) of the Tsongkhapa’s body that was destroyed by the Red Guards.

Everywhere festivity and color pervaded, but sinister history still hung about like a silent ghost. Stepping outside to clear my head, I suddenly heard loud tuneful singing. I tried to follow the voices down into the valley but they seemed to be out of reach. And then on a tiny terrace of a traditional house way below me, I saw a group of women in traditional Tibetan garb sitting in a circle and singing. Just outside that house was a water truck from which monks, children and women were filling pails. And here, far away from Lhasa in this little visited monastery (by foreigners) I felt I had experienced what everyday Tibet before the Chinese invasion must have been like.

Back in the hotel more everyday life but on a more somber level awaited me. I met the group One HEART which works in Tibet to improve the maternal health of Tibetans in remote and rural areas. Statistics of maternal and infant mortality in Tibet are among the worst in the world. 1 out of 33 mothers die at childbirth and 1 out of 10 infants die in the first month. In remote areas of the Tibetan plateau awareness is low and barriers to access of healthcare and nutrition are many. These people were out there training traditional midwives and increasing the knowledge of prefecture doctors, along with educating mothers. I walked out with one of them and Tashi into the backstreets of Lhasa and saw for myself anecdotal evidence of malnourished children (one child looked only a year old but was actually closer to four), a mother who had 12 children but had lost 4 of them and heard from One Heart numerous other stories that plainly illustrated the gravity of the issue in Tibet. The Kyi-chu hotel is home to many non-governmental organizations like Medecins sans frontiere, One HEART, educational NGOs and other itininerant ones. This made the hotel a great place to meet people who had been working in Tibet, thus giving me perspectives that only made my experience richer and resolve to come back stronger.

As I drove to Gongkar airport on the last morning of my short stay in Lhasa, my driver pointed out a tunnel, “this will shorten the drive.” It will go through the mountains we now skirted and the two hour drive will be shortened to under an hour. We would not need to cross the Yarlung Tsampo via the picturesque prayer flags-draped bridge. Somehow this did not fill me with joy. There was something about the long drive into Lhasa that increases the drama of the place and serves as a fitting introduction to Tibet. Yarlung Tsampo gurgles beside you telling you stories from long years ago that no 21st century tunnel ever could. But, the modernization of this ancient land seemed inevitable. I remembered reports of the impending railroad from Golmud to Lhasa. The mineral rich Tibetan plateau and holy lakes like Yamdrok Tso were now “resources”. China was bringing modern amenities to Tibet, “improving their lives.” At whose behest though? Maybe the Tibetans would like something else. Someone, who had great plans for his people of Tibet and was just starting out on his reforms when he was uprooted and exiled. Something every Tibetan coming to Jokhang – that holiest of Tibetan Temples – prays for everyday: the right to live in and rule their land, their way.

And yet, the words of the monk from Mysore came back to me. “I have never seen Tibet. I probably never will. But I am happy. I am at peace in India. That is what my Buddha teaches me.” And so it is with this holy land which lost its sovereignty, probably because of this very philosophy, but is still beautiful – from within and without.

the jungle never sleeps - my article on Borneo in Outlook Traveller

2011-03-10T09:44:00.009+05:30

Danum valley memories, May 2010. click for a PDF of the article

reliving magic moments from one of the most moving expeditions i have ever made.
if this article inspires you to make the trip to this enchanted, fragile place, now is the time to act.

Kalyan Varma is doing another trip July 2nd 2011 for a week or so. GO!

a tribute to unconquerable souls, especially one.

2011-02-24T12:48:00.005+05:30

she was the first person i saw when i walked out of the elevators on the first day of work in india. friendly girl, i thought. turned out she sat right next to me in the "bull pen" -- the space that housed the new guys until their lovely cubes were allocated :)

we got along well enough.

one day, a few weeks after we met, she said out of the blue, "i am sending my fav poem to one of my fav people." and she sent me this. i was blown away. by the poem, yes, but more by her statement. i barely know her, i thought.

but she obviously knew better, much better. it has been five years now and she means the world to me. one of those things. you barely meet, speak and yet there is nothing on earth that can come between you. like that :)

what is more, she is the epitome of this poem: invictus.
and what a poem it is... a staple that has deeply influenced me ever since i first read it, five years ago.

begin it now!

2011-02-15T18:10:00.002+05:30

On boldness and committing oneself to doing...

when i held eternity in an hour

2011-02-07T16:42:00.009+05:30

after several days of wild [elephant] chases on foot several kms at a time - up, down, sideways - that day i got lucky.

five aaneys (elephants) - two mothers with their babies and one adult female, were not quite 100 m from me. and i was on foot, on their turf, and deliciously vulnerable. as i watched, they ate, rumbled, mud-bathed, emerged, hid, pushed, felled an erythrina, chomped on the roots and, an hour-and-a-half later, suddenly decided to walk out and up a slope. not wanting to miss a moment, i ran -- scrambling up a parallel slope - gravely and steep, slip-sliding and awkwardly [mental note: no rings on my fingers when in field] -- one eye on these giants as they sashayed easily in and out of sight. they allowed me a few more minutes of blissful aaney-watching before they had me scrambling up yet another slope, as they decided to head into a thicket on the margin of tea. as i reached the top of the second slope, i was above them, and the single adult female re-emerged to pull up grass choosily from among bushes of lantana. exhausting the supply, she eventually walked inside to join the others.

there has been little that compares with what i experienced in those hours that day. suddenly everything made sense. watching aaneys has been on my wish list for many years. but i had no idea how much a part of me it was, just how much pleasure it would actually give me, and how desperately i would want more.

there, when it was just my aaneys and i, nothing else had mattered. nothing.

wide open spaces | four grasslands

2011-02-03T13:35:00.011+05:30

four grasslands across three continents - each beautiful, vast, delicate, vulnerable and fragile.

grasslands are found in temperate and tropical regions and once covered almost a quarter of the landmass on earth. the soil in grasslands is rich and deep and they support a huge number of creatures big and small that are vital to the survival of the ecosystem. moreover, grasslands support some of the most important watersheds around the world.

the nature of the soil and the relatively flat land has rendered grasslands extremely vulnerable -- with large tracts converted into farmland. bad farming practices have left dustbowls in their wake and precious few grasslands are left pristine today. the destruction of grassland habitats have widely affected the breeding of birds, insect populations and animals they support -- in addition to important watersheds that are rendered drained or contaminated.

All photos taken by Arati Rao in 2009-10. Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike License

High grasslands of the Altiplano in the Peruvian Andes. This is one of the most altered habitats in the Andes

The altiplano is accessed by road and rail and is @ 4000m +/-

Overgrazing by livestock and farming has degraded the natural grasses in this region

Once wild herds, alpacas (seen here) and llamas are now all domesticated. Guanacos and Vicuñas are the last remaining wild camelids. the latter protected by law, as they were once severely endangered, are the national animal of Peru

Altiplano, Peru

The mosaic of farms in the Laikipia district of Central/North Kenya. Once open grasslands, these were vital elephant corridors. Widespread cereal farming has resulted in a severely fragmented elephant habitat leading to increased human-elephant conflict.

Laikipia district, Kenya

traditionally pastoralists, now Maasai grassland has been converted into farms and the Maasais have put down roots against their instincts. Reports are that they are unsuccessful farmers and often suffer huge losses.

The sprawling grasslands in Maasai country: the Mara, Kenya

Hortons Plains, Central Sri Lanka

Hortons PLains - grasslands in Central Sri Lanka

Grasslands converted into farmland, Central Sri Lanka

The highly invasive wattle, planted by the British, threatens the grasslands in South India.

The grasslands in the Anaimalai Hills in South India

Anaimalai Hills, India

Anaimalai hills, India

haiku on an idea

2011-01-21T15:44:00.005+05:30

an ephemeral

idea* flits by sweetly

a sky refreshes

*idea = this butterfly, the Celyon tree nymph, is called Idea iasonia

refuse to be owned

2011-01-18T13:22:00.010+05:30

strange as it may seem, these are life lessons from a tree i was introduced to, on May 15, 2010. the koompassia exelsa. a lofty white-boled beauty, that is a haven for giant honey bees. tough to cut down [its bark is high in silica and very hard and brittle] and protected/ sacred in some places, you see it standing tall, rising above all beneath [why, you can barely capture all of it in one frame], defying the odds.

almost a metaphor for living life, truly.

unyielding in adversity, upright in gait, shrugging off any mold. as if to say...

... don't let anyone -- anyone at all -- define you*, confine you, restrict you, control you, brand you, or tame you. and, above all -- refuse to allow anyone to ever own you*. allow no one to dictate who you are but your own inner sap. and never let anyone's opinions mold your view of yourself.

for you are always so much more than any one frame...

* in the human context, you is substitutable by your mind, thoughts, feelings.

Koompassia exelsa (also called tualang)

no, this is not the whole tree -- the huge buttresses can not be seen!

taken from a canopy platform ~50m up another tree.

gives you an idea of size -- that's me at the buttress looking up to the koompassia (pun intended) :)
[thanks for clicking this snap, sridhar!]

the romance of chiaroscuro

2011-01-03T14:06:00.001+05:30

"Rainforest... the falling cadence of the lovely word has gathered about itself the chiaroscuro of romance."

[with due apologies to Maugham]

The magic of a rainforest is in the play of light and dark (chiaroscuro). it reveals itself slowly. and one enjoys it slowly. there is as much a story in the deep shadows as there is in pools of light. here's a tribute to the sinharaja rainforest of sri lanka. as i saw, enjoyed and reveled in its mysteries.

leaves of a climber hugging a bark

a pretty liana with pyramidal bumps

the multiple textures lit up in patches intrigued me

captured as such - mossy bark

wild orchids

this green pit viper was lit by flashlight

tree sap

ferns

early morning dew drops outside our lodge

light, shade, hue and dew

ferns

also a fern

shooting is so much easier when an ace photographer is belting out his camera settings as he shoots :) thanks KV!

fern spores just about catching light

i strolled the grounds until i felt at home... again

2010-12-29T22:19:00.002+05:30

Last year, at this time, the 962 gene pool was all together. this year, for a day, i went back. strolled the grounds until i felt at home.... which doesn't take too long. some part of my soul belongs in 962, in the thoTa (garden). this post is a tribute to the almost-100 year-old trees in my lovely thoTa.
[mental note to self: learn how to photograph trees properly!!]

the grounds and house belonged to my great-great grandfather Prof M Hiriyanna, about whom, Dr. S Radhakrishnan wrote:

the amazing neem on which we'd always see a shikra, among other birds

the mango tree my great grandmom planted (i think!)

Our collective fav: the Jackfruit tree that gave us loads of joy each summer!

the sampige tree on which my cousin and i would hang out for hours and chat.

Prof. M. Hiriyanna's grandson Jayaram (a designer par excellence) with sriram. gems, both.

My grandfather (Prof. M. Hiriyanna's eldest grandson) who is 94 now. A botanist par excellence, he has a flower named after him, i think. Anemone rauii (?)

la pura vida*

2010-12-26T16:48:00.003+05:30

la pura vida*: lying on a rock in the middle of a stream in a rainforest. one simply blissful afternoon at Sinharaja (sri lanka) looking at the forest upside down. there was a rock right by my head that dropped water down a foot, the gush lulling me into a beautiful stupor. and an hour and a half later when a voice called my name and woke me from my reverie announcing the advent of the rest of the gang, it was surreal to come back to right-side up :).

The stream in the middle of the little-logged forest

My deliciously mossy rock with the mini-fall

upside down, a metaphor for the rainforest experience that has changed life itself for me in 2010

Lianas and all.

*la pura vida = Costa Rican speak for "AAAAAH *This* is life!!"

lianas: lovely interloping, ascending, networked amazing structures!

2010-11-17T15:45:00.004+05:30

lianas. they corkscrew, loop, climb straight up, laze by the roots, crisscross, yank massive trees down, host moss, play bridge to primates and other arboreals, snake across paths and... trip you up... yup, they live life fully!

for me, they are as much of an essence of a rainforest as the moss, the fungi and the lofty shorea. in a crazy, dreamy moment, they almost reminded me of protein structures -- impossibly 3-dimensional with far reaching effects in unnamed ways. and i love to capture them, freeze their frenetic shapes and marvel at their tenacity.

Lianas snake up in a secondary forest in the Bolivian Amazon

Dipping in to the muddy Kinabatangan tributary in Borneo, a pretty spiral liana

A typical maze of crisscrossing lianas -- few things are prettier than an intertwined bunch eagerly covered by moss, Danum Valley, Borneo

A corkscrew liana, Danum Valley, Borneo | And below, a pretty spiral in the Peruvian Amazon

For a lovely little piece on the importance of being Liana, see here.

looking up, looking down

2010-09-28T00:07:00.002+05:30

agumbe, karnataka, sept 25-26, 2010.

it was a bittersweet visit. like bevu-bella. two and a half hours after reaching beautiful agumbe, i dunked my camera and two lenses in the stream i was wading through, rendering it all pretty useless for any further records :) however, that interlude sang a sweet, wet, green and beautiful melody -- like the most magnificent rainforests do. the rest of the days i soaked in the slippery wonders, with little more than my nikon monarch binocs slung over my shoulder. bliss. bliss, bliss. no complaints.

more of my days should be made of this!

looking up: A 3rd order stream we waded through for about 2km. knee-deep water and one slippery stone claimed my photography gear ;-)

looking down: i am captivated by lowly fungi and mosses

looking up: high on a bark moss flowers and life spawns forth

looking down: a little calotes right outside the research center

looking down: an amazing pond with huge bicolor (?) tadpoles

looking down: a log by the stream sported a fractal-like moss pattern

looking down: the king rests. a wild king cobra.

looking up: a green vine snake flicks its tongue as it inches forward towards a branch. a captivating character, this one.

looking up: a moss curls its way up a twig

looking up: a hammerhead flatworm

looking up: moss flowers high up

looking up: no bare barks here... velvet gown by mossimo verde ;-)

looking down: bracket fungi came in all hues and patterns

looking down: a stick insect keeps an eye on us.

looking up: not too many large trees here, the forest is just about 60 yrs or so old. heavy logging pre-independence for railway sleepers took a toll on this area. the trees nevertheless are a joy to behold, sphagnum, climbers, lianas and all.

Cave. Saw, Conquered.

2010-06-09T23:48:00.000+05:30

they asked us to wear leech socks and shoes. cover up, head and hands. there will be guano everywhere, you need to protect yourself, they said. i wore the leech socks, but had no shoes. sandals would have to do. no full-sleeves, hands would have to be exposed. ditto for the head. no hat. how bad can it be? just a little bat poop on me. OK. nothing a nice shower cannot take care of. right?

an innocuous huge entrance hid behind it the huger Gomantong cave. extending upwards to some 90m, it was high and wide. the cave we accessed was the black cave (home to the black saliva swiftlet nests). the white saliva swiftlet nests are more valuable and that sits in the white cave, high above the black cave and needs special permission to go to.

limestone caves, like the ones we were in, in Palawan, i thought to myself. wrong again. as soon as we entered, it was as though someone suddenly switched off the lights. the cave was pitch dark. there was a shaft of light in the distance, extending to a roof opening there. we could see and hear the rain pattering down. the wooden walkway was slippery and wet. a gutter ran along one side and guano was piled high on the other. crabs, cockroaches, everywhere there. flashlights were swinging this way and that, catching nesting swiftlets in small holes and nooks all along the walls.

large, really large cockroach-eating centipedes sat still on the cave walls. if nudged, they could move extremely fast. somewhere close to them but out of reach were the cockroaches. winged, non-winged, albino, colored, big, small. we cut across and stepped on to the guano. soft, softer than sand, dark brown and piled high, our feet sank in with each step. stop, and your feet sink deeper. keep shuffling, i told myself. and then i shone the torch on my leech-socked feet. cockroaches were all over the guano -- they eat it, some crossing over my feet on their way someplace. swiftlet eggs were fallen and falling on the guano -- food for the creatures living in it.

back on the wooden plankway, the railing was covered with cockroaches as were the planks. i was probably crunching a few as i walked. no tripod, no light, cockroaches everywhere -- couldn't put my camera on a surface, my hands shaking as i tried to click, the photographic endeavor was a disaster. the rain was making the planks so slippery and nothing to hold on to, i was half afraid i would end up with a thud, giving the cockroaches company on the ground.

45 minutes of this later, i wondered why i suddenly felt tired. ha! i had held my breath the whole time. exhaling slowly, i found myself walking out on to terra firma and into the sunset-kissed air. my numb brain willed a weak smile as i took in a deep, fresh non-guano lungful.

the only living being i actively stay away from is a cockroach. that cave, for me, was fear factor on steroids. i'd survived. no screams, no squeals.

nothing a good shower could not take care of, right? you bet.

Poster Series, Borneo

2010-06-09T17:54:00.001+05:30

On your bark, get set, grow!

2010-06-02T20:04:00.003+05:30

Borneo barks were a treat. i spent so many trail-moments getting down on my knees "eye-level, eye-level!" :) and marveling at the fungi, mosses, ferns, climbers, creepers, and lianas. this post is devoted to all of the above, but the last. that one deserves a post by itself. As does the life supported by leaf litter.

what's captured here pales in comparison to the fragile beauty of the real thing -- or even the memory of it. the wetness of the rainforest and the freshness of it was the essence that a bark absorbed and reflected in supporting so many different life-forms.

Lovely interplay of green and sun. BRL, Danum Valley, Borneo

I just wanted to lean against these buttresses and hear the tree's heart beat. A little climber took that opportunity

Orchid on a tree branch. Taken from the canopy walk, BRL. Danum Valley, Borneo

Rainforest Chiaroscuro. A pepper vine growing on a branch. Coffin trail, Danum Valley primary forest.

Pretty tutus? One of myriad fungii -- on a fallen log, West Trail, Danum Valley, Borneo.

Life finds a way... even on a stump.

Just outside the Field Center, Danum Valley, Borneo

What a pretty pattern the ivy made on the variegated bark. Danum Valley, Borneo

I could spend all day with these fungii. Apparently 600,000 species in Borneo alone.

This reminded me of ballet dancers. Pink and dainty, on a fallen log.

Can you smell the wetness?

No, not coral. fungi on bark. Fallen logs were one of the richest sources of life on the forest floor.

The textures, the patterns, the wetness -- bliss.

A fern is one of the most beautiful creatures on earth, according to me. And this one, wet, green and defying gravity captivated me.

two lantern bugs, a gecko, lichen and a lovely tree bark.

This fallen log was on the Argus chase. I could have spent much longer soaking in its richness.

The rainforest. pinnacle of beauty. once lost, it takes a patch of moss on a canopy tree, for example, decades and decades to regenerate. imagine bringing back a forest ecosystem with all its players.

another mist, another magical moment

2010-06-01T18:45:00.002+05:30

Imagine this. A narrow ledge of a walkway. A drop of some 300ft to your left and a rock face equally sheer jostling for elbow room on your right. Walking non-stop for a few hours and the knees were slightly wobbly -- or was that a result of the exquisite beauty all around? And then from way below came the mist to accompany the slowly gathering cold darkness. Camera clutched in one hand, steadying myself with the other, i tried to hurry. Until i looked up.

Like two ghosts out of the mist came these soaring black eagles. Unhurried and graceful they circled around each other and disapparated just as suddenly as they'd apparated. The imminent darkness became irrelevant. the ledge was wide enough now for an elephant to dance on. i stood transfixed. leaning against the rock face i wished them back so i could enjoy the symphony a little longer.

Just as i was about to move on, one appeared again. i raised my camera. a few frames later, i simply stood there letting it all soak in. then bowed my head in reverence and walked on.

Chasing Argus*

2010-05-31T17:49:00.009+05:30

"What's that call?" I asked as we reached the field center. "Cicadas" was the usual answer. The forest was full of different sounds. The wooo woo woo wo wo wo wo wo of a gibbon, the myriad calls of cicadas, the occasional call of an elusive hornbill, red leaf-monkeys -- the list was endless. the calls, always a pleasure to hear.

Come morning, the answer was different. "Argus," Divya said. "aah," i feigned with a knowledgeable sage nod. We were out trekking, climbing an impossibly high canopy platform and trekking some more. That sound was loud and close by. Argus. i told myself. Mental note: got to go and check up what it is -- discreetly -- sometime.

Borneo Field Guide to the rescue and it was all clear that evening. Argus. wow.

the next morning, after breakfast, i could not wait to get out on the West Trail. those trails were enchanting -- like lost fairy lands with treasures everywhere. Mike, a researcher, was to lead us. It was all very mysterious. "Shhhh..." he kept saying and we plodded along in silence -- that is as silent as our raucous group could manage to be. Someone or the other always ended up flouting rules and either guffawing or yelling out to another and drawing frowns from our fearless leaders. Soon the rain of the previous night made the going slippery and concentration stole our tongues.

Slick leaf litter over thick clay soil. Planks over streams covered in moss. Recipes for a nice slip-sliding moment, should your sandals have less than stellar treads. Mike hurried along on the "coffin trail" and kept beckoning us to follow apace. That sound again... Argus. It was somewhere in the forest ahead. We were headed there i realized s-l-o-w-l-y. We were tracking Argus!

suddenly, just as we crested a hump in the trail, mike hunched like someone telling you a secret does. A finger to his lips, he asked the "photographers" to go ahead. Ummm... that is 9/10 of us! we inched forward... in the clearing right up ahead, was Argus. Resplendent Argus. Standing 4 feet tall, blue-headed, spiky haired Argus. him of lovely ocelli and frilly tail feathers. Calling out for his mate. Lekking ground prepped and feathers preened. Dance routine in mind (where apparently he flares his lovely feathers full of eyespots and hides his own eyes behind them, looking out at her).

Great Argus Pheasant (Argusianus argus)**, May 2010, Borneo

And then we had arrived and preempted his performance. Swishing this way and that, unsure whether to leave or stay, he gave us 30 seconds and then strutted off. Argus. wow.

Six of us had seen him, four had been a little too far behind. They stayed back in the hope Argus would return (he did not) and we took off following another mating call. "We go 500 yards, then make right turn. then climb to see another lekking ground." Mike in his thick East Timori accent. You bet, let's chase.

Life... everywhere. A new shoot on a climber.

Aah this chase was everything a wet, thick, primary rainforest should offer. The enormity, the minuteness, the life at every level in between. the climbers, the lianas, the mosses and ferns, the ivy (ficus, no less!), the molts, the slush and the lush... and my favorites, the fungi!

A white rimmed black fungus on the forest floor.

And we trampled slip-sliding away with as much dignity as we could salvage, following THE CALL. climb, climb, climb, step over HUGE fallen log, cross creaky wooden mossy plank? ditch the plank, wade through the stream. climb, climb, climb...

There he was displaying on a log! wait...! But Argus had a mind of his own. And eyes for only her (they are monogamous birds.) he turned on his heels and was gone.

Argus 1, Argus2, what a lovely day. Want to apologize.... and thank you!
(and a big thank you to Mike too for the botany, the wonderful tracking and the infectious enthusiasm.)

*Argus is a hundred-eyed giant in Greek mythology. Named thus by Linnaeus in reference to the eyes-like pattern on its wings (Wikipedia).
** The pheasant is listed as NT (near threatened) acc to IUCN, and on Appendix II of CITES)

Here's looking at you, kid!

2010-05-29T21:41:00.000+05:30

Water monitor up on a tree overhanging the river. we were in a boat right under it. and it looked at us.

la lechuza magnifica -- Buffy fish owl. night cruise, Sukau, Borneo. We had one more of these magnificent creatures in our Danum Valley research center. beautiful creature...

A beautiful Oriental Pied Hornbill -- the casque that looks so unwieldy, is actually hollow. Sukau, Borneo

A pig-tailed macaque with liquid-hazel eyes was getting a lice check upside down ;-) and was grunting away. Sukau, Borneo.

Soulful eyes on the old man of the forest -- orangutan which gorged on dillenias near our lodge. Danum Valley, Borneo.

A water monitor slides gracefully over a log and in to water testing the temp with its blue-pink tongue. Sukau, Borneo.

A scarlet-chested trogon with blue eyelids! Spotted on the way out of Danum Valley.

Nesting Whiskered Tree Swift, en route to BRL, Danum Valley, Borneo.

like no other feeling

2010-05-28T20:49:00.008+05:30

The lovely Koompassia Excelsa, catching the first rays of light on May 20, 2010.

dhuaan dhuaan tha woh samaan

yahaan wahaan jaane kahan

tuu aur main kahin mile the pehele

dekha tujhe toh dil ne kaha
....

tera mujhse hai pehele ka naata koi

yuun hi nahin dil lubhaata koi
....
dekho abhi khona nahin
kabhi judaa hona nahin
abke yuun hi mile rahenge donon
waada raha yeh iss shyaam ka

i think i drove my room mate and people two rooms down nuts by singing this over and over. but it was an overpowering, consuming feeling, whenever i saw these wonderful sentinels of time.

Thud!

2010-05-26T18:22:00.006+05:30

[Bornean orangutan in Sepilok Orang Reserve]

When this little fellow peeked over the nest he had just made out of leafy branches, my heart lurched knowing what was at stake.

Home to the only great ape of Asia, the orangutan, the Bornean rainforests are a biodiversity hotspot. The oldest rainforest in the world (older than the Amazon) is home also to one of the rarest cats in the world -- the Bornean clouded leopard. 3000 species of trees, 15,000 species of plants, over 200 species of birds, some 600,000 species of fungi, countless ferns, mosses, ants... the list goes on...

And I landed with a THUD, from where i was afloat on a high, when we drove out of beautiful Danum Valley. For all is not well. This dream of mist-pools in forests and skyward trees, apes, cats and myriad creatures -- not to speak of the lives and livelihood of indigenous people -- is in grave danger.

[Aerial shot of clearing for palm plantations. the neat rows in the foreground are all palm]

Miles and miles and miles of nothing but palm oil plantations. Yes, i had read about it. Yes, i had seen photos. Yes, i knew the threat. But still -- the stark contrast of the magic of the rainforest with the grim reality of the onslaught of monoculture, put a lump in my throat that would not go away.

The insatiable appetite for palm oil has encroached heavily in to rainforests, denuding the land and clear-felling ever more rich forests in favor of palms. Indonesia and Malaysia together account for 80% of the world's palm oil production. And the demand is only increasing. At the current accelerated rate, UNEP estimates severe degradation of the rainforests in Borneo in the next few years.

“In the end we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught.” Baba Dioum, Senegalese Poet/ Environmentalist.

Misty-eyed and wistful about mist-pools.

2010-05-26T09:12:00.002+05:30

One early morning in Borneo... old forest in mist-pools. that was one magical morning.

It was easy waking up at 4:15AM. The last day in Danum Valley and I did not want to miss a thing. A quick shower (my many showers were a source of constant amusement in the group) and we were all out by the 4WDs. Observation tower, we were told. OK. we had no idea what it was going to be. The forests around us were swathed in mist and we climbed our way up a mountain just as the sky was beginning to get an indigo-purple hue that announced pre-dawn. I ran up the stairs to the observation deck and gaped at the scene before me. Mist pools galore, the odd tree clumps peeking out as the mist ebbed and flowed around the forest. Constantly shifting. No two seconds held the same scene. Triggers and tripods everywhere, picking my way between them I took it all in through lens and lungs.

And then came the idea to climb the impossibly tall climate observation tower to our right... imagine a cell phone tower, double it in height. A sheer vertical ladder went up some 50m (150 ft). nothing on either side, rungs some half a meter apart. one slip and you were history. Looking straight up the ladder my heart sank. "Divya, you go first." She did and all i needed was her "you must come up here," and i was up the 50m in a trice. If the scene from the first observation deck took my breath away, the sight from up here (we were waaaay higher than the first deck now) had me breathing out very s-l-o-w-l-y. and grinning like a cheshire cat.

No trees, no poles, no stumps, nothing in the way. we were above it all. and below us the drama of the newborn day was unfolding. The emergent layer was just catching the first rays of the sun. Bare, long white barks and bright red dipterocarp seeds were just revealing themselves in pristine glory. the mist was catching the pink of the nascent rays and lifting, shifting. and i thank divya a million times a day, even now.

i held that moment, that scene, that freshness in my mind. it was not to be trifled with. this was life. pura vida.

la pura vida

2010-05-25T22:31:00.001+05:30

A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.
~ Lao Tzu

And so it was in the week in Borneo. there was no "destination" to reach-- the journey was it everyday. and what a journey it was. i felt every second. aware. awake. wide-eyed, open-armed (and open-mouthed too!). in the now. it was an intensely personal experience that touched me deeply and has left me replete.

Early one morning in Islamic Cairo

2010-04-16T14:49:00.002+05:30

Deogarh, Rajasthan, 2006

2006-11-07T00:30:00.000+05:30

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

Pali, Rajasthan, 2006

2006-11-07T00:29:00.001+05:30

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

Jalebi maker with beedi, Deogarh, Rajasthan, 2006

2006-11-07T00:29:00.000+05:30

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-07T00:28:00.001+05:30

Ravanhatha player, Jaisalmer fort, Rajasthan, 2006

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-07T00:27:00.000+05:30

Flowerseller, Deogarh, Rajasthan, 2006

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-07T00:26:00.000+05:30

seventy year-old Chinese man in Xian's Grand Mausoleum. Xian, China, 2006

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-07T00:25:00.001+05:30

pensive Sanjana by the biggest single piece of silver in the world. Jaipur, 2006

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

supper on the streets of Xian's Muslim quarter. Xian, China, 2006

2006-11-07T00:25:00.000+05:30

Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:15:00.000+05:30

This man had amazing resolve and would not smile despite the attempts of a handful of friends around him. And i thank him for that ;)
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:08:00.000+05:30

Blue and Gold inside the Jaisalmer fort
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:07:00.000+05:30

Another shot of the Mehrangarh facade
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:06:00.001+05:30

Jagmandir Palace is said to have inspired Shah Jahan some in his idea of the Taj... on Lake Pichola in Udaipur
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:06:00.000+05:30

The captivating Mehrangarh fort of Jodhpur -- i couldn't get enough of this one.
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:05:00.000+05:30

A shy flower seller in the little market at Deogarh
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:04:00.000+05:30

Jaisalmer's living fort... the golden city's crown shines in the dipping sun
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T16:03:00.000+05:30

The blue brahmin houses of old Jodhpur city as seen from the majestic Mehrangarh fort
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

2006-11-02T15:48:00.000+05:30

On the Sam dunes outside Jaisalmer... camel rider at sunset
Click to enlarge. Copyright Arati Rao 2006

confessions of a chronic weirdo

2006-06-29T06:20:00.001+05:30

Ok, have fun :)

I have a weird theory. every human looks like some animal. and thus springs this incurable tendency to observe and not given up until i liken everyone i come across to some animal or the other. Not behavior, not mannerisms -- just the face. Thus, my friends and relatives include bushbabies, sheep, cows, rabbits, lions, hawks, sparrows, squirrels and even sloths. so next time you see me looking thoughtfully at you,... :) Oh and dont bother asking me who you look like, i never tell anyone to their face ;)
My olfactory senses are a tad too heightened. And i associate smells with occasions, thoughts, feelings, people. i remember perfumes people wear [oh, and BO as well :(]. and each time a relevant whiff comes my way, i remember things. Some unpleasant, some nice... depends on the nose :)
On the subject of noses, i have a pretty large and ugly one [hey cyrano, i hear ya!] -- and i study others in detail. in a boring meeting, if i already know what animal each participant is, i look at their noses. when seen in isolation, the nose is a pretty funny creature. and no two are alike. and when i see some, i burst out laughing... and once i start giggling, hard to stop me. Noses have put me in awkward situations once too often ;)
Androtisophobia: i suffer from this. it is the fear of getting into lifts (elevators for you american firangs ;)) that are filled with men. happens regularly in intel india and, as a result, i now dread the lift doors opening -- lest i be confronted with my worst fears.... i often take the stairs, especially at lunch time ;)
i love to dream. no, not dream of the future or suchlike. really dream -- at night. and i remember every one of my dreams. i escape war zones in them, i find ways of arresting a really high plunge into deep water miraculously, i find myself in restrooms with two doors -- the unlocked one i always discover after i start my business, i have discovered a hidden road route to Japan, and i dream of places i have never been to, that i am not even sure exist. but i remember them well. and revel in dreaming :)
On the same subject, the weirdest thing was this dream about a church, set well back from the road (some road, some place, no clue where) and with features i remembered well. and then, 10 years ago, when i first went to the US, we were driving to the Canyon [also for the first time] and passed flagstaff. sanat was at the wheel and was looking for a place to take a right turn... and it came flooding back. i told him -- take that right and on the left is a church. sure enough, set well back from the road -- there it was. that same one from my dream...

weird, uh?
hey terri, you're tagged! out with six weirdest things about yourself.

feeling weird today?

2006-06-27T16:27:00.000+05:30

i've been tagged by dear 'serendipity' who challenges me to come up with six weirdest things about myself... watch this space for the update soon!

;)

a view from the other side

2006-06-23T15:43:00.000+05:30

sanjana's school broke for summer hols. on June 10. and we packed our bags and left for the other side of town... another world, really. banashankari is a quiet suburban neighborhood with spacious bungalows huddling close to one-another flanking shady tree-lined avenues. sometimes i wonder, would 400 sq ft. less have made a huge difference to the house? one 20x20 patch of garden in front would've been so refreshing... regardless, the place is as sleepy and homey as they come.

and so here we are. living out of a suitcase and loving it. but it is a different world. the world of mallige flowers -- not CK One, lots of coconut in everything -- nothing fat free, where fresh veggies come in hand carts -- not cooled and cut and packed, and coffee is filtered, not instant. all in all, it is how it used to be -- simple, hard working and fresh :)

the local grocery store is the traditional barricaded-by-counter-point-desperately-to-merchandise-and-wait-for-service type store, but somehow, the waiting doesn't seem long. you take on the nature of the place... the languor, the easy-going "yen-saar" attitude and get used to having 8-person meals for under Rs. 500... even the trees seem wiser, older and happier... the trrring of a cycle bell in the afternoon just completes the picture of how, probably, bangalore once used to be.

i used to escape now and then to mysore for that feeling of suspended time... but by the sounds of it, may not have that luxury for long. the foraging IT industry has whisked my dear little native town into the frenetic world of electronic mayhem. new highways, wide inner roads, shiny new glass buildings, fewer gigantic trees, lesser breeze, more concrete, more exhaust and... exhaustion. one by one the old will give way to the new .... and not in every case will it be for the better.

for now though, i know, in a little corner of Dewan's road, in a nonagenarian's 90-year old house, i can still play a 1981 travel-scrabble with my 81-yr old dear grandma all afternoon long, sleep on a four poster bed in a mosquito net, and then wake up to her tolling a bell in the puja room, and have the most delicious akki-roti with fresh, home-churned butter...

and in bustling bangalore... still a sleepy green banashankari, where the fresh aroma of 80-20 filter coffee can ably salute a nippy dawn, gives a taste of the other side that is to die for...

the only constant is change

2006-05-08T17:13:00.000+05:30

one harmless evening in the red room, soon after we got home and were shaking off the propah clothes, i heard a small voice...

"hey baby drop it down
i wanna see you touch the ground
dont be shy mumble mumble
shake your body like belly dancer

hey baby...." ... whoa stop!!!

sanat and i exchanged pale deathly pale glances..... who was teaching her ... akon?! "oh we heard it in the bus." innocent enough and the kid goes on singing it like a musical toy that is wound over and over ad infinitum.

the kids had no clue what the song was about... we hoped. the lyrics were beyond comprehension, right? we desperately pleaded with reason. heck she's 4 1/2. a small knot began in the pit of my stomach.

ho! if i only knew what was to come.

turns out, one day sanjana's teacher was taking her potty when a 5 year-old boy followed them and peeped in. the teacher scolded him only to hear a second giggle. and then -

5-yr old 2: have you kissed sanjana yet?
5-yr old 1: (giggle) no
5-yr old 2: you should
more giggles.

the small knot in my stomach was joined by a big lump in my throat.

if your excuse to "go back to des" is to "bring up children properly" (whatever that means) find another one.

call a spade a spade

2006-04-27T22:24:00.000+05:30

i'm restless. i like things unpretentious. told like it is, seen like it is, appreciated (or not) for what it is, not what it isn't.

if something at a very base level appeals to me, i'm sold. i liked kalyug. there was a gripping pace to a good story, told with raw power that shook me well into the next day. i liked rang de basanti. the parallel of history as a backdrop with contemporary i thought was a brilliant premise... and refreshing. remember their expressions during the roobaroo song in the end? that's enough to buy my vote. oh and i enjoyed malaamal weekly. there was a genuineness to it -- a simplicity of execution that felt honest.

on the other hand, praise for people riding purely on physical beauty or name value riles me. ms rai being introduced as the icon of indian film or the international face of india is nothing short of laughable. while shah rukh khan has all the panache and chutzpah of a star, versatile acting is not his strength. there have been performances far superior to his even as he walked away with the awards. name value. star quality. ugh.

amir khan joined the narmada bachao andolan (nba)... eager fingers lost no time in rising and pointing accusingly at him. debates raged: should celebs join activists, do celebs help the activist cause... yada yada yada. the man is doing what he feels is right, or what he wants to. who is anyone else to judge or second-guess his motives? just on the basis of amir being a "celeb" makes him somehow unfit for having allegiances? or is it that he is a rich guy and thus must have ulterior motives in joining a high profile cause? i don't buy into either. i believe he truly wants to make a difference or bring meaning into an otherwise materialistic grinding urban existence...

on a different note, bloggers here are dissecting ads. that ads are no expositions of high truth is a given. they pick the voltas ad... people are decrying the "scientific principles" of the ad, the "patriotic jingoism" etc etc... when were ads "scientifically principled" for god's sake? did one dip in the frothing bucket of detergent ever bring out a school-boy's shirt ironed and crisp white?!! did a room ever fold up into a cell phone like it does in the amazing moto razr ad? show me one fairness cream which makes you fair enough to yes, go win a beauty contest?!! ads by their very nature are emotional, aspirational and yes, to some extent fantastic. their job is to aid brand recall and brand linkage and support a positioning strategy chosen by the company. No, no one will ever buy voltas in a fit of "patriotism" as the bloggers allude and snicker at, but hey -- if the company wants to tout its "made in India" image among the glut of korean, chinese and japanese AC makers as its positioning strategy, the ad is damn good at driving the point home. as for category and brand recall, it is emotional and explicit enough for the category recall and the brand is driven home like a bolt.

why do i care, tho? because my normally high tolerance falters, trembles and shakes in the face of blind adoration & false attributions.

sarfaroshii kii tamanna aaj mere dil mein hai...

la pura vida*

2006-04-26T00:08:00.000+05:30

vida, you little girl
arrogant yet smart
the world at your fingertips
you make your own rules
and play by them so hard
nothing can stop you vida
vida, you little girl

you knew you could do anything
and you put your mind to it
talent was your ally
will power was your friend
as you reached for your dreams
nothing could stop you vida
vida, you young teen

you loved you cried
you wanted you tried
now your own little girl smiles
she grows with your dreams
come sun or rain you shine
nothing can stop you vida
vida, you young mother

but look around you
see things are changing
her carefree smile
exchanged for an unshed tear
his upright gait slumped
beside an empty crib
think! can nothing stop you vida
vida, you dreaming vida?

then again... remember little vida
you always favored the journey
over the destination, remember
the little things are what mattered
you enjoyed every small moment
yes, nothing stays the same
but let nothing stop you vida
not anything, not even vida itself

*vida is 'life' in Spanish; La Pura Vida = the pure life

patterns

2006-04-04T22:08:00.000+05:30

The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawl.

Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.
(Patterns, Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme, S&G)

a pretty-covered LP with art and paul lounging on it, inhabited long, warm afternoons in a bombay apartment shrouded with reverdure. this number stayed with me long after i moved out.

And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell,
And it's fitting that it should,
For in darkness I must dwell.
Like the color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of patterns
That can scarcely be controlled.

blank noise

2006-03-08T11:48:00.000+05:30

My post for the BlankNoise Project.

remember that guy Madhav who called Diane Rehm to say that in india women are worshipped? where did he live, i wonder.

every time we step out of our homes, sanat finds it hateful that people stare at me. he stares back at them pointedly and they turn away embarrassed. sometimes he says "ey, kya dekh raha hai, abey?" and they hurriedly look away while i am half-afraid of their answer, if they dare give one. he finds it offensive, rude and lewd. and he's surprised at my reaction.

i ignore. a bombay girl, growing up in that melee, hanging out of trains, pushing my way into buses, only we know what that feels like. men, by and large, do not. and stares...? well those were like breathing. you get it everywhere. bangalore is particularly adept at undressing a girl with a look. bombay has the slllsss air-sucking-thru-tongue-and-teeth sound down to a T and delhi? old gnarled hands everywhere.

but more than the actual acts, what lingers is the mental dialogue i have with these characters. i begin to think about what it must be like in their homes. their wives? heaven forbid, daughters? sisters? is anyone spared their leers? my eyes well when i think of girls orphaned in the tsunami and earthquake disasters. men... uncles... all around preying, waiting, letching, leering, sllllsssing.

but in lands where smoking guns are ignored, i guess probing eyes and feeling hands can rest assured.

is perception reality?

2006-03-07T18:50:00.000+05:30

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field
from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
a walk on part in the war
for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
(I love Pink Floyd)

what are you thinking? at this exact moment. are you forming an opinion of me? do you know how i feel? do you know me, now that i've written so much? said so much? can you look inside my head?

writing. reading. knowing. understanding. they are all perceptions. shadow play. interpretations. all protean. i write what i believe... now. i write what i want you to perceive... now.

am i what i write... and what you read? maybe, at that moment that i write it. but isn't it one's prerogative to change, learn, grow, amend and ... just immerse in the moment? be notoriously fickle? flip one's mind.

between writing and reading lives proteus. smiling in the shadows. playing with the words. moulding them like clay. first in my mind and then in yours. and he doesn't use the same dictionary or the same experience set. why, he isn't even himself sometimes.

isn't there beauty in ambiguity?

and just as you think, think again.

mera kuchch saaman

2006-03-04T14:37:00.000+05:30

it started with something as serendipitous as a beautiful blog entry i chanced upon.

it reminded me of a ... ghazal? sher? nazm? for some reason, i decided on begum akhtar. now where was the collection of her ghazals? or was it gulzar? yes, yes... pukhraj. did i bring pukhraj with me? drawers flew open, books... papers... slip-sliding onto my lap like autumn leaves. no. no pukhraj. will the web have any of his poems? a furious, anxious keyboard yielded many hits, but not the right one.

darn. where was my pukhraj? "locked away in storage, 9117 miles away, with all your other books." Human Mind answered. how desperate.

maybe it is the milestone that's doing it. maybe just age. with me, it doesnt take much to send a passing thought into a cascade that trips over itself, multiplies and proliferates, barges into the realm of intense emotions and eventually metamorphoses into quiet philosophical musings.

and so it was with not finding my pukhraj with me. at that instance, i knew what i missed. no, not "books" or "libraries" -- no, it was nothing quantifiable.

i missed the trail of my life. collected carefully, sometimes randomly, mostly impulsively over years. like a bee adding to its hive, it all amounted to something. or so i liked to think. small incidences and instances that had come home in the form of random inhabitants... not looked at after that, maybe, but still there somewhere close... when one suddenly rummaged for them.

i missed those breadcrumbs. that symbol of continuity.

but no sooner did i feel that, than did Human-Mind-in-philosophical-mode slide noiselessly under my skin. like silk satin slipping over glass. like white on white. frictionless, almost.

"what breadcrumbs?" Human Mind queried impatiently.

"what trail are you looking for? continuity is a myth. what was, is only what you remember of it. your interpretations. shared memories. imposed influences. and what 'is' is but shimmering shapes on the horizon - adaptable, malleable, effervescent. go make of them what you will."

and so saying, Human Mind moved on... picking her way thru this and that. treading lightly, leaving no traces.

except for one musing nomad...

another year on

2006-03-02T07:38:00.000+05:30

the crunch of leaves
on random walks
wet grass, green-brown ferns
bulrushes, daisies, pine cones
collected carefully
stuffed hurriedly
in a pocket
and forgotten.

until suddenly
i come upon them
some crushed, some fresh
but all there.
like memories.

zazen

2006-02-28T17:03:00.000+05:30

i am not a lamp lighter. i light incense sticks only because they take me back centuries to jokhang, lhasa. i do not bow in front of beautifully crafted bronze and brass idols. i do not touch my forehead and neck (or chest?) when i pass a gopuram. i do not fast and i certainly do not pray. to god. i guess you can say i am not religious.

my maid today said to me "i have never seen you bow in front of god even one day." her tone was almost accusatory, in the light of sanat doing his rituals. my tone was slightly defiant, surprising me. "and you wont see me ever, not in front of an idol," i declared with a smile, nevertheless.

over the years, especially after moving back to india, i feel more comfortable with myself, my feelings towards religiosity. i dont feel compelled to conform anymore. if people don't like it, it is really their issue. praying and religion are personal and no one, not even my mom should have a say in what i believe.

so do i feel no reverence? no awe at a superior force? i do. my dad sent me this photo and when i opened it up, i drew in a sharp breath of calm amazement. the brahmaputra river valley. all the way from the high plains of tibet to the bay of bengal. my supple mind zoomed its way up to the yarlung tsampo that gurgled in joy beside me in tibet and swooped down to the depths of the serene, deep gorge of the ganges, in uttaranchal. i remembered the first touch of the icy cold water on a maroonish black sand bed. we rafted down the ganges, head upturned in awe at the sheer beauty. yes, i felt reverence. yes, i felt awe at the superior power of white water. to give life, to take it. to replenish and drain. to ebb and flow. like emotions. constant, yet ever-changing. there was my inspiration, my religion.

away from the glare of hot stars, i stretch out on a cold bed beside the small warm sanjana who snores ever so softly and lean towards her to take in the sweet fragrance of her freshly bathed skin. when i feel her cheek and the slight beads of perspiration on a warm summer night, i remember her laughter and her ready forgiveness each time i impatiently berate her fiestiness. there, lying in the dark everything seems so clear -- her wonder at the smallest beetle and her joy at the sight of her 'snoopy' and i feel humbled. here, in this child, is my faith.

when i walked on the streets of lhasa into jokhang, when i ran my fingers along those centuries-old, butter-soot soaked walls, i felt the same reverence as i felt leaning against the red stone of the 9th century temple at the base of nandi hills. stone bearing testimony to history. good, bad, ugly, bloody, glorious. history. i know i will feel that same reverberation in mohenjodaro, like i felt when i stood on the terraces at chittorgarh, or even when i stand in the archways of my alma mater xavier's. i know i will tremble with joy in the sunderbans like i did when i saw lion pugmarks in samburu. in such resonance lies my solace.

in knowledge, in learning, in virgin forests and cold gushing valleys, in a spirited child, in the paw print of a feline, in sudden pink of a stork in flight, in the joy of a passing shot down the line, in a perfect stroke of calligraphy... here lies my deference.

and i bow everyday.

piped water or pipe dreams?

2006-02-24T22:46:00.000+05:30

my latest article for India Together went live when i was away... it was an exceptionally difficult one to write, on a controversial topic that has little concrete info around it, but much debate.

privatisation of water and the water situation in Bangalore's booming suburbs.
if you are still interested, read it here.

the best part about writing for India Together is the conversations and debates I have with the editors. subbu and ashwin are mines of information and any time spent with them is enough brain fodder for a month ;).

amazing. IT is a magazine i am proud to be a part of.

memoirs of a trip

2006-02-23T21:59:00.000+05:30

there is something exhilarating about traveling alone. a permasmile -- that slight upward curve to the corners of my mouth -- seems to translocate to people around me and i find them smiling back. that then translates to a spring in my step and a general feeling of bonhomie all around. liberating. tho, i must admit that the phenomenon of people smiling back only happens in the US. somehow, that translocation of the permasmile seems to get lost somewhere between my face and the other face in other places around the world.

regardless, i find traveling alone liberating. and so this past week traveling sola, i sauntered over to the LAX airport bookstore. with a rare display of decidedness, i walked up to the "bestsellers" section -- for that was where my chosen book was, in plain view -- and picked up "memoirs of a geisha."

what followed was a 36 hour long tryst with Sayuri in Gion. clicking in irritation at the polite "indian vegetarian meal, madam?" and "would you like a hot towel, please?" interruptions, i traded in my meals (and sleep) as i devoured the 502 irresistible pages instead.

when i was 6 i remember telling my school friends i was born in Japan, a figment of my imagination -- borne out of a fascination for ancient Japanese culture, even then. i remember staring for long at hokusai's paintings of Japanese life and mount fuji (36 views of mt. fuji) and wishing i were there. i remember summer holiday afternoons spent trying to replicate his drawings of geisha ... that nape of her neck... those folds of her obi... that exquisite pattern on her kimono... the setting sun through the cherry and plum trees...

and Golden's descriptions of the kimonos in Gion took me right back to those days. there is so much to be said for an author's ability to transport you into the story -- so much so that your eyes glaze over when you look up from the book. i know i tried to imagine those stewardesses as geisha, silly as that may seem. and constantly, i found myself thinking of the metamorphosis of amiran to umrao.

for all the book built up gradually, i must say, it didn't deliver towards the end. without giving it away, i'll say this. the verve and details with which Golden captures Chiyo and then Sayuri's feelings, is lost after Amami. somehow somewhere, that magical enigma evaporates into rushed and tired prose. not nearly enough of Sayuri's voice comes through in the end. but even so, it is un-put-down-able.

traversing into Sayuri's Gion added that je ne sais quoi to my trip. not unlike the feeling i get, say, when i watch umrao jaan or ijaazat... sola.

--------------

tomorrow MoaG releases on the big screen in India. will i see it? of course. will it live up to the book? probably not. and i wont know until i see it.

but there is ken watanabe in the film. cannot be too bad then, can it? :)

four years, seven months on

2006-02-20T08:09:00.000+05:30

Feb 20, 2006
she speaks a lot, non-stop, loves company and constantly wants to do "projects" and "dictation."
she fancies herself as preity zinta (no idea where that is coming from), loves hanuman and her microscope.

of course, her doting parents, grand parents and great-grand parents spoil her no end.

pill vill pyar vyar

2006-02-19T08:00:00.000+05:30

the guys were thrilled about their 'pill.'
S: it's awesome man. take one 30 mins before the evening and the morning after is a breeze.
A: really? wow. now that is some pill, if true. I want one.
S: i have only two. i need one for tomorrow.
A: i want one.

this went on for some time while the girls exchanged quizzical glances that dissolved into giggles.

eventually, they had one each, spent the evening in revelry, woke the next morning and repeated the same. blissfully inebriated for 48 hours with none of the headache. the pill was wonderful.

the morning after:
A: can i get some more of these?
S: it's awesome man, yeah. will bring you a cartload next time.
A: (showing rare animation, clapping hands) Awesome!

it was nice seeing them after nine months. it was nice seeing everyone. the pleasure of sitting on a cool floor chatting (or not) -- simply soaking in the company of old friends -- was as refreshing as the cup of adrak chai i was sipping. this was the stuff my dreams were made of these nine months.

and the only thing that could beat their expressions when they saw me there was the frenetic beating of my own heart at the proposition of meeting them after so long. by the time i got to phoenix i had replayed how things would play out time and time again like a tune that refuses to go away. of course, it did not quite keep to script, but the effects were amazing, nevertheless.

the human mind is a curious thing. sometimes it frets and wails at change at first but then adapts easily. at other times it welcomes change early on but then longs for how things were. or maybe mine is just not as evolved as others. but one thing was certain. i felt at home where friends were.

when we go back (and we evenutally will), things may not quite be the same -- the novelty of us being there will wear out quickly, no doubt -- but for me, the value of these friends has only doubled with the distance. and i hope that will translate into more chai-time masti.

i did not get nearly enough time with anyone, being there for one short, short day, but that was my pill for the year.

stop us if you can

2006-02-07T09:52:00.000+05:30

sorry, terr. couldnt resist a stunning parallel with your life.

humans came over one evening. some invited, some spontaneous, all very welcome. anyone who knows us, knows we can be loud. very loud. but this time, truth be told, half the humans had gone out to pretend they were chimneys. the rest sat lounging and snacking, chatting and bantering. a couple prefering privacy, hung out in the balcony whispering, when the doorbell rang.

i was certain it was the chimneys causing the complaint, but no. "saary, saar. please keep vaice down. some neighbors are complaining." haan? a finger went in the direction of the said "neighbors" and anonymous they were not, any longer.

bbb... but it's 9:30pm! heavens, some humans had only just arrived. oh ok, fine, we resigned. the whispering two came indoors and resumed close-talking. the rest pretended it didnt apply to them.

an hour later, pictionary. despite the supposed calm of the activity of drawing, decibels were rising slowly, spasmodic shrieks at inane suggestions were accompanied by guffaws... and a doorbell.

same security chap. "saary again sir. they [finger again pointing in the relevant direction] want you to close the doors when you have party." his embarassment was palpable.

the whisperers, chimneys (who had since returned) and other random humans proceeded to analyze what these 'complaining neighbors' must be like. giggling, guffawing rolling eyes pitched questions at the embarassed hosts. "are they old?" "why cant they live in a villa?" "who goes to sleep at 9:30 on a saturday night?" the hosts looked embarassed and amused in equal measure and apologised in spite of themselves, fuelling more amusement in the visiting humans. and the revelry continued albeit behind closed doors.

anyone who knows us, knows that these humans were not easily quashed under wet blankets.

well all was done and dispersed, suns had risen and set, a Circular arrived. These arrive with predictable regularity after any incident that riles one of the "committee members" in the apartment complex.

"No parties after 11pm. please close your doors after 9pm. do not move furniture after 8pm."

saar, swalpa adjusht maadi.

pogo's loss of innocence

2006-02-04T21:26:00.000+05:30

have you seen the new pizza hut commercial?

javed jaffrey in his salaam namaste role would have been hilarious, just not on pogo. (pogo is a tiny kids tv network, but you would never guess, if you saw the ad).

still sporting his bihari accent "we will give you the sweet mammaries (memories)" cut to a strappy low necklined mom eating choc fudge (?) ".... and the sax..." cut to a saxophonist, but there is no fooling anyone what JJ meant.... and it goes on. the innuendos are severe, blatant and the accent completely out of line on a toddler/primary school kid network like pogo. come to think of it, pizza hut has been risque of late... even with its "wanna get fresh?" line for the freshizza.

anyways, this latest jj ad wouldn't have made the cut on network tv in the US and certainly not on nickelodeon. now if only it had not "the aired on the pogo, it was the screaming fony ed."
sorry?
eggjhactly.

look ... a culture shark!

2006-02-03T19:23:00.000+05:30

this morning, when i was driving in to work, i saw a strange sight. polyester checked shirt on scooter, gesturing wildly. talking to himself? and then i saw the extension to the left ear. ear phone attached to the ubiquitous cell phone, more plentiful in bangalore than anywhere else i've been. look out of any window at any time & you will see checked shirts with moustaches -- one arm bent at the elbow, handset stuck to the ear. plenty of them. some walking in twos each talking on the cell. to each other? naah. hope not! patiala salwars with crinkled dupattas are not to be left far behind. their phones hang around their necks like nooses. indeed it is that -- a noose. no way you can escape a cell phone in bangalore. life comes to a stand-still if you do not have one. "give me a missed call." 'scuse me? uninitiated, that means call me so i have your number and can save it.
-------
stop at any signal and look around you. all you will see are men. seas of them, oceans of them. staring back at you. wait for the elevator -- make sure you don't balk when the doors open. men inside. tons of them. you squeeze in feeling naked for all those eyes bore into your back. walk into a cafe for more men. cups are set down and eyes are trained on you. you can be boy, girl, fat thin, beautiful, plain jane, big butt, slim hipped, blond, streaked, or simply average joe. those eyes will stare. you're in a car, in your cocoon -- or so you think. auto to the right and scooter to your left. auto driver, mom-dad with kid in the back will peer in. scooter driver and pillion rider make their hair in the reflection of your thankfully tinted glasses. else 4 more eyes would stare. and not just glance, not just look. i mean stare you down. until the light changes and they get a move on (or you move on). and probably catch up with you at the next light to continue the activity. and... not only men, women stare too. like when this woman stared me down in an elevator that went 6 excruciating floors up, up, up, to my cube. we're a staring culture.
------------
"silence" "people working, please be quiet." "no meetings in the aisles." "find a conference room for your meetings." thus go chandler corridor signs. cut to bangalore. the decibel level on the 6th floor of the airport road office is unbelievable. every blue badge is screaming over the amplified voice of another.

Blue Badge 1: "Aa server bantaa? yenoo, naa tarbekaa?"
Blue Badge 2: "What? The dealer has not replied? why didnt you follow up? you are underperforming."
Blue Badge 1: "Yaav server tarlii?"
Blue Badge 3: "helloo? helloooohhh?"
Blue Badge 2: "You should call back everyday! kya yaar."
Blue Badge 4: "kitne ka discount hai?"
Blue Badge 3: "why can't you do this yourself? this spoon-feeding will not do!"
Blue Badge 4: "helloooo? sunoh!?"
and then to top it all, someone puts his call on speaker phone! "this is anil, can you hear me?"

yeah, we all can, thank you.
was this the stock exchange i had walked into? i mean the noise level was insane. and on days that sales guys are visiting and occupying any which empty cubicle they can, the melee gets unbearable. you can forget hearing the person at the other end of your own coversation. can we ask them to pipe down? or find a conference room? no, that's not polite. 'scuse me?
--------------
and so it goes. life in bangalore. frustrating at times, interesting at other times -- always entertaining. not so much kannada in the center of town as you hear bengali, hindi, marathi, hingligh, indian-english and the occasional twang. on saturdays, typical brigade road demographics go something like this: 20% women, 30% young men, 30% old men, and 20% white/oriental/blacks.

and often, you'll see a polyester checked shirt with a tall caucasian sporting green cargo shorts flagging an auto....

polyester shirt will say, "is bangalore too much of a culture shaark for you? this is aahto.... give it a shaat."

wokay, why naat.

umrao jaan 'ada'

2006-01-05T04:51:00.000+05:30

yesterday i watched umrao jaan again. muzaffar ali's film about the legendary courtesan amiran, aka umrao jaan 'ada.' more relevant, one of rekha's best performances ever. i would go so far as to say that as the hindi film industry goes, this is probably the most complete film i've seen. period films tend to be opulent, excessive and trite... or plain silly. many such come to mind... devdas, for all its 'splendour' was bereft of any feeling. it did not move me, it did not stay with me... why, i could not stay with it and walked away after a while. parineeta was a favorite for a while, until i saw it on the small screen. it lost half its kashish and the melodrama in the end had always put me off a bit. lagaan was too long and too futile a movie for me. paheli lacked feeling and seemed all too blithe in every department. mughal-e-azam i have not been able to sit through -- but partly due to logisitical problems -- still, what i saw didn't wrench the heart.

maybe it is the players as well. rai is superficial, mukherjee lacks 'dard,' madhubala, while exquisite, shows that she is 'acting.' balan and saif acted well, but between them, there seemed little want -- and then the wall breaks.

but umrao? rekha's voice, its quality and tone and her eyes all speak umrao's heart. and urdu adds to the magic. every word spoken furthers the story and every song sung needs to be there. but more than anything, i never once could separate rekha from umrao. even if i chanced upon 'phool bane angarey' which was playing on another channel. i could still turn back to umrao and be completely captivated by the story.

muzaffar ali has developed the characters well. gauhar mirza's unscrupulous ways to nawab sultan's spineless demeanour. husseini, khanum, bismillah and even faiz ali. you know what makes each one tick. and of course, umrao.

25 years ago, 1981, was when the film was released. suhasini ali's costumes and the set design leave nothing to be desired and the attention to detail had me falling in love with the film pretty deeply. notice the paan daans, the curtains, the hookahs, the ghararas, the rings, the juttis, the pile of papers on faroukh sheikh's desk. shahryar's lyrics are amazing bested only by ruswa's shayari peppered through the movie. but i keep going back to her. it's her dialogue delivery that makes the difference. how does one convey the sentiment? rekha not only does each sher full justice, but also the intervening silences speak eloquently through her eyes.

and this is a film that does not shy away from leaving you disconcerted and wanting more. no happy ending here, just a real life tale of a girl from a long time ago. ali was dead-on choosing his leading lady. i wouldnt say the same for the leading man. you need someone who matches rekha's intensity. sheikh is bland. but probably very nawabi. though, i still subscribe to the fact that a nawab interested in shers would be more than sheikh.

rumours have it that jp dutta is remaking this film. with rai. reports gush "rai is the perfect umrao." excuse me. the perfect umrao has already happened. and rai cannot act to save herself.

i don't know if i will see the new umrao jaan. maybe if curiosity consumes me, i will. but i suspect i will have to antidote myself with the real thing.

for now, i'm picking up mirza ruswa's novel. and some more rekha films. (no, not bachke rehna re baba -- i know better :))

Post Script: Zindagi jab bhi teri bazm mein laati hai hamen... took me back to chandler and the company of sucheta's wonderful rendition. I miss those days and those mehfils.

announcement!

2005-12-30T18:36:00.000+05:30

yeah, yeah, i would never have thought. in a familiar role again. though now i am in a different country with different norms. and i have to prepare sanjana who, as it is, gets to see me only in the evenings for a few hours on school days. just when i was relishing freedom and free hands, i decided (well, it kinda happened) to get encumbered again.

all those plans of adopting will have to wait now. a little at least. and this time, i will be putting on weight merrily -- where i was able to easily resist the intel canteen food in the US, india is different. intel india canteen, i mean.

yeah, i'm getting blue.... blue-badged and cubed.

what did you think?

with ambivalence towards one and all

2005-12-18T15:24:00.000+05:30

to return or to stay another year? to write or to earn (two different things, u know)? to conserve or to consume? to drive or to walk? complete and wholehearted ambivalence.

not sure about you, but my life has been full of contradictions. feel one thing, want one thing but do something else. or, as i like to tell myself, life happens. but i end up being two things simultaneously, inside and out or inside out. or thinking two opposite things. feeling this way and that.

like the other day. someone walks up to the closed car window and taps. i ignore -- then steal a glance. a kid. turning cartwheels. i turn away then look again ... and stare. she's really good. in the back of my mind i remember a report. this is their life. their earnings are what you deign to surrender. (your pride, your principles or your dineros.) i'm confused. will she go hungry because i ignored? so i reach in. the lights change and we pull away.

darn! regret and relief. at once. next time, i tell myself. next time i'll give that child. but the next time is an able man with a young child. a girl. geez. will she get any or will he get his daaru? unsure and yet willing. after all i'd promised myself, next time. i reach in again and yet again the light saves me. or dooms me... to my ambivalence.

5pm bombay airport departure gate. a little boy selling magazines. no thanks, i don't want any. i glance at them anyway. no, nothing i want. "please, sister -- i need money for school." he's fibbing. i walk away. but something pulls me back. ambivalence? which school? "vakola government school" he answers with surprise. i shove a 20 rupee note into his hand and grab an inconsequential glossy. study well. "yes sister." will he, wont he?

richmond road, 12:30pm the next day. a girl turning cartwheels. a-ha. i'm ready with my heavy fiver. she taps, i roll the glass down a tad. slip the fiver in. she beams and turns to join her brother. will she eat? was i right? did i perpetuate a hopeless situation? shouldn't she be in school? everyday the same questions, every signal offers the same dilemmas.

my editor told me he was going to teach a class in the singapore school of journalism about the morality of indulging beggars. analyzing these doubts. and how to report on it. i think i need that class.

not for reporting, just for sleeping easy. until then, my ambivalence has free hand as it dances in front of me mocking my every decision.

many happy returns...

2005-12-17T10:42:00.000+05:30

milestones i couldn't be there in person for, but thought of you all...

Suneel, Avantika, Maya, Nandini, Atul, Aria, Rahul, Runali, Ankit, Happy birthday!
Nandu-Raj, Id-Zee, Gau-Suneel, Bineet-Sarita, Deepa-Marsh, Happy anniversary!

Many happy returns to you all... some belated, some in advance.
we miss you all.

;)a

hats off to saif

2005-12-13T07:33:00.000+05:30

salaam namaste, last night, alone (sanat is ni hao-ing in chi-country). nothing better than to stretch out and enjoy saif ali khan to the fullest. if you ask me, he is the hindi film industry's best comedian. not in buffoonery, mind you, but in pure unadulterated expressions that have you clutching your sides and guffawing. javed jaffery's dialogues also were to die for.

Lathon ke bhooth baaton se nahin maante
Ghost of the kicks not listening to the talks

typical indian fashion of planting "the"s everywhere and butchering english. and somehow preity, even with a tad bit of over-reacting and being loud, endears herself to you immediately with those happy dimples and heart-felt smile. arshad warsi is the unassuming find of the hindi film industry. the guy can act (have you seen sehar?) and is great at comedy -- again, not buffoonery of keshto, jagdeep and johnny lever, yuk -- but just reacting perfectly -- no overacting here -- to absolutely silly situations. yup, you can tell i loved the movie.

the disbelief part: whoever heard of a radio jockey's salary paying for med school in a first world country and a beach house to rent?! last i heard, med school kids only sleep in their spare time, being on call most nights. but preity (hambar... no, ambar), studying to become a surgeon has time for plenty more. and she does up the house really well... but again, these things cost money, no? not in australia apparently ;)

but hey -- thankfully, the movie is not judgemental or preachy about anything -- living-in before marriage, pregnancy before marriage, abortion, etc. adults (you know, parents, in-laws etc) are left out of it and it is purely a 20-30-something's point of view. came across as a pretty honest take.

the funny part is, i was looking for serious movies to watch (Utsav, Ghar) but no one had them and Salaam-namaste came my way instead.

willing suspension of disbelief is a small price to pay for a good laugh.

inspirations

2005-12-07T08:45:00.000+05:30

there is a girl i have known since i was 6. she grew up to be slim and tall, ramrod straight with a head full of curls. with a voice like a tinkling bell, sweet and lilting... and a disposition to match. talented beyond imagination -- dance, song and sport in equal measure. not lacking in brains either, notching up degrees and accolades that make parents stand up proud. in short, a wonderful dream of a girl. but the best part of her is this... she never gets flustered. or if she does, it doesnt show. not a hint of anger ever and her smile doesnt leave her pretty oval face. she's like a breeze that walks into a room -- always cool and composed. poised with a capital p. everyone's fav niece and model child grew up without losing an ounce of that perfection.
----------
i met her at a bookstore and immediately knew we would be friends. warm, enterprising and smart with oodles of style and panache. her petite frame belies the strength and stamina with which she can scale steep mountainsides, not losing breath. shooting baskets better than guys and rattling off college football team names without batting an eyelid. if you want an engaging narrative, listen to her speak. she dresses up a house and keeps it looking like a museum with meticulous effort deftly hidden from the public. but the best part of her is this... she rises way above pettiness and opens up to let the world in. so confident and self-assured is she, she has a smile for everyone ("if you see someone who doesn't have a smile, give them one") and genuine love for her friends that she shows in beautiful ways they treasure forever.
---------
if i think of friends, i cannot not think of him. his energy invigorates you no matter how exhausted you are. and his passion for fun infuses whole groups of people. the life of parties and the most vocal guy around -- and one who loves his phone ;), you seek him out to make things happen. he comes from the lap of luxury but anyone more down-to-earth is impossible to find. sport comes to him naturally -- whether he thunders down the bowling alley or slams a forehand cross court. but what comes more naturally to him is niceness. this guy genuinely cares. the best part of him is this... even if he is down, out and broke, he'll stand up with a smile and make you feel special.
--------
all people i meet affect me in different ways and i always look to learn from the encounters. rising above pettiness, poise and calm in the face of cynicism or adversity, genuine affection, uncomrpomising fidelity to friends, an honest openness that makes you implicitly trust, making people feel special -- all these are qualities i cherish.

i hope someday i am to my friends the inspiration they have been...
and above all, i hope i never take them for granted.

the small pleasures of serendipity

2005-11-30T20:04:00.000+05:30

a chance discovery by way of a NPR interview. how many times has that happened? too many to count. i know at least one bill clinton and one mother teresa who will find fiction attic interesting...

i did.

now, if there are any einsteins out there to join me, you'll probably find Orion interesting...

i did.

one day and two finds. i can sleep happy :)
by the way, see jada pinkett-smith here for an idea of how my hair looks now.

more books... and some hot blood

2005-11-29T16:15:00.000+05:30

... thanks anu - the Marjane satrapi series sounds fascinating. indeed, am adding them to my list. remember zahra kazemi? iran has always fascinated me and her sad story made me sit up and wonder what really goes on in those closed societies. the princess series is another i have been wanting to read.

i also remembered an old(er) book i have been meaning to read and now that the movie is about to be released, i'd better hurry up: Memoirs of a geisha. on the topic, check out Jodi Cobb's research for national geographic on geishas. pretty interesting. Cobb is an amazing woman photographer who has also worked with and documented the lives of women in saudi arabia.
so the new added ones are:

embroideries
Persepolis 1 & 2
Princess Series 1,2,3
Memoirs of a Geisha

of late i have been reading about women in parts of africa who live a dismal, pre-planned existence. pre-planned by their father, who, usually in debt forsakes his daughter (some as young as 9,10) to men as old as 50,60, even 70 in return for debts owed. the little girls become bed-mates and then have pregnancies that are disastrous. they "belong" to their husband's family and usually have no recourse, save courage. and some use that courage to escape, others to just bear night after night of misery.

yesterday i heard the Diane Rehm interview on the Mukhtar Mai episode. much as i like Diane, somehow that interview -- maybe beause of the language barrier -- seemed irrelevant and dislodged given the gravity of the situation. and when one "Madhav" called in to say "women in india have traditionally been worshipped. why are you concentrating on this incident and clubbing india, pakistan and afghanistan?" haan?! the Amnesty guy present correctly said "ask the women who were raped in gujarat their story" were they worshipped? and the women in the north-east? how silly can these Madhav-men get? do they honestly believe that women are worshipped in modern society? that they ever really were? that they were not treated merely as objects owned? ask draupadi. ask any number of women. "worshipped!" my left toe.

sadly, when women bring up the issues of gender and women's rights, even well-read people apathetically dismiss it as "oh there's another woman talking about gender."

given the patriarchal societies that we live in, the day men stand up enmasse to fight for rights denied, we can be granted that apathy. unfortunately until then, whoever cares has to speak up. and more often than not, on women's and children's issues only women care.

i know i sound naiive when i say this, but i wish there was a way out towards equity and justice the world over.

which film are you? which leader are you?

2005-11-28T13:26:00.000+05:30

come back and tell me what you are, if you take these tests ;)

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

notes to myself

2005-11-28T11:08:00.000+05:30

one decision in feb this year allows me monday morning freedom to think back and ponder, to indulge and contemplate on the year, the changes, the decisions and the days ahead.... thanks, sanat.

am listening to Amartya Sen speak on democracy on NPR and mulling over what i need to do, what i want to read.

here are some books that i have to read for my own good:

the argumentative indian (amartya sen -- history, culture and democracy in india)
india: a million mutinies now (vs naipaul -- history of india)
branded by law (dilip d'souza -- about the denotified tribes in india)
my land my people (dalai lama -- his autobiography on life as a Dalai Lama and Tibet)
adoption in india (vinita bhargava -- first of its kind book on what it takes to adopt in india)
hampi (george mitchell -- descriptions of the ruins)
extremes along the silkroad (nick middleton -- travelogue on the silk route)
natural capitalism (paul hawken et al -- book on ecologically friendly capitalism)
power to the people (vijay vaitheeswaran -- the energy and envt correspondent for the economist -- book on the energy future of the planet)
monsoon (steve mc curry-- my photo guru -- need to study his work)
the world is flat (Friedman -- you've heard of this, no doubt)
eats, shoots and leaves (Lynne Truss -- a very interesting book on grammar and punctuation)
other reference ones on various topics ranging from Shivaji to Photography.

strangely enough all the above are non-fiction. the couple fiction books i read in the past 6 months or so are by Dan Brown (DVC and A&D) and by Satyajit Ray (adventures of Feluda). if you are looking for a quick mystery, pick up the feluda series. quintessential Ray, it is fast moving, graphic in expression and with curious twists.

what i am realizing more and more is that there is no substitute (for me) for reading and learning. i have so much to catch up on, recognizing that in the ten years i was away, i did a bad job of keeping up with what was happening in india. i was interested in social issues and environmental problems, but didnt keep up my end of the bargain by reading about the developments. so now i have to double up and run faster. i feel the need for a mentor. someone who has been through this process and is a successful, sincere and aware journalist. someone who can guide me or at least keep me honest.

india is teeming with talented journalists and knowledgable people with more than an equal number of charlatans. as the curtain falls on another year, it's up to me to make sure i belong to the former and not to the latter group.

mehendi rang layegi

2005-11-24T09:00:00.000+05:30

life plays out strangely. arathi (with an h) got married yesterday.

16 years ago, i joined St. Xaviers college, Bombay doggedly certain that i wanted to only study physics. Xaviers is a culture unto itself and anyone having passed through its haloed doors is a citizen of a community that connects on some innate level. but, for all that, there is snobbery and snootishness galore from some who live, say, in "napeansea road" rather than, say, in dadar.
so quite often, dadar hangs out with mahim and kanjurmarg hangs out with chembur. napeansea road hangs out with carmichael road. but somewhere along the way, as one grows up and charts life paths, carmichael road finds kinship with chembur and santacruz is best buddies with cuffe parade and it equals out eventually. but when one is 16 or 17, being from "napeansea road" matters. and being from "the suburbs" matters even more.

and so, as affinities developed, anupama, arathi, arati and aparna hung out together. like minds, like lifestyles and like natures. inseparable 4-As we were called. then suddenly, one day -- a month into my three year sojourn at Xaviers, arathi disappeared. just like that. no byes, no explanations. anupama, aparna and arati stuck on, finished their bachelors and then went separate ways with the due byes and "we'll catch up later." oh, and we did.

but arathi (with the H) was awol. until 6 years later. sanat and i were getting married. and sanat casually mentioned one day, "my cousin was in xaviers for a month -- her name is also arathi." eureka! i had found the missing fourth member of our gang. turns out she'd left to study engg in pune suddenly. suddenly was right... but, it was great to see her again.

she disappeared and re-appeared several times in the decade of my marriage to her cousin, but somehow we always knew the general area she was in. for now she was related. and relatives have a way of keeping tabs ;)

and now, 10 years on, arathi tied the proverbial knot. and once again will disappear -- this time to dallas. but, today, we are going out for dinner and "byes" and au revoirs will definitely be exchanged. this send off will be proper.

i'll miss her though. she's a fun loving, talented, interested creature.
and yes, afterall, she's a xavierite.

;)

Who cries when mothers die?

2005-11-21T11:33:00.000+05:30

here's my second article for India Together:
It's a little long, but the problem is no mean one either.

Who cries when mothers die?
The probability of an Indian mother dying during childbirth is roughly 10 times that of her Chinese counterpart. Reducing the Maternal Mortality Ratio (MMR) by three-quarters in 10 years is now a Millennium Development Goal. Why is MMR in India so high and how far are we from the goal? Arati Rao unravels the many challenges to saving mothers' lives.

21 November 2005 - Lhamu, a mother of twelve, lives in a remote village in Western Tibet. Three of her children died within a month of birth and the four year old strapped to her back looked as small as a one year old. She gave birth all alone, at home, all twelve times. But Lhamu was lucky. She didn't die. One in 33 women dies during childbirth in Tibet. Malnutrition, abject poverty and lack of any health care – however basic—plagues Lhamu's family, as it does much of Tibet. Tibet – vast lonely stretches of dead habit with nary a creature on its harsh plains and no economy to speak of. It can't be as bad here in new economy India, right?

Think again.

One in 48 women in India is at risk of dying during childbirth. The Maternal Mortality Ratio (MMR) in India is a high 407 per 100,000 live births, according to the National Health Policy 2002. Other sources put the MMR at a higher 540 (NHFS and UNICEF data, 2000). Reducing the Maternal Mortality Ratio (MMR) by three-quarters by 2015 is a Millennium Development Goal (MDG) for all countries including India. Achieving this means reducing the MMR to 100 by 2015. Part of the problem is this measurement – MMR data is just not there and if it is, it varies widely depending on what method was used to get it.

Studies show MMR among scheduled tribes (652) and scheduled castes (584) is higher than in women of other castes (516, according to one study). It is higher among illiterate women (574) than those having completed middle school (484). The key determinant seems to be access to healthcare. Less-developed villages had a significantly higher MMR (646) than moderately or well-developed villages (501 and 488 deaths, respectively).

"It is very sad that the numbers are so high even 57 years after independence," avers Dr H Sudarshan who is Vigilance Director (Health) of the anti-corruption body Karnataka Lokayukta. "Not only are the numbers from the Sample Registration System (SRS) high, they are also incomplete. We do not know how many mothers actually died during childbirth and why. Underreporting is rampant and people hide MMR numbers in fear of repercussions. We need state-wise and within states, district-wise data," says Sudarshan who was also Chairman of the Karnataka Health Task Force which made wide-ranging recommendations based on a 2-3 year detailed study conducted in the state. Regardless, the UN MMR numbers for India (540) are several times higher than those for other developing countries like China (56), Brazil (260), Thailand (44), Mexico (83) or even Sri Lanka (92).

Medical reasons

So what exactly leads to such a high MMR? ....

read the full article on the India Together website: http://indiatogether.org/2005/nov/hlt-steepmmr.htm

banana leaves, retro dance and a trophy

2005-11-20T09:26:00.000+05:30

yesterday couldnt have been more varied. a clear cold day in bangalore began with breathless activity shunting sanjana for her karate class. she likes it and it seems to be helping her develop a sense of discipline. (of course, that i get the "why karate and all that, let her miss a few classes" from all generations riles me. but then, that is my problem.) after a good breakfast of adais, sanjana wanted to dress up for a formal traditional "do" at the Vidyapeetha Ashrama. so backless ghagra choli, eyeliner, bindis galore, tattoos, bangles and the works later, she looked satisfied. "now i look pretty, right mommy?" you always do, doll.

Vidyapeetha looked like a different world. all the residents were male, dressed in dhotis and janwaaras, carrying scriptures. naamams in ash and sandalwood adorned their bodies and they spoke pure kannada or chanted in sanskrit. oh, and we heard the occasional reference to the impending cricket match between south africa and india in chinnaswamy stadium -- "match yaavaga shuru?" (when does the match start?). a more incongruous comment in that setting was not possible.

no footwear allowed. so we headed to an old polite man who was the keeper of all the sandals and shoes in the premises, paid him 50p per pair (there is still something 50p can buy you?!) and he gave us a cardboard with a handwritten "84." ok. need to keep that if we want our slippers back. but this was a study in india's diversity. and the polar opposites of our own social life. the family which is all tradition and silk. the friends who are all pop-culture and chic. could these two coexist? you bet. maybe as long as they dont mingle ;)

in a quick salwar kameez, kaajal and a dash of sindoor on my hairline, i was the most underdressed in that congregation of kanjeewarams, gold and mangalsutras. i had carried my mangalsutra in my purse, just in case some curious ajji with probing fingers queried my neck... "nodona, nindu wodave...?" (let me see your jewelry). after quick pleasantries with about 15 ajjis and some tathas -- some of whom cynically asked "we hear you are in bangalore," alluding to the fact that we have been quite incommunicado with them, we looked forward to a good banana leaf lunch. soon i blanched at the fact that rice was the main course and more rice was the next, and more... however, the accompaniments tasted really good. trying hard to eat only the minimal carbs in india is a lost cause :)

and, just as we were finishing up, a call came.

"yes, ok. two? alright. yeah, i'll be there." sanat's side of the conversation. darn! he's off again somewhere, i thought. "cricket match," he turned to me triumphantly. "i have two tickets. let's go." 6000 bucks each. WHAT? i could think of endless possibilities of what could be accomplished with 6000 bucks. times two. so 12K. wow. but the half orange (media naranja in spanish is spouse) did not flinch. once in a year. come on, let's go.

we fought about it for a while. it helped that no one else was even remotely interested. and no, it was not the money -- no one even got as far as "how much is the ticket?" just blanket nos and blank expressions to match. wasnt this a cricketing country? werent these guys cricket fans? imagine if this was manish and bineet and macha here. or sucheta. a chance to see dravid and yuvraj up close (pavilion seating)... well, but for these locals, apparently not.

so i went. and i dont regret it one bit. what a view, what atmosphere and what a match! indian cricket is on a high and the team is looking like a well-oiled machine. but more importantly, there is a hunger and a magic to the team that i have not seen in decades. or ever. which easily translates to the enthusiasm in the crowd. it sounded like an NFL stadium there. and i didnt realise the pace of the shots -- sehwag's fours, irfan's drives-- until yesterday. or the dimunitive size of the indian players in comparison with the broad shouldered 6foot-plus springboks. but all the size in the world couldnt douse the fire yesterday and dravid's men marched out triumphant.

and then it happened. we walked out of the stadium and as i pushed through the crowd, i happened to look up and to the left. a face looked oddly familiar standing beside a stunner who was on the phone. i didnt glance at the stunner but strode up to the owner of the 'face' who was standing in the shadows arms folded. "you do india proud and i love to watch you play." "thanks," he smiled.

i had just shaken hands with Mahesh Bhupathi.

we rushed on to change into retro outfits (i wore a shocking pink short kurta with bright blue patialas, tied a bright blue scarf around my head and a sunshine yellow crushed dupatta around my neck) and we rushed across town to rasheeda's party. 3 hours, some dancing (kajra re, funky town, saturday night fever, dus bahane, dancing queen) and much mingling with dripping lipstick and cocktails later -- weary as hell, we made Airport Road -> Lavelle Road in 10 minutes flat and flopped into bed.

a day of contrasts snuffed out only to look forward to yet another.

so! am i happy?

2005-11-17T13:02:00.000+05:30

six months into the stint in india, am i happy?

round one, work:
i am in my home country which lives life in the open, everyday and everywhere. for someone with a lens and a pen, what could be more exhilarating? i get to research whatever it is i choose to write on, get to meet various people with opinions as different as chalk and cheese, get to set my own schedules, go places i want to and figure out what the hell it is i want from life.

consider the options. i would be back in chandler with a desk job where i would be researching one product in one industry for one group of no consequence in the long run.

so round one: workwise -- i'm thrilled.

round two, extra curricular:
i am in my home country where theatre and arts, music and dance is there for the taking. am thinking of joining ranga shankara (local theatre) and first go regularly for plays (which i love) and second, start getting more involved (which i have always wanted to do).

consider the option: i'm sure i could've done the same in chandler, but the verve, the colour, the enthu and the familiarity was lacking -- on both sides. oh and if i was in my cube, precious little was going to happen. the brief stint of watching plays in gammage was great, but i wanted to get closer.

so round two: extra curricular -- the potential is huge, i'm excited!

round three: social
we have had visitors almost everyweek (house guests, not just drop-ins) since july. has been great, no doubt. friends -- no dearth of people here, but i am one to form friends slowly. so am still getting there. but hey -- bineet-sarita are moving back. things are instantly looking up! plus am getting off my ass and meeting people -- which is always good.

consider the options: i do miss you guys. darn. if you were here, what a blast!

round three: social -- i'm on my way to being happy :)

round four, sanjana:
the small character has had such a full experience here. family -- extended and immediate, friends of all varieties, company in the evenings -- as she wills, school is fun, she travels to all kinds of places and learns about so many things, and so many sides to the same thing -- it is just wonderful grounding for a child.

consider the options: one would have to expend many extra cycles for the above to happen. here, it just does.

round four: sanjana -- i couldnt be happier.

so in all these six months, any regrets? just one... wish this feeling of "time is running out" would go away ;).

is the sum of the parts greater than the whole? yes... for a person like me, being anywhere different (from status quo) is fun. takes a while for the clouds to clear enough to see the blue sky, but once it does... soaring time :)

how many days to prejudice?

2005-11-15T12:07:00.000+05:30

7:15 am every day, sanjana (with backpack on shoulders and water bottle slung across) and i watch the people passing by our gates on their way to making their days. and some stop and talk, some smile and pass, some scowl while some pretend we aren't there.

2 days ago.

person a: so, do you enjoy school sanjana?
sanjana: yes (with a smile).
person a: maybe now you do. when you grow up, you wont.

next day.

person b: do you like school?
sanjana: yes (with a smile).
person b: maybe now you do. i teach in a school and i dont like it. you wont either.

next day.

person a: so, did you like school? (to me)
yes, i did, thank you.
person a: maybe you liked to study.
person a: so you like school uh? (to sanjana now)
sanjana: yes (with a smile)
person a: wait and see, when you get to fourth grade you wont like it.

excuse me. but is the world ganging up against a four year-old and brainwashing her into thinking school is a pain? i mean, where is tact? and where is positivity? the poor kid loves going to school, always has. and now every morning at the bus stop she is told she will hate it.

think about it, growing up is all about conditioning. being told things. a completely trusting child is made to distrust, not like, hate, be biased and believe other people's beliefs. like believing being fat is a bad thing. sanjana has nothing against fat people or things. yet. but all around her people (including me) moan "oh, i'm fat." "yuck, she's fat." "i dont like her coz she's fat." with this all around, i wouldnt blame the child if she adopts such opinions. as it is, she's started asking me "mommy, am i fat?"

and in the case of school, it has happened only 3 times so far, but god forbid if the kid starts abhorring school, or believing that she should.

i have come to believe that a child is like a walking, talking conscience. questioning prejudices, devoid of biases or cynicism and with sincerity towards all. and in the face of this nascent innocence, the adult looks bigoted, cynical and shallow.

how long until this child is sullied completely?

on the move

2005-10-26T09:06:00.000+05:30

the rains have wreaked havoc in bangalore. sanjana has been off school (pic on left) for 3 days now (some coz she wasnt well) and soon it will be time for us to leave.

yes, we're off again. this time to the north. Bangalore - Delhi - Dehradun - Mussoorie - Pauri - Rishikesh -Haridwar (transit) - Delhi - Bombay - Bangalore. by train everywhere except for the last leg. the way it is pouring here (not today -- yet, thankfully), the rain gods might have another agenda for us. if that's the case, you'll hear from me. else, so long for about 10 days.

fire, fire everywhere and not a hose in sight

2005-10-23T11:21:00.000+05:30

just as we were about to sit down to another episode of "dwiteeeeya" -- BigB in KBC, for those uninitiated in dinner-time middle class indian passtime -- the crackers went off. too close and too many to be an early harbinger of "diwali." and so we rushed out to the balcony to see a shed next door (the swanky Bangalore club) going up in noisy bright flashes. bombs, chatpatis, anaars, rockets, chakras, the works. over Rs 1 Lakh (over $2500) dissolved in brilliant colorful flames.

what a shame, what a waste and dreadfully dangerous. the rockets went up any which way, one even hitting our building under our neighbour's eave. almost a full 15 minutes after it began, once all the explosives were spent, a distant clang clang heralded the fire engine. and then another few minutes later, the ubiquitous indian whistle could be heard. but nothing could be salvaged -- it was all done by then. a couple pitiful hoses emptied themselves on the already dying fire as if to say, duty done.

in all this time, we tried calling 100 and 101 (police and fire) and i was told politely by a disembodied and pre-recorded Voice that the line was busy. good, great help.

another day went to sleep, once more underlying the woeful ineffectiveness of indian government and service authorities. stephen sacker's question to narayana murthy came to mind - when the chinese government plans something, it gets executed without fail. what to do have to say to the fact that the indian government is completely the opposite?

what can one say?

amorphous | choices | hunt | fast

2005-10-20T08:35:00.000+05:30

there have been a ton of people about the house lately. of course, that gives me cause to observe a variety of natures, them being "in my face," as the saying goes. human nature. we often refer to it as one amorphous thing. but of course, it is not. it is probably the most influenced, circumstantial, viral -- infectious and constantly changing -- thing i know of. (is there a better word for human nature, than "thing?") and so it is, with this household.

our own nature morphs with the natures around us. but some innate qualities refuse to go away.for example, i feel awfully uncomfortable when someone sulks. no matter that it may not have anything to do with me, i feel compelled to apologize for whatever. yeah, some of you know that about me. so even if someone else 'wrongs,' i feel compelled to apologize. yikes. but yesterday, i tried an experiment. i willed myself to not apologize. would the other nature also morph to make up? no. the sun set and rose again but still no morphage. so i began to feel jittery because, for me, it was an unnatural situation. hmm. so my nature morphed outwardly like a virus but still retained an innate quality. whereas the other nature refused to morph, retaining instead the quality it always exhibited. as a result, the outcome was less than stellar.

with another incident, it was different. when one changed one's behavior, the 'opposing' nature also morphed and circumstances changed favorably. so my conclusion there was that when both natures morph, it complements. of course, the argument could be made that it complements for better or for worse.

so what makes one nature morph and one not? ego, ignorance, sensitivity (lack thereof), self-centeredness, routine, ennui, apathy. these are all mostly negative qualities. but on the other hand, there are times when one does not let stuff happening around one 'bother' them. that could also be construed as morphing. resilience, a determined sunny outlook, positivity, nonchalance and 'rising above' situations show up on the radar. so there are both bad and good reasons why natures choose to morph or not.

the trick lies in figuring out where the fine line is between insensitivity and one's own peace of mind. and of course, as in everything in life, you make a choice.

-----------

we had a treasure hunt on sunday. sanat's birthday in advance and an excuse for having some fun. of course, i love putting together something like that. residency road, brigade road, church street and lavelle road bounded the aspirations of five teams scurrying to reach the finish line.

O! i'm real warm stone. stumped most people. it is a 'war memorial' (scrambled, hey -- remember da vinci code's very first clue? something like that) at the corner of brigade and residency. most people probably passed it a ton of times ;)) and so it went on from there. 9 clues and 5 teams. my cell phone rang like crazy and i enjoyed every minute of it. the teams had to figure the clues out, reach the place, take a pic of it and then head on to the next clue. at the end of 8 clues, there would be a pattern that would lead them to the 9th clue which then would 'tell' them where the treasure was.

sanat and supi were in one team and they won hands down. they even figured out a clue which none of the other teams could. pretty cool, i thought.

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have you ever fasted? i had not. not ever. so i decided to try it one day. supi decided to try it with me. so we woke before dawn and ate a good breakfast. i had a chapati with sabji, corn and some chai and water. that's it. from 5:00 am i did not then have even a sip of water, until 6pm. how did i feel? well... i was hungry at times and really distracted from my work. i found solace in cooking for the others -- ha! but strangely, i got really crabby after eating at sun down. now, why would that be? regardless, i decided that starving the body achieved no particular peace of mind and decided not to do it again. simple, flat and binding decision. it helps when you are not bound by any higher, supernatural authority, with no offence to higher, supernatural authorities.

---------------

and if you are wondering about the flower, it is a blue lily in a pond on the organic farm we had a blast at, outside mysore. what colors nature shows off! (ha, in the light of this post, pun not intended.)

looking ahead, half expectantly

2005-10-08T14:24:00.000+05:30

three generations will be traveling tomorrow to join a fourth in Mysore. stuffed like a turkey at thanksgiving, the week promises at least some story. Overnighting in the BR hills with Supi and the soliga tribals, visiting an organic farm the next day, and catching tibetan monks debate, the day after. that much is for sure. thursday is when mysore dresses up. and the world turns up to watch. will we be there? not sure. might catch an early morning boat ride at the bird sanctuary and then blend into the city market to see how it metamorphoses.

and so, this next week, i am going on work. work is to tell stories. stories are out there waiting to be found. stands to reason, i need to get out there. what could be better?

can someone credit back to my account ten years of floundering?

living in the past...

2005-10-06T21:49:00.000+05:30

one thing lead to another, like things should. and as i researched and read, i clicked and scrolled and read some more, i found a mesh of people who seem to think like me, be like me, like what i like, do what i do. do what i want to do. and sometimes i find threads in that mesh are only 2 degrees of separation away. it's like finding a stash of letters in an attic and discovering old friends once lived there. oh and yes, all these likeminded souls are of the female ilk and journalists. and so now i have suddenly a handful of blog sites i will be checking, over a morning cuppa on an idle saturday. deepa, ramya, uma, etc.etc. ;)

but i miss flesh and blood sitting across from me under huge walnut trees discussing inane books. i miss huddling over gazpacho in a bakery on a sunday morning talking unchangeable life stories. i miss taking off work to paint pottery in overalls. i miss walking out after a play, mesmerized by bialistocknbloom. i miss waiting forever on cold nights getting giddy and light over hopeless tequila and fiery salsa. i miss forgetting how conversations ended simply because i was too sozzled. i miss pretending i was sober when the ground swam dizzyingly in front of my glassy eyes and my friends danced on chairs. i miss those thai lunches followed by sickly sweet starbucks brews and groans of meeting-filled afternoons. i miss giggling like a hysterical schoolgirl over friends' driving habits and then soberly discussing life goals that changed every week.

yes, i have different things to do now -- even more exciting things. but i miss those laughs and highs and just having a girlfriend share the joys and sighs.

bambi trauma

2005-10-05T20:49:00.000+05:30

somebody forgot to tell the author how important a child's sense of security is. bambi loses his mom. now right there i was shocked twice. how do you explain that to a baby? (yeah, for me a 4yr old is still a baby). and how do you explain the fact that 'bambi' is a boy?! so mommy and baby today stepped into phoren terrain, reading bambi for the first time.

probably last time as well. for sanjana bawled and bawled and bawled. when will bambi's mommy come back? who were those men? why did they shoot? someone tell me why they wrote this story. sanjana has been on a "how do they make chicken?" trip for some months now. and she doesnt mean the recipe. do you kill it? why? you shouldnt kill, right? right. i'm a vegetarian. apparently that's what she has told her teacher. and her concerned eyes are making me follow suit. (i know a certain someone who'll be glad to read this.)

she lies beside me now as i type and is asking me if i am blogging the bambi saga. yes, how did you know? and again, "is the mommy killed?" i dont know. "she might be killed?" i dont know, doll. right about now i could wring the neck of whoever wrote that story (oops, wrong sentiment, uh). this child is traumatised. i can only imagine what dreams she'll have.

and i still cannot get over the fact that bambi is male.

300% employee turnover, blued out but published

2005-09-29T15:13:00.000+05:30

and just like that, i am on my fourth maid in as many months. while the first lasted 3 months, the last two were 4 days and 6 days each. while i layed the first one off, the last two fell to attrition. while the first one was underperforming (in hindsight) the last two were successful equals (also in hindsight). and now, number four has a chance to exceed expectations.

enough intel speak?! i would think so :)

susheela comes from coorg. if i saw her walking down the road, i wouldnt classify her as a maid. she is quiet, reserved and capable. thus far. lest i be proven wong, let's just say i havent much to say eitherways. but i am feeling the lack of privacy big time with all the churn. i just wish one [maid] would settle down and disappear into the routine of a day.

and then to top it all BSOD happened. dead, completely, not a peep from the darn laptop. as if someone knew i craved for the welcome change of dealing with the very capable dell support (note the dripping sarcasm, please), i spent a full three days with them. Rs.10000 later all i had was a brand new hard drive that actually costs half that. for all dell support says is: you can download the drivers from the web. (haan, how do i connect if i dont have a network driver?!). ma'am you must be having another computer, no? what am i -- a factory? oh sorry ma'am. but we cannot send software -- it is company policy. those last two words are the usual cop out everywhere in the world when someone somewhere cannot help you, sorry. and so i raved and ranted at unprepared and unempowered minions until one relented and burned a "drives and utilities" CD for me on her own time and sent it across. finally, i was able to have something more than just a dumb terminal in front of me.

lesson learned: carry all your software from OS to the smallest measly .exe or driver with you. for if your system goes kaput, no one will oblige with gates' damn stuff unless they owe you previously big time -- or by a quirk of fate, are related to you (thanks vinay).

and all this mental trauma has nothing to do with the serious withdrawal symptoms i felt being away from the net. i would read this and read that (all very fine) -- but each time i felt like checking something more -- a phone number -- a reference -- and mentally reached for my computer, my hands knew better. darn. ok, make a note to look it up later. so much so, that i even rely on the net for my dictionary. the isolation was unbearable. what a commentary on lifestyle, uh? well i dont make any apologies. so i am an information junkie.

speaking of information, my first article after 1995 appeared at:
http://indiatogether.org/2005/sep/gov-bangalore.htm

all i can say is, it is exhilarating to be doing what you like. again.

just an aside

2005-09-21T18:32:00.000+05:30

at the risk of sounding horribly nri-snooty, i must say i had my first taste of amazing efficiency in india.

what where when why how?

the kingfisher airlines and INDIAN RAILWAYS (!) websites
booking tickets online
this afternoon
for our diwali vacation
absolutely smooth, intuitive UI and, guess what, the railways delivers paper tickets home the next day!

not even expedia or unameit can match that. so, in all the inefficiency (one has to experience it to believe it) around us, these two websites are brilliant rays of hope.

hey vijay mallya... how about book-a-plumber.co.in?

By the khlongs (canals) in Bangkok

2005-09-20T12:30:00.000+05:30

Sunday morning life along the khlongs in Bangkok. From the top:
A series of chortens outside one of many wats on the banks of these khlongs.
Men with guitars were everywhere. like here, outside his house or at street corners or in bazaars. These people love music.
This Thai Muslim woman surprised me on several levels. Firstly, you dont see that many in Bangkok. Thailand has a very high percentage of Buddhists, with the Muslims concentrated in the deep south near the Malaysian border. Secondly, she was in a white burkha. Thirdly, the number of wind chimes on her all white porch spoke of someone who loves harmony and cleanliness. Notice the spotless white clothes hanging to dry.
A fisherman collecting his nets on a Sunday. All kinds of things were wading, swimming and floating around in this water. An ecosystem unto itself :)

By the river in Bangkok

2005-09-20T11:54:00.000+05:30

Night sets on the river where a large barge is towed by a small boat. The Chao Phraya river is an arterial transport way in Bangkok, used by locals from monks (top) to military men. We used it as well and enjoyed jumping on and off at piers at will. Costs between 10 and 30 baht to travel anywhere upto Nonthaburi.

patterns they are a'changing

2005-09-19T22:30:00.000+05:30

The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawl.

Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.

From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me lies,
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies.

or makes up its mind. and this rat just made up her mind to change the patterns.

a gray cube with a laptop for just about anywhere with a laptop. a piece of silicon for seasons in the sun. IMBOs and ARs for first drafts and deadlines. managers for editors. green-backed monthly paychecks for nothing. no, wait. for bylines.

and it feels darn good. there is a goal and a raison d'être. finally.

driving ms crazy

2005-08-24T09:28:00.000+05:30

remember manthara? remember those mythological, small, influential voices? more importantly, remember the effect on keikeyi? turned the course of the story, didn't it? well, i cannot pretend that there is any story to be turned here, but the intrigue and deception gets more insidious and potent as the days roll on. and wary tho i am, about believing everyone (and ironically, noone), the seeds of suspicion are sown. well, actually, the seeds of suspicion (sown by observation) have developed into saplings by feeding on the small voices. yes, these might be rumours but no smoke without fire, es verdad?

turns out the driver is far from innocent. and is even further away from being non-interfering and "minding his own business." if the voices are to be believed, he has a long list of complaints in the building from residents and workers. chatting up young servant girls, driving rashly, being impatient behind residents' cars and flashing the high-beams incessantly, debasing our live-in, propositioning her, even sending his cell phone number to be given to her after she left, etc. isn't this the guy who eloped to get married to his love? yikes. we know he is no saint, but this puts a different color on the whole situation. remember my post about trust? why is it so difficult to trust? no no, why is it so difficult for these people to be trustworthy?

well, now what do i do? the live-in is gone, the driver is of dubious character. this must be signalling the end of the honeymoon phase. one thing about india is that while (or since) there are tons of people to do things for you, you tend to become dependent on them and when they lack integrity -- and they often do -- your artificially propped up faery-tale pedestal crashes into unrecognizable pieces. and so it has happened with this driver. but first i have to do some sleuthing and checking up on my "sources." the driver is so sharp, he can smell and hear things without effort and i need to be discreet. so for now i am saying nothing to the driver (until sanat gets back) and then we'll see what to do.

while it might be fairly straightforward to put the pedestal back together, the cracks of betrayed trust and peace of mind will probably show through only too plainly.

living in, moving out

2005-08-22T19:21:00.000+05:30

shanta, my "live-in" moved out today. nothing short of a "mujhe meri maa chahiye..." "bete!! main tumhare bina nahin reh sakti." and "mere voh (repenting, reformed hubby) mujhe vaapas bulaa raha hai."

here's what happened. her son had long run away from home and returned and run away again and returned, this time with her daughter who was also acting up. so shanta had taken time off to go leave them at her mom's. she returned and things went south within the hour. i was sitting and trying to figure out some stuff when shanta suddenly piped in, "i'll go down and meet prema." not suspecting anything at all, i said ok. within a minute security calls and tells me shanta's hubby was waiting for her. my first reaction was to protect shanta... but silly me. as i rushed to the window, i saw her walk out the gates and stand chatting with the said hubby. wasn't this the man she was afraid of? obviously not any more. 25 minutes later she comes back and tells me "prema's sister's husband came looking for prema, so i went to talk to him." was there anyone else, i queried. "his friend." i told her what security said. her face was a picture of fright and tongue-tied confusion. she was obviously lying. "i'll leave," she volunteered.

go, let me not stand in your way. no, not on the 25th... today. take your salary and take care of your life.

and so i'm without 'help.' prema still comes in to clean... at least i hope so! in some ways, many ways, her chattery, capable, transparent self is a welcome relief to the quiet, lying (i find out today) skulking ways of shanta. i shouldnt be too harsh on her tho. she wasnt bad, until she was bad... know what i mean...? like the girl with the curl?

and then i get this call on my cell from bihar (or was it belgaum?) "hallooo? aap kaun?" excuse me. you called me. who do you want? "nahin, aap kaun bol rahe hain." ok, i was not going to give up so easily. i was in a fiesty mood today. listen. you called, what number did you want? you've obviously gotten a wrong one. turns out not. 9886613881. oops. ok, who are you? "aapko second hand SIM card mila hai. i lost mine a year ago." then why are you calling me now? "where are you?" the voice queried. bangalore. "bunglaur? baap re. card bunglaur kaise pahunch gaya?" beats me. i've had it for the past 3 months now, sir, thank you. "achcha. ok. sorry." the voice tried calling me once more, but the ambient noise of the mall i was in drowned it out. anyways, i was not in the mood for any more disembodied voices laying claim to my property. grrr. of course, i wondered if the great driver ramesh had done his own share of hanky panky and bought a second hand SIM for me at first hand SIM prices. i asked him, he denied it, offering an explanation fo hutch recycling numbers of lost SIM cards. to believe or not to believe?

what a day. suddenly the relative isolation of a chandler home with gently lapping lake waves sounds soooo inviting. ashu, are you reading this? :)

Disclaimer: for azcoolgroup only

2005-08-19T07:31:00.000+05:30

before you conjecture and conclude why i could be suffering from nausea (see prev post), i should clarify that the 'doli machch' from the East Bengal buffet that i greedily tucked into the prev night probably did me in. an eco-friendly byproduct of the nausea (no, get your mind out of the drain ;)) has has been a renunciation on my part of any meat.

so, no pitter patter of more tiny feet here. not for now, anyways.

little elephants, little pleasures and a little person

2005-08-18T18:51:00.000+05:30

rediscovering cousins, getting re-inspired by an uncle, traveling, reading, watching a few movies, clicking, chowing and celebrating life with a corrupt hard disk. that's been life over the past two weeks, in case anyone noticed my absence ;).

have you ever watched bollywood on mute? it is even more ridiculous than when it's running on full throttle. i just flicked on a channel where jeetendra, rishi and rakesh roshan are trio-dancing some absolutely inane steps dressed in cowboy boots and capes fitted over figure hugging shiny sequined shirts. as if their get up is not funny enough, the choreography is a hoot. it goes something like this: knocking on a door, distributing leaflets, lassoing something, walking on a tightrope, pulling down the blinds, about to shake hands and then changing ones mind, extending hand again, changing mind again, and then kicking the garbage out. ms. munim, witnessing this spectacle seems to be appreciating it tremendously, though.

coorg. a pock-marked road wound its way up, up, up, through teak and bamboo thickets and into mountains draped with lush coffee and pepper plantations and the tiny locality of madikeri 125km west of Mysore. anywhere you looked, a tiled roof farm house could be seen, set amidst betel nut creeper-smothered tall silver oaks and coffee plants. apaiya estates. bucanalado (or something) estates. thimaiah estates. and fog everywhere. it was like driving through white organza that shrouded shades of green. like looking through frosted glass. moss covered every wild tree and sagged and hung from higher reaches giving the whole place an un-touched and slightly eerie quality. but the beauty was breathtaking. as we took all this in, we wondered how to get to our hotel. as if reading our minds, sudden yellow signs appeared and pointed the way to our hotel. 8kms, 5kms, 2kms, 0 km ->, it said.

built on the side of a hill, our hotel had opted for unobtrusive, traditional architecture, but was quite obviously new. an unusual combination, quite heartening. 35 acres of land was mostly covered by tall mossy trees and rich undergrowth on the forest floor. the occasional call of a peacock reminded me of the proximity to wilderness and added to the excitement and the array of bird calls i was largely unsuccessful at recognizing. (mental note to self: brush up on indian bird calls. figure out how to to tell where the call comes from.) sumptious meals spread themselves decadently each lunch and dinner, but my stomach finally protested at this sensory and gastronomic overload, and willed me into a 2-day fast. i opted out of a visit to an elephant camp and instead slept in trying to ignore the nausea. when i felt slightly better, i snuggled down into a cool, newly made white bed with a book (My land, My people by the Dalai Lama -- in case you are interested). this was just as well as i felt much better by the evening, but opted to skip all meals thenceforth.

so yeah, in the backpackers paradise, the only back-packing i did involved pillows. no regrets tho, as this was supposed to be a vacation with no agenda or to-dos.

kabini. a jungle lodge on the southern end of nagarhole national park. as the wind coursed through my hair on the game drives, i realized that i enjoyed nothing more than being in the wild and watching nature doing what she does best. and what better than having a group of people around who are as excited as you at spotting the flash of a golden backed woodpecker or a crested serpent eagle perched high on a leafy teak tree, or the fresh pugmarks of a panthera tigris. at a small elephant camp in the middle of the forest, we stopped so that the sub-4ft members of the party could enjoy their first pachyderm encounters. while the little feet hung over a large elephant cow and disappeared into the forest, a little baby elephant entertained us by simply showing up. and then, suddenly, it decided to mock charge me! i laughed and dodged it and it picked another gamely soul to chase... so adorable was the little one that we were instantly in love with it.

speaking of little ones....
welcome, dear little thaker. how fitting that you should be born on Aug 15. your dad is synonymous with wearing the indian flag on his sleeve, heart, hand, everywhere and embodies the best of the indian spirit. and your mom made us proud bearing the flag at our graduation. welcome to your life, you couldnt have chosen a better home to be born into. raaj karoge. aur karna bhi chaahiye!

other happies: happy birthday praveen! belated happy birthday to little ayesha!

almost wrote a very introspective blog entry today, but opted for a more descriptive one. but the introspection continues as i revel in books and re-discover the pleasure of reading on my own time in the complete absence of compulsion or expectation of any kind.

at some point i will need to end the status quo and earn my keep. what are the chances that i will earn doing what i love?

oy, chak de phatte!

2005-08-06T21:54:00.000+05:30

one saturday afternoon, rather late for lunch and ravenous, alex, sanat, sanjana and i decided to head for a punjabi food festival (called chak de phatte) at the chancery which happened to be a stone's throw from our house. now, if only i could remember all those delicious dream dishes. it started with amritsari fish, a bunch of other murgh, gosht, kadhis and haryalis, baingan ka bharta, garam garam makki di roti sarson da saag de saath, paneer tikka masala, punjabi daal tadkewali, gosht ka sabzaa, vagehra vagehra...

wait, there's more: a whole stall full of chaat stuff -- aloo tikki to die for, papdi chaat jo chaat tey reh jaaoge -- elco, take a page from this... ganne ka ras on the buffet (milavat ke bagaer), lassi man chaho jaisi and, to top it off, gajar ka halwa, kaju kathli, fruit salad, gulab jamun, rabdi aur malpua. these were satisfied fish, happy chickens, very serene veggies -- and above all, one amazing chef, no exaggeration. truly the pinnacle of punjabi culinary achievement, this was an ultimate satisfaction of the palate.

so, mis amigos, if you happen to be in bangalore before August 15, pet puja karna na bhuliye. the buffet will set you back Rs.350 on the weekends and Rs. 325 on a weekday -- open for lunch and dinner -- a small price for such gastronomic bliss.

oh, and if you do happen by, dont forget to drop in and say hi.

revisiting, celebrating, pondering... being me

2005-08-02T07:54:00.000+05:30

now why didn't i think of this before? sitting in a balcony, feet up on a chair, cuppa tea deliciously warm, cool morning breeze wafting various breakfasts cooking, myriad birds -- almost all some shade of green, clouds racing across an azure sky, the sun delighted to peek through after days... laptop on my lap (uh...), writing and musing -- oops and a big big bumble bee!

bliss? touch wood.

31st July, sunday. aaah. the day stretched lazily ahead, threatening to come alive with go-heres, go-theres. sure enough, by the time 11 am rolled around we had ordered a sumo (10-seater car) and set off to a lunch appointment and then to that ancient, beautiful temple again... the two trips to the temple couldnt have been more different. the heavens opened up when we got there and dumped a bunch of rain as we sat huddled in our car watching unperturbed buffalos tethered and chewing cud while straggly locals crammed under non-existent overhangs.

the crepuscular sun managed to sneak a few rays through when the rain stopped, but not before huge puddles succeeded in making it impossible for us to keep our feet dry. when we walked in, the nicely bathed temple shone golden in the evening sun as grey and white clouds cloaked the hills behind. couldnt have asked for a better setting. breaking away from the gang, i walked through the several courtyards into the bath area and circled clockwise taking in the emptiness, still eloquent, again. i had to be pulled away by the rest, but only in body. i still relish and regurgitate those hues, walls, that color of light, that speaking silence... this has to be my favorite temple to date.

now, if only i could arrange that each time i go back, it rains, clears and the sunlight lends that brass-gold quality to everything around.

ok, what follows is a rather dry account of sanjana's party. just for chronicling sake:
29 July 2005: the house started filling up. by the 30th evening it was brimming with small rainbow-colored people and large colored people. smiley faces, samosas, corn bhel, jello, snoooopy cake (iced at home), tri-colored sandwiches, haka noodles -- spicy and non, lollipops, streamers with stars, balloons in pastels, curly ribbons and much chattering was in attendance. of course there were games and treasure hunt puzzles which the kids and some adults digged (or is it dug?). so despite having barely enough standing room, the evening was loud and happy and sanjana turned 4 publicly amidst what i called a "rainbow riot."

strangely enough, overcome by a bout of shyness, she disappeared exactly during the cake cutting and candle blowing do -- much like supriya used to, when she was little. no amount of coaxing or cajoling brought her out, so the cake was cut by mom, and fittingly, a compliant whiff of breeze blew out the candles :)

i realized that 10 years of association stays with you everywhere you go. woefully lost while planning, i had no clue what this new set of invitees and sanjana's friends would care for. it was a case of "if this were phoenix" azcoolgroup this, azcoolgroup that. in the end, the people were too polite to speak their mind and they all left with "it was fun, thanks." wokay, come yegain ;)

have you seen mr and mrs iyer? another movie that pulled me back to it each time i tried to move on.

have you ever tried to sketch your own character? how would you behave when this happens... when that happens? when nothing happens? are you happy? no, wrong question. what is happiness to you? really... think about it. $79K in the bank? $200K? more? being home when little feet get off a school bus? what would you give up? are you doing what you like? look in the mirror. like what you see? hmmmm. now now. mr and mrs iyer poses none of the above, these are random musings on a quiet morning. and rather important stuff, me thinks.

musing away... on the cool breeze of a sweet day... (hum this to the tune of "skating away" by Jethro Tull)

hopes, dreams, nailbiting scenes

2005-07-27T10:13:00.000+05:30

sanjana started school. apprehension, a nervousness not unlike one before an exam, anxiety to get everything right, the mom (and dad!) all agog the previous day. change of clothes? yes. marked and labeled? yes. water bottle? yes. swimsuit? yes. towel? yes. bag? ready.

6am, 25 July 2005. sanjana is all excited and wakes immediately. an hour and a half later, a washed and combed 4 year old in tow, the mom, grand mom and dad set off. dad is unloaded at BGA1 and the rest carry on for 50 kms to the new school.

yup, you read it right -- the school is all of 37 miles from home. tall white domed buildings with natural light flooding in, courtyards full of plants, a swimming pool, race tracks, tennis courts, and classrooms full of air. color (of skin, too) and talk everywhere. koreans, indians, germans, israelies, you name it -- back after a long break, catching up on time spent apart. these were boarders, week boarders, day scholars. some small people also float around like flowers -- sanjana's classmates. no uniform yet for these characters and their class rooms are a visual delight and a huge jungle jim sells the place to a little energetic sanjana.

suddenly she spies a set of matresses in the classroom -- stacked high waiting for nap time... "like the princess and the pea" she breathes excitedly! yes, but you will sleep on only one. not missing a beat, she says, "i only said it looks like princess and the pea!" yes doll, you're right. there was no "mommy, dont go," no "waaah," and i watch her pinkishness disappear into class. a flood of pride and a small sense of loneliness engulfs me... my partner for 3 months has other distractions now! i spend a nail-biting day with a million questions coursing through my idle mind.

needless and futile. "i love that school." she proclaims on her way back. the little yellow bus number four carries my hopes and dreams with it each morning and delivers them chattering away at 5:18pm. is she tired? not at all. "i still have to play!" wow. omlette and bread, chicken manchurian and rice+curds, idlies and sugar, sambhar rice in the "school restaurant," humming "horsy horsy something something clippetty clop," 2 days later sanjana is off to school again.

oh, and with her "bye mommy," goes my excuse for staying home ;)

earful of night and a handful of thoughts

2005-07-22T04:18:00.000+05:30

i cannot call a dark outside 'morning.' if it's dark, it's night. and so, 4:20am, i sit by the window seat in the red room wolfing in an earful of night. a distant cuckoo (koel -- i associate these climactic crescendos of a south indian koel with summer holidays spent in mysore), a drone of a bus straining to pull up hill, an occasional toot of a taxi horn, a screech of a bat, clanging stirrings of coffee cups and saucepans, the idle hum of a ceiling fan, the yelp of a canine kicked out from its slumber... as the cool outside air blows gently on the nape of my neck, i ponder the milestones of July...

sanjana: consciousness; creator; creative; knowing right from wrong; gentle.
also: vivacious; loving; incredibly active; naughty; sharp; 90% angel.
she is 4 now (in all timezones). i hear her 4-ishness in many ways. more intelligent conversations have replaced toddler babble, her "why?"s now have a slight smile behind them as she knows how much they amuse us (and sometimes bug us), her independence has a life of its own -- "i'll do it, i'm 4 now." suddenly "mom, i am a vegetarian" and her little feet are in danger of outgrowing her newest pair of shoes -- all of 3 days old.

she begins school (and schoolbus) on monday. wow! that is going to be interesting. the school has sent a booklet of all things Indus. what to bring, how to dress, who to contact for various queries, calendar, etc, etc. it is a boarding school as well with instructions for both boarders and day-scholars (sanjana). almost three months of us having each other for company is about to change. wonder who will react how.

supriya (my li'l sis) turns 28 today. she looks not a day over 16 and probably never will, the lucky thing. with a doctorate behind her, she is one of my 'most admired' people. an ageless face notwithstanding, she swims beautifully, graceful, poised, socially conscious, pragmatic, intelligent (ok, except for math -- ha ha ha -- she'll kill me), artistic (havent seen a better kathak dancer & sings really well too), does off-the-beaten-track stuff -- she's been a DJ among other things -- and argues till the sun goes down when she is convinced about something. easily my favorite travel & idle time companion, i learn something from her each time we chat -- and we chat every day! i love the fact that sanjana looks and acts like supriya ;)
happy birthday chetaps.

ok, now various lights are going on in rooms and more cuckoos and crows have decided to shrug off the night. no sun yet, but all signs point to an imminent showing ;) and with it sublimates the magic of reminiscing.

coffee, anyone?

more pictures from this weekend

2005-07-18T17:06:00.000+05:30

Sanjana peeking from a bamboo grove at the school of ancient wisdom, bangalore

a monkey romps around on the entrance gate to the 9th century AD temple.
The entrance to the old old temple. ruins sate off to one side under a huge rain tree.

9th century A.D. Chola Temple

2005-07-18T10:29:00.000+05:30

on a very hot sunday morning, after a long stint at the 'school of ancient wisdom' (more about that in another post), we headed out to nandi hills. the countryside flickered by as we were tossed up and down enroute to the base. vineyards with hawkers selling some very big grapes out of season; large, rather gaudy and hence unsightly ganesha statues being decked out for the upcoming festival; the occasional bullock cart overladen with hay; a mangled unrecognizable vehicle lying in a heap beside an unmanned railway crossing (one can only guess what might have transpired); and then suddenly, a sharp right turn and the little village with carved stone bearing mute testament to Chola history in the form of a very interesting old temple dedicated to bhoganandishwara.

2 shrines side by side, an entertainment courtyard (used for marriages -- a kalyana mantapa) and a traditional bath (seen here, added to the temple in the 15th century) all made for a glimpse back in time. step in here and the self disappears as the surroundings come alive. cold, cool stone carved into all types of deities, demons and gate keepers; a carved spout that could be an alligator, elephant or human depending on your angle of view; a large ratha (or carved carriage) in monolithic stone; pillars and the floor bearing inscriptions in tamil; several columns and seated bulls (nandi) playing with light beams and yes, veshti-clad purohits (priests) going about business as usual, performing aartis (the meaning of this word -- and my name -- in another post) and reciting mantras peppered with nakshatras, rashis and gothras -- eagerly supplied by the devotees.

as i walked around through door after door into the stepped bath area, i suddenly remembered another time and another place that had made me feel like i was in another era -- chittorgarh. the stone floor and sheer carved walls here had that same quality of speaking as did the palace of padmini. shaking off the distraction, i walked around the bath taking in the surroundings (including clumps of hair lying in corners, no doubt the 'offerings' of unsuspecting 1 year-olds and eager, irrational parents) and wishing that the guy yelling to me 'take picture from here' would fly away. the quickest way to achieve that result seemed to be 'yes, but first from here.' after which either my mind never heard him, or he did evaporate.

and equally incongruously and almost intruding on this play of time, was a loudspeaker blaring from the surrounding nandi village. still, the mind is a wonderful thing with only the best memories frothing up, resolving the ambivalence. i have to go back there.

45 bombs go off in bangalore on thursday morning

2005-07-14T15:01:00.000+05:30

i have never felt fear like this before. i was visiting with a very interesting lady who makes hand-made paper on sarjapur road (halour road) and suddenly, we heard, of course, but also 'felt' the blasts. our car shuddered, our dresses almost buffeted and our hair flew slightly. again, and again -- deafening -- we looked around wildly -- what? where? bombs? it was too powerful to be fireworks, and definitely not gunfire. this was the real stuff. then a deafening silence.

in those couple minutes, i felt helplessness, immense fear, anger, and almost ashamedly, some relief (that whatever had happened hadn't involved sanjana and me) -- a mix of emotions coursed thru my head... and incomprehensibly some workers' children nearby continued playing with their tires... did they not hear it? a small child started crying -- he heard it. sanjana was frightened and whimpering. i was shocked and looked up to see plume upon plume of jet black smoke.

and then the answer came... from our driver and corroborated by a small boy -- military bomb squad practice. it happens regularly? yes. every thursday morning. sheesh. and the construction going on all around?! those poor unsuspecting souls buying there (redwoods, palm vistas, trinity acres, vista del mar)... how will they live?

and all through the hour and a half i was in that area, our conversation was regularly interrupted by the ear splitting, window rattling bombs.... and a cowering, cuddling ear-closing sanjana.

for the first time, i realized first hand what power a bomb holds. over 1km away, and we still felt the waves.... suddenly the damage bombs can do -- literally and to a child's psyche -- jumped out of a small CRT and became all too real.