space of my own

Death of a hero

2011-12-12T02:34:00.003-09:00

Another hero dies and takes away with him a part of me.

As I read the news of Mario Miranda, one of my favourite cartoonists pass away, I cannot help but wonder what conspiracy is afoot. The last couple of months have witnessed the loss of people who are an indispensable part of my growing years, an inspiration to my creative spirit and to say the least, a companion to an entire generation. Jagjit Singh, Bhupen Hazarika, Dev Anand, Uncle Pai and now Mario Miranda.

Each demise was like a pebble thrown in a placid lake, disturbing the comfort zone I was living in. I realized, death has a knack of stirring memories that often sit quietly in a corner of the subconscious mind.

I recollect picking a cassette of Jagjit Singh’s album from didi’s huge music library and listening to the heavy vocabulary just to feel her presence around. I never thought the same songs that once so bore me would become a point of connection and comfort me after didi got married. Surely, when she left, I lost a companion, but in listening to her favourite singer, I found another.

I remember how every outstation trip meant picking a Tinkle from Wheelers on the railway station. The tales of Suppandi, Shikari Shambhu, Tantri the mantri along with the riddles and puzzles made for such a joyous journey. All thanks to Uncle Pai. And then, sometime in school I discovered Mario Miranda. I actually gave cartooning a shot after I saw Mr. Miranda’s distinctive style put to best use in a full page ad. The cutting of that page is neatly tucked away in one of my diaries.

And for a nation obsessed with cinema, how could you miss a legend like Dev Anand. Though remembered jokingly for his slouch and bobbing head, Dev Anand impressed me as a person whose spirit was undaunted by age. Add to it some of the most unforgettable songs from his films that continue to cheer me up on a bad day.

Not having these people, who shaped my sensibility in one way or another, is like losing a part of me that was so intricately attached to their body of work. It creates a vacuum that is difficult to fill.

In the words of Santosh Desai, “When people who make us who we are die, we grieve as much for ourselves as we do for them.”

A tear is shed and life goes on. Though deep within you know, it’s not like before.

Malled

2011-12-05T20:06:00.002-09:00

It was huge. Well lit. The entrance itself was grand enough to intimidate. Flashy banners screamed names of brands she’d only read in overpriced magazines. It looked pretty. On second thoughts, pretty snobbish.

While driving down the parking space, which looked like a never-ending twirling ride, she read something that reaffirmed her sense of the place.

“Most people may not have heard of these brands. But then, this place is not for most people.”

Clever line, she said to herself. As a writer, that’s the first thing that came to her mind. But wait, there was much more to those words. There was a categorization of a brutal sense that she did not appreciate.

Euphemism – that’s the word she was looking for.

Euphemism (n) - Substitution of an inoffensive term for one considered offensively explicit.

She’d read it a hundred times in school; appreciated many examples of the same from countless poems. But unlike those several times, today it didn’t leave her with a very happy feeling.

She felt uneasy, probably unable to decipher which side of the bracket she belonged to. She entered the large atrium nonetheless. Manicured women, spendthrift men and difficult kids – it had the usual elements that make for the drama called retail therapy.

But remember, this mall was not for the usual shopaholics. People walked in and out of the obnoxiously expensive stores - checking price tags, expressing surprise in hushed voices and longingly looking at the stuff they wish she could afford. Suddenly, the uber- cool mall culture seemed like a conspiracy to stop people from being who they are. Why would you want an overcoat that’s meant for the London weather? Why would you need a soap that costs more than your pair of jeans?

Surely, she didn’t belong to this bracket, even if she could. After an hour of aimless walking that left her with tired eyes and feet, she headed back to the car. There again, in front of her, she saw that line; like a swear word written in beautiful calligraphy.

“… But then, this place is not for most people.”

November Rain

2011-11-08T21:40:00.004-09:00

The drama in the clouds

Blurred escapes

The sweet surrender

No words can match up to the magic of monsoon.

Notes to myself

2011-08-29T04:07:00.000-08:00

How little does it take to be happy?

A perfectly made cup of tea
A new coat of nail paint
A random post written as perfectly as it could be
A picture that transports you to another world
An unexpected kiss
The sweet smell of flowers in the house
The play of shadow and light on his face
An unusual buy

We always remember things that make us feel miserable. How seldom do we soak in the thousands of moments that bring us joy.

Notes to self: Devour every beautiful moment. Stop cribbing.

Sipping tea while it rains

2011-07-07T23:05:00.001-08:00

Funny how a little drizzle
is enough to start
a flood of thoughts

Myopia

2011-07-07T22:59:00.003-08:00

This city is of extremes. There’s so much to see, to hear, to feel. It keeps her senses on high alert. She doesn’t want to miss anything. Everyday, she keeps dealing with the overload.

Then, one day, the city’s sharpness gets blurred.

She forgets her glasses at home. On purpose.

(An attempt to write 50-word stories. This one is exactly 50 words.)

Colour me happy

2011-05-12T03:21:00.000-08:00

My fondest memory of a birthday gift remains to be a box of camel oil pastels. With a typical scenery of a beautiful sunset showcased in enigmatic shades and expert strokes, the box promised to be something I had never seen before. With eyes that shone as if I’d won a million dollars, I slid the case open. My heart skipped a beat as I saw a spread of 24 breathtaking colours. For an 8 year old who always wished to have more than those 12 basic colours for her drawing classes, this was like a double promotion. For minutes, I kept staring at those wax jewels. Then held them closer to my nose to inhale that characteristic whiff that felt oh-so-comforting. This was it, I said to myself. ‘I’ll become an artist someday,’ I proudly announced to my folks, thinking that with this gift the power was purposefully bestowed upon me.

The new box opened up a whole new world for me. 24 colours. TWENTY FOUR colours!! I meticulously rearranged the box and divided it in 2 sets, exclusively putting aside the 12 new shades I’d never used before. As much as I was fascinated by the colours, I was curious to read their names. So there was a sunset orange, a blue-grey, a mint green and some others. With every name I read, I actually imagined the colour in its rightful place. How could they’ve come up with such exact descriptors, I was amazed to see. Then, as a challenge, I went about observing everyday things and coming up with my own set of shades.

For beginners, there was the Sindhi Kadhi colour – a mix between yellow and burnt orange. Then there was the very fresh Chutney green, which was unlike any other green the new box offered. Winters brought with it the Jaipuri Razai blue, while summers were spent slurping the kala-khatta colour off ice golas. A trip to nani’s house meant revisiting a Lifebuoy red and a Bajaj Chetak blue. And school was all about the chalkboard grey (or was it a dirty green?) and ofcourse, the Sisters with their faded muddy brown sarees.

With years, my love for the name-game has only grown stronger. Not to say, now I have a new colour vocabulary altogether. From the Deep Kiss Pink to the Lonely Lavender, from the Old Book Yellow to the Dried Rose Red – there are colours that have chosen to stay with me, while there are some that have just thrown a hint and left never to return.

There are so many more colours to explore, so much more to ‘tag’. And someday, I’d love to capture it all and stack it neatly in a box to be able to pick one everyday and live the colour I wish. But for now, I continue to occasionally stop by stationery shops and take a closer look at the colour boxes to read the names on the wax sticks.

I’ve realized, you need to think out of the box for things that go into it.

Rituals

2011-03-04T00:41:00.004-09:00

She remembers how she would always try and avoid the rituals around festivals. The socializing, the pujas, the fasting…Ma would constantly pester her to take an active part in these things as she would be expected to continue the tradition after marriage. ‘Oh please!’ she would scoff and walk away. All of it looked very artificial, very insignificant to her.

Then, she got married and moved to another city.

Now, in this strange new place, she doesn’t have any family around. Nobody to see whether or not she is practicing the family rituals.

Like every day, she sits to have her morning cup of tea with her husband. He opens a new pack of Parle-G and offers her. She refuses...

‘It’s Shivratri. I’m fasting today.’

i like it hazy

2010-11-25T03:06:00.006-09:00

Everybody craves for perfection. Symmetry rules the world. Clean lines are the order of the day. But what is not perfect can be beautiful too. Like a hazy picture.

When I was young, I remember hiding such pictures behind the last good picture in the photo album. It was perhaps a reminder of the money gone waste in developing these good-for-nothing images and that such a mistake should never be repeated. At other times, it brought great joy to watch a hazy picture and try to make sense of the details it was intended to capture.

Today, when everything has gone digital, we no more brood over such pictures. There is no sense of loss really…for there are plenty that have made it to the finish. Now it’s just a matter of a ‘delete’ button that paves the way for the survival of the fittest.

But something inexplicable still draws me to these hazy pictures.

The shaken picture, often seen as a waste, appeals to me as an action in process. Its presence is liquid – oozing out of its definitive boundaries and seeping into everything that was not ordained. For me, it stands out like a rebel.

And in doing so, never mind by fluke, it lends a character to the frame that can seldom be replicated. Everytime you look at it, you discover something new – a little detail or effect that was left unnoticed all this while. In that respect, it becomes an art piece you never intended to create.

Tucked away in a quiet folder on my laptop, lie many such unwanted pictures which I know I can never part ways with. My mother calls me a maverick to be still holding on to these. But for me, these pictures are special too. They remind me of the days we were starved of good pictures from a manual camera. Of days when we celebrated every picture in our photo album – good, bad or ugly. Of days we coped with the scarcity of resources. Of days we were comfortable with imperfections.

For me, they serve as the thin line between the curious and the compelling. They are those captured moments that are unique in their own fashion. Or rather, those moments that could never really be ‘caught’ on camera; they just dodged and fled.

Finally!

2010-04-21T05:11:00.003-08:00

DISCLAIMER:

She wishes to make it crystal clear
Before beginning this unapologetic slaughter
This has absolute resemblance to real incidents
And not based on any fictitious character

So it happened on a Tuesday morning
Without any prior intimation
Leaving her in great shock & anger
And a day filled with sheer frustration

They called her into the cabin
And greeted with a near-extinct smile
She knew there was something fishy
It was, she decoded, the devil’s wicked style

“We are really happy with your work”, they said
As if it were such a revelation
Then handed a shameful cheque
Calling it the apt compensation

Not an increment, an ex-gratia it was
Which clearly spoke of their evil plan.
They justified “We’ve suffered through recession,
BUT STILL we’re giving you whatever we can.”

She smirked and walked out
Not knowing what to say
Enough, she said to herself
Let today be the judgment day

She had sacrificed uncountable weekends
Had dismissed all her family time
Worked with a strained back, at unearthly hours
Even lost her sleep for writing a mere line

But she wouldn’t give into this anymore
THIS blatant exploitation
She walked into the cabin once again
This time to hand over her resignation

Why we travel

2010-02-22T02:03:00.009-09:00

It always happens – there comes a point atleast once in a week, when I think I've had enough. With the work pressure continuing to drive me insane, all I wish to do is pack my bags, hit the road and run away to a serene land far far away. And I’m sure, each one of us has felt the same many-a-times. I wonder if it is triggered by the urgency to escape the routine or the need to explore something much more rewarding. Which brings me to the raison d'etre of this post.

Afterall, why do we choose to travel?

Travel, I believe, is not merely a physical getaway; it's a state of mind. It is the willingness to move out of our comfort zone, to shed our inhibitions and escape into aimlessness. It is an outward journey to get a deeper understanding of the inner self.

We travel to become young fools again – to take great joy in the simplest of things and to unlearn the old ways of learning.

It lets us see the world with inquisitive eyes, which in turn bring in a fresh and renewed sense of wonder.

Suddenly, every colour...

every sight...

every taste arrests our senses...

...giving a different kind of high. And we are more than willing to become a slave of this sensory roller coaster ride.

Traveling makes it possible to tear away the ‘tags’ that we live with and see ourselves in the naked light. As Ray Bradbury puts it, “Half the fun of the travel is the esthetic of lostness”. When I am in a foreign land, I don’t think of myself as a sindhi , a gujarati or an advertising professional. I am just another face in the crowd. And in this process of losing oneself, we create an opportunity to decipher our true identity

To travel means leaving assumptions far behind, killing prejudices and seeing for ourselves places we thought we knew. And from the comforts of our home, we can only get a myopic view. No amount of google earth can bring us closer to the land we wish to visit. No amount of social networking can substitute the joy of getting to know people for real. And no matter how small the world becomes (thanks to all kinds of technology), there are always vast lands waiting to be explored.

So travel, the way I see it, is nothing short of some kind of divine intervention. It is the love of the unknown. And the lust for knowing it up close and personal. And this one time, I shall let lust take over love.

pics from my trip to Singapore last year

P.S.: This is my 100th post and this one’s dedicated to Prashant, a travel freak himself and who motivated me to write after a sabbatical of almost 2 months :)

A winter morning

2009-12-28T22:17:00.003-09:00

A flower's appeal is in its contradictions - so delicate in form yet strong in fragrance, so small in size yet big in beauty, so short in life yet long on effect.

~Adabella Radici

Arranged Marriage

2009-11-17T00:27:00.002-09:00

We all know about arranged marriages - how they work and what all goes on before you say 'yes'. I always thought it was kind of funny and makes for a perfect subject for a film. But wait, there's more to it. And you cannot really imagine until and unless you actually go for a meeting like this one...

Whoever thought of the ‘arranged’ meeting
Was surely an absolute nerd
Leaving two strangers in an isolated corner
Is, to say the least, obnoxiously awkward

You are expected to chit chat
And find out if you gel well
If yes, the shaadi is fixed
If no, you are termed as rebel

Now imagine this sweet li’l girl
In such a dreaded situation
Facing a prospective suitor
After great procrastination

She begins with a hi and a hello
And asks politely, ‘What do you do?’
Behaving like a well brought up child
Atleast till the meeting is through

She is nervous and clueless
And stares blankly at the aquarium
Just then he pops the expected question,
‘So, are you vegetarian??’

‘Do you believe in God?’ he asks next
As if it were an imperative condition
‘Neither a devotee nor an atheist am I’
She replies smartly with great conviction

‘How do you spend your weekends?’
‘What all places have you traveled to?’
One after the other the questions keep coming
Shrouded in mystery & enigma - just like a deja vu

But slowly the uneasiness begins to fade
The interview transforms into interaction
And in a startling moment she realizes
Hell, there’s some sort of faint attraction

I quite like this guy, she says to herself
And prays he too shows some sign
But time seems to run out, he has to go
Oh, the pang of this damned ‘arranged’ design

The parents say they like the girl
But leave the final decision to the guy
She realizes it’s not the arranged meeting
But what’s worse is waiting for his reply

More Kettles!

2009-10-15T00:22:00.005-08:00

A couple of months ago I talked about my idea of making handmade gifts like this. The idea was quite a hit and 2 of my aunts asked me to make the same for them. So here I am, with 2 more kettles as my Diwali gift to them :)

It’s no secret – I absolutely love warli and try to use it wherever possible.

This one turned out to be quite interesting and for once, I was really tempted to keep it for myself! ;)

I tried to bring in a couple of things together and even attempted some birds and beasts.

For the next one I took a brighter base and did a little freehand.

Though floral is not my forte, I quite liked the final result.

I didn't do a double coat of the base this time, so the aluminium is visible in some places.

Learning from experience, I didn’t put in plants this time.
a) not many species can survive in the little space that a kettle provides
b) without the plant, it can be used as an adornment in any corner of the house

I just hope after seeing each other’s kettles the aunts don’t complain, “Bhumi gave you the better one”. You know how aunts are...

In queue are two more friends. But I believe now I’m done with kettles. Looking for another interesting base. If you have any suggestions, do let me know.

And yes, wish you all a very Happy Diwali! :)

Kitchen Confidential

2009-10-10T05:45:00.003-08:00

I still remember the day I watched my mother as she carefully took out a shiny steel box from the cabinet of the kitchen. An aromatic burst engulfed the steamy kitchen as she opened its lid. Inside were some six mini containers, holding spices which had very unusual shapes. My little eyes shone as if I had discovered a treasure I never knew existed in my very house. She called it ‘aakha’ (whole) garam masala. But for a 5 year old girl, it was nothing short of magic.

Over the years, not much has changed. I still stand in awe when I see the simplest of ingredients being transmuted into bold, hedonistic blends of the perfect flavour. Undoubtedly, Indian kitchens still remain the Holy Grail of gastronomy – churning out dishes that make for exalting culinary experiences. And it is not merely about the food, but about a whole culture that surrounds it.

“If you don’t measure the right thing, you don’t do the right thing.”

But interesting, in India we don’t really follow measurements. Here, ingredients are measured out by practiced ‘instruments’ – by hand. Indian cooking is not like preparing cakes where you can say, “add 2 tsp. of sugar”. Instead, it’s a more liberating practice where you follow the dynamics of ‘andaazan’. And after having cooked quite some meals, I defer from believing that ‘andaazan’ would simply mean ‘approximately’. It’s more than just that. It’s about having the freedom to experiment and add a bit of what you think would possibly make the dish taste more delicious.

At the same time, unlike western culinary quickies, traditional Indian cooking involves great patience. It’s about letting the curries simmer on a low flame; of grinding the spices leisurely, allowing the aromatic flavours to ooze; of churning the sheera at regular intervals for hours together until it attains that perfect golden allure…Definitely, it’s more than just patience at work; it’s passion.

And the love affair with food doesn’t end there. There’s always the dollop of ghee to top it all or the generous helping of ‘gud’ in the thali. In other words, it is an unadulterated vision of life as a pleasure-seeking activity, where the need to provide our bodies with the nutrients alongwith an unabashed portion of fat is really okay.

Having cooked for a substantial number of years now, I would like to believe that I have only begun to unravel the mysteries that make any food well worth its salt. A friend once said, “Never cook when you’re angry; the food wouldn’t taste good.” Food, then, is as much about the ingredients as about the ‘jazbaat’ of the person who prepares it. The pangs of the hostel-fed stomach, when it thinks of ‘ma ke haath ka khaana’, is certainly no exaggeration in that respect.

Surely, cooking isn’t as easy as our mothers make it out to be. Like all great arts, it is something that requires dedication, passion and the ability to pick up those nuances that help create a masterpiece. It is a complex concoction of traditional methods, culinary secrets, social respectability, gratification and ofcourse a heady dose of love. In the words of Linda Henley, “If God had intended us to follow recipes, he wouldn't have given us grandmothers.”

Happily Unmarried

2009-09-11T02:34:00.003-08:00

When it comes to getting on your nerves, there's nothing that beats aunts. They come, talk nonsense and walk away. This one's one of those many conversations - aunts in their oh-so-characteristic fashion.

Hello beta, how are you?
Saw you when you were this little
And now look at you!

You were so naughty
Kept pulling my hair pin
Now you are so well-mannered
Just grown darker and a little too thin

Oh, so you are working?!
That’s a good way to pass time
Now society is so modern
In our days, it was considered a crime

You must be knowing cooking-shuking
Afterall, that is a must even today
For no matter how much you study
Eventually, you have to make chapatis everyday

It's high time you get married
25 years is quite late
Then people will start talking nonsense
Leaving a sweet girl like you irate

But thank your stars, for I have brought
A perfect match your way
5.10’, fair and studied till class 12
But my my, what an impressive pay!

Don’t go by his criminal looks
Neither take note of his bulging fat
After marriage even girls gain weight
You know, in sindhis it’s like that

Now don't think too much
Or keep waiting for that 'soul mate'
Some compromises you have to make
Rest, i'm telling you - leave it to fate

I think I must leave now
But do think about this proposal
Any more details you want to know
I'm always at your disposal

When nostalgia hits

2009-07-02T01:21:00.003-08:00

Like drops of water
that create a ripple
in the calm blue lake

Thoughts of you
enter my mind
and reverberate

Aargh!!

2009-06-30T03:20:00.001-08:00

I’m not in the best of moods
So please bear with my rants
The fucking client doesn’t seem to end
His uncanny wants

One day he turns copywriter
And writes some shit
Says, ‘This is what I want,
Just refine it a bit.’

The other day he’s art director
Oh, he even draws the layout!
Sends it to the creative team
And says, ‘Call me incase of doubt’

Never satisfied with 2-3 options
He always asks for more
‘Kuch aur naya dikhao,’ he demands
As if he’s shopping in a garment store

His whims and fancies
Grow vicious day by day
Turning every brilliant ad
Into just another cliché

At times I feel like going
And tearing him into pieces
Neither a pig nor a dog is he
Hell, he belongs to a different species

But then, there’s little I can do
Afterall he is the client
Our salaries are thanks to him
So I better not be defiant

After such series of attrocities
When you get tired and highly pissed
Even you’d agree with me and say
Well, demons on earth do exist

Coming back to life

2009-06-23T02:18:00.006-08:00

Things change. More so after you start working. I never thought meeting up friends would become a luxury. That a Sunday would become just another day you work (never mind from home). That I wouldn’t bask in the beauty of a sunset for months. That my books would lay unattended, gathering dust. That going out for a movie would mean rescheduling the entire day.

But on some days, things change. Back to how they used to be. Away from the maddening crowd and the humdrum, you finally find a place. And your peace of mind.

You enjoy the slight tickle of grass under your hand

You walk the talk, noticing the pretty flowers on either side

You realize,once again, how different you are from each other...

yet, there's something that binds you together

You see the kids play and secretly wish to live their life

You sit back and watch the bricks changing colour as the sun sets...

and the birds making a beautiful silhouette against the fading sky

At the end of the day, you feel an inexplicable joy of just being there with someone you love. Of spending a beautiful evening without saying much. But sharing a lot.

Pics from an evening with neha at IIM-A

On gifting

2009-05-03T08:56:00.003-08:00

Gifts reflect as much about the giver as they do about the receiver. As for me, I always prefer giving anything that’s handmade. So it’s nothing like going and picking up a hallmark card (not that I hate them), but something that’s personalized – something unique that’s made keeping the receiver in mind.

Last month, my aunt invited us for her house warming ceremony. Since she loves plants, I thought of gifting her one. But then, I didn’t want to give it in a usual pot. So I decided on experimenting a bit. An aluminum tea pot, some acrylic colours, inspiration from my rangoli designs and voila! I had a gift which I knew she would love!

My aunt loved it it and has placed it on a lovely mahogany table at the entrance. I’ll soon be making some more – have got orders from other aunts :P. Will try some more designs then.

P.S.: 30on30 was a huge success and Prashant collected almost double the amount for the initiative! A big thank you to all those who made a contribution towards the cause in their own special way.

Thirty on Thirty

2009-03-31T22:02:00.005-08:00

What do you plan to do when you turn 30? Travel to someplace you've never been before, buy that diamond ring you've been eyeing for months altogether or just ignore it as if it were just another birthday?

Well, my friend Prashant who turns 30 this month, wishes to do something really significant. He has initiated project 30on30. The idea is on raising 30,000 INR for a cause - For Child Education and Rights - by selling 30 photographs taken by him. 100% of the funds raised through 30on30 would go to Sankalp, a project of ASK , which is based out of Moradabad.

Gift a smile. Support 30on30.

'Falling in Love' - one of my favourite pics taken by Prashant

You too can contribute towards a child's education. All you need to do is go to 30on30 and buy one of the many beautiful pictures displayed there. The details of the print size, shipping cost, receipt, etc.are mentioned on the site. You can also help us spread the word - write about it on your blog or simply mail a couple of friends. A little gesture by you will go a long way to brighten up someone's life!

Thanks Prashant for including me in the 'team' and to Swati and Subhadip for making this come together :)

On killing a tree

2009-03-23T09:11:00.004-08:00

Today, while returning home, I saw a tree being brutally cut down at the University Road. I had to stop and ask them why they were doing so. 'Yeh jhaad sadh gaya hai,' came the reply. I couldn't have done anything; the tree was dead.

All those years of greenery and shade had come down with a chop. The huge tree lay there, helpless - being cut from every nook and corner. The sight was so deadly, it could only be compared to a brutal 'killing'. I had read 'On killing a tree' by Gieve Patel long time back, but as I read it today, I well know what he might have witnessed to have written such a powerful poem.

ON KILLING A TREE

It takes much time to kill a tree,
Not a simple jab of the knife
Will do it.

It has grown
Slowly consuming the earth,
Rising out if it, feeding
Upon its crust, absorbing
Years of sunlight, air, water,
And out of its leprous hide
Sprouting leaves.
So hack and chop

But this alone won't do it.
Not so much pain will do it.
The bleeding bark will heal
And from close to the ground
Will rise curled green twigs,
Miniature boughs
Which if unchecked will expand again
To former size.

No,
The root is to be pulled out
Out of the anchoring earth;
It is to be roped, tied,
And pulled out-snapped out
Or pulled out entirely,
Out from the earth-cave,
And the strength of the tree exposed,
The source, white and wet,
The most sensitive, hidden
For years inside the earth.

Then the matter
Of scorching and choking
In sun and air,

Browning, hardening,
Twisting, withering,
And then it is done.

Emotional Atyachaar

2009-03-03T03:05:00.003-09:00

She picks up the cigarette in her hand. Rolls it between her fingers. Back and forth...slowly...very slowly, as if trying to derive at the exact measure of its diameter. Her mind, still clouded with indecisiveness, she observes the little white stick in great detail. The symbol, the text, the fine lines running across the brown filter. The rolling makes the tobacco pop up on the surface. The coarse curled insides look like wood shavings to her. I musn't be doing this, she says to herself. But her hands are not ready to let it go. She draws it closer to her nose. The stick running just beneath her nostils in a smooth fashion - the kinds she'd seen in movies umpteen number of times. The smell is familiar - nothing more than a faint memory though. But she knows it well, it doesnt take long for the faint to become clearer. She puts the cigarette in her mouth and lights a match. The light touches the tip; she takes a drag and sees the edges glow in a fiery orange.

She inhales, only to let the fumes swirl in her mouth for a couple of seconds. Then, slowly she lets it out. The white smoke makes its way up but the smell of the nicotine teases her palate. She takes another drag and then another - inhaling a bit of smoke each time. Finally, the cylindrical stick reaches its safety end. The last drag is long, as if trying to make the end the most rewarding.

The euphoria ends. She looks at the stub, the intoxicating smell still surrounding her. She sighs in disbelief.

Things she does to feel close to him.

The Jaipur Literary Festival - 2009

2009-02-01T09:06:00.008-09:00

It was nothing less than a dream come true for me and Neha, who have been planning this trip since the last 5 years. Finally, we made it to the Jaipur Literary Festival ‘2009.

For 3 days, we roamed in the company of literary giants; we inhaled the air of creative freedom and were intoxicated by the aura of the majestic venue. It seemed like a world far away from the mundane life we subject ourselves to. It invoked the free-spirit that seeks some space every now and then.

The list of speakers was breathtaking - Vikram seth, William Dalrympme Simon Schama, Pico Iyer, Hari Kunzru, Nandita Das, Shashi Tharoor, Prasoon Joshi, Barkha Dutt and many others. On the very first day, we witnessed the book release of Bachchanalia.

Mr. Bachchan walked in and you could see why they call him the most charismatic man of Bollywood. Be it a 10 year old school-going kid or an 85 year old uncle, there was not a single soul out there who was not awed by his presence.

From reel to real

Book release of Bachchanalia

And for two crazy girls who were trying to soak in as much as possible, this was just the tip of the ice berg. The talks that followed did every bit to spark our creative imagination. From sessions on transgressive literature to scripting for bollywood, from talking about the history of America and its new President to the state of Kashmir and its reflection in Indian literature – the sessions raised many questions, stirred up many voices and invited new perspectives.

Shashi Tharoor and his huge fan following

Tharoor and Simon Schama on the history and future of America

Prasoon Joshi

Munni Kabir and Nandita Das talking about her film Firaaq

Michael Wood of Discovery's 'The Story of India'

Barkha Dutt and Ashis Nandy

Arthur Flowers 'performing' his stories

While the days stood immersed in the aura of intellectual freedom, the nights ended in a trance of music and the arts.

Music of the Bauls

Poetry readings and dance performances gave warmth in the chilly nights. Every night we left mesmerized, only to return the next day to give in to it once again.

At the end of the 3 days, we couldn’t believe the festival had ended. Hell, hadn’t it just begun?! We stood there, seeing the halls getting emptied, the beautiful arrangements being removed one by one. With great difficulty, the feeling began to sink in. Yes, it was all over.

But then, it’s always good to leave when you’re hungry for more. It only makes sure that you come back to it the next time.

A Sunday

2008-12-30T22:10:00.009-09:00

Sundays are to unwind, to get lazy and watch loads of television. But if you are in Ahmedabad and are looking for something to recharge your senses, head to the Sunday market. Known as Ravivari, this market promises to be a treasure island that will surprise and enthrall you at every step.

This was my second visit and I was particularly looking for some good books. When we reached, the booksellers were still arranging the books.

There were books everywhere you looked. Tied in neat bundles, they awaited the glance that would give them a secure place in yet another bookshelf.

Literature, history, art, law, religion, science, photography – these booksellers have an extraordinary collection of second-hand books. All you need is patience to browse through thousands of books that lie in no particular order.

And if you’re lucky, you may find a 1950’s National Geographic magazine, a book showcasing photographs of the Vietnam War, a rare edition of a classic or an advertising journal that can inspire you for years to come.

Neha picked some 6-7 books. Not to mention, she went crazy looking at the collection :)

After enough browsing and sighing and buying at the book corner, Neha and I went around seeing other interesting things at offer. Gleaming utensils, vehicle parts, loud speakers, gardening tools, wrist watches, perfume bottles, pigeons and chickens – the list is unending, and at times bizarre.

These reminded me of the 'sigdi' we illegally used in our hostel room :P

This man would put the blue rings on the pigeon's feet before giving it away

And there’s a whole section dedicated to second-hand clothes. Stacks of them lay displayed on khatlas.

No matter how small the shop, people always do some puja before beginning the day

Barely used clothes, old-fashioned silhouettes, slightly defective clothes and those that don't fit anymore - this market serves as a perfect recycling agent that gives new life to the old.

But what fascinated me most was the brassware.

I loved the tiffin :)

I just couldn’t get my eyes off the amazing pots and locks.

Each little piece was a work of art, telling a story of a bygone era.

I was very tempted to buy the scorpion lock

The carvings, the designs and the finish were so great, if I could, I would pick all of them!

But then I settled for this cute high-heeled ashtray.

Meanwhile, I received many calls; it was my birthday. Everyone sounded surprised when I said I was at the Sunday market. “It's not the best way to begin a birthday”. I didn't argue. I know they wouldn't understand. They had to experience it to believe how breathtaking this trip can be.

Here, old is new…

Trash is treasure…

Bizarre is beautiful...

All you need to do is look carefully…

And learn to see things in a different angle.

I couldn't have asked for more on my birthday :)

Mumbai and the media

2008-11-27T23:55:00.003-09:00

Terror strikes Mumbai for the umpteenth time and like always, millions of eyeballs get glued to the idiot box. Yet another tragedy falls in the hands of the media, which exploits every opportunity to capitalize on it. So while the oh-so-brave Barkha asks concerned relatives a twisted 'how do you feel about this', the foolish news anchors continuously flash disturbing images followed by utterly atrocious commentary.

Ethics are thrown in a dustbin. Emotions are played with. Sensationalism sets a new benchmark.

Journalists make sure that viewers don't recover from the state of shock and panic. They showcase their intelligence by flashing live images of rescue squads, which can well be seen by the terrorists too. They sneak in dark corners, talk in hush voices to show you 'exclusive' images of a window behind which a terrorist 'may' be hiding. They pick up random celebrities (Mahesh Bhatt is always their favourite) and ask for their opinions.

Bang comes Barkha with another annoying question, "Is this our 9/11?"

They are loaded with questions, but don't know whom to go for answers. The more they know, they less they understand.

And where are the saviours of Mumbai? Mr. Raj Thackeray? Guess he'll take some action only if he's told that the terrorists are bhaiyas.

A life in letters

2008-11-16T07:58:00.002-09:00

2 childhood friends, more than a hundred letters and a sea of emotions.

That’s “Tumhari Amrita” – India’s longest running play.

16 years ago, playwright Javed Sidiqqui penned this fabulous play, which continues to spellbind theatre enthusiasts till date. Inspired by an American play, “Love Letters”, it’s the play that broke the myth that good theatre ought to have huge sets, change of costumes and drama of light. Instead, here you’ll just see 2 chairs where the characters sit and read out the letters they’ve written to each other over a span of 35 years.

Amrita (played by Shabana Azmi) and Zulfi (played by Farookh Sheikh) exchange their first letters at the age of 8. Over the years, their letters grow longer and their relationship stronger. They share their darkest secrets, their fears, their sorrows without any inhibition. The result is a funny, poignant, melancholic chronicle of these two people who could neither live with each other, nor without.

The beauty of the play lies in the brilliant script and both the veteran artists do complete justice to it. Their characters draw more meaning with every new letter. Towards the end you cannot help but shed a tear on the tragic end of their beautiful relationship.

I watched the play day before yesterday and it will always remain an unforgettable experience for me. And I’d highly recommend it to anybody who even has the slightest inclination towards theatre.

:)

2008-11-09T05:31:00.003-09:00

Hum bhi agar bacche hote

Naam hamara hota gablu bablu

Khane ko milte laddu

Aur duniya kehti...

2008-11-02T07:58:00.003-09:00

It was the break i was looking forward to. 6 days of complete freedom - from office and all the other stuff that make life monotonous. Found these strip ads in a lifestyle magazine just before the holidays. They sure were hinting at what was to follow.

I had quite an eventful mini vacation. And though i'm all charged up, i just don't feel like going to office tomorrow :P Will post about the holidays soon. Enjoy!

Floored!

2008-10-29T07:58:00.007-08:00

For me, the most exciting part about Diwali is making a rangoli. Everywhere you go in India, you find a unique style of floor art or rangoli. This tradition goes back to 5000 years in India. While certain designs are created for special occasions such as weddings and religious festivals, a majority of the time, the only limitation is the artists' creativity.

Traditionally there are two forms of floor art. While rangoli, characteristic of Western India (Maharashtra, Gujarat, Rajasthan) is a rainbow of colours, the other side of the spectrum are the floor art of Eastern India - Bengal, Orissa, Himachal where they use Alpana, a line drawing in rice powder paste. Since I'm more comfortable with the brush, I prefer the later, though with a difference. Instead of the traditional rice powder, I make use of gheru - powdered red clay.

Ever since we shifted to the new house (some 10 years back), our rangolis have become bigger and more experimental. Afterall, floor is one of the best canvases an artist can ask for!

Here's a showcase of what I've been doing since the last few years.

I'm a big fan of warli painting and tried to use it in this rangoli.

Next year was a bigger, geometric design.

This one's done by my elder sister. She applied gheru on a chart paper and made this neat design with poster colour. The flowers and diyas completed the beautiful design.

The best part is that this design mat is reuseable!

And this one's one of my favourite. Inspired by mehendi design, I made this rising sun which made best use of the entrance space.

The mirrors, the decoupaged matki and the diyas gave it a very pretty look at night.

And this year....

my younger sister gave me a helping hand :P

Measuring 9 equal squares was quite a task

But the final product surely brought a smile on my face :)

Hope you all had a beautiful Diwali!

Do you see what i see?

2008-10-12T06:10:00.004-08:00

It’s all a matter of perspective – the way you look at things.

A small twist, like that to a kaleidoscope, can reveal a completely new picture. All you need to do is explore and unravel the myriad layers of life that lie before you.

See what i found...

A foot-in-mouth syndrome, literally!

Happy Feet :)

Star Attraction

Enlightenment

P.S. : Pics are taken from my mobile cam, hence the not-so-great quality.

And the award goes to...

2008-09-29T21:18:00.003-08:00

Meeeee :)

megha, an artist i truly admire recently awarded me.

For the love of blogging, i would like to pass on this award to some of my favourite blogs -

atul's gaizabonts
girish's songs of the not so innocent
jenny & patrick's chai pilgrimage
vineeta's artnlight

This is a no strings attached award. You can put the logo in your blog and pass it on to others if you wish. Thank you megha and thank you all for making blogging such an exhilarating experience :)

Where Gods Dwell

2008-09-16T08:59:00.011-08:00

As I write this post, people across the country are bidding adieu to their favourite god – Ganpati bapa. Meanwhile, I go a li’l back in time to share with you some glimpses from the lives of the people who make these beautiful idols in the city of Ahmedabad.

Welcome to Gulbai Tekra. More often than not, people remember it as the slum around one of the most commercial areas in the city. But come Ganesh Chaturthi and the otherwise filthy area turns into a heaven – literally. Suddenly you begin to see the gods everywhere - in every corner, peeping out from every door and even standing in the middle of the road! For here lives the community that is best known for making Ganesha idols.

I made my trip just before the festival set in and captured some images that convey what makes this place so special.

Artisans put up make-shift camps at every corner and line up their idols, which are made from huge moulds.

The surface is smoothened and then paints are applied with the help of a spraying machine.

The sight of the idol going from white to colour is quite something.

Unlike earlier, idols nowadays are made from Plaster of Paris. Though it makes the process much faster and cheaper, the material doesn’t dissolve in water, causing pollution during Visarjan.

Make it or break it - it's all in our hands...

While men do the major paint job, women help in beautifying it further by painting the accessories.

What comes as the final product is absolutely stunning.

And these are not just the usual Ganpati forms. The artisans take full creative liberty in giving the gods any form that appeals to the devotees. So while you see a sai baba ganpati in one corner you’ll see a swami ganpati in another. Looks like a fancy dress competition to me where our sole hero is switching characters every now and then.

A family invites me to their home to take more pictures – they think I’m a journalist. They take me through some narrow lanes and into their house. I’m greeted by kids and women, giggling and shying away when they see a camera in my hand.

Inside, more idols await to be greeted.

I take a walk around the little house and find creativity in every corner.

I keep the camera aside and move around the house; there’s always more to be seen than captured. By the time I leave, I’ve absorbed much more than what I’d expected.

It’s not so much about the place, but the people who live here...

You see a sense of pride in whatever they do...

You find joy reflected through their eyes…

You feel more than welcome, though you are a stranger…

Perhaps that’s the reason even the gods dwell here

It’s not about the place, it’s the people…

I'm fine...

2008-07-27T21:33:00.001-08:00

Shocked. Terrified. Angry.

Still not able to come to terms with the terror that shook Ahmedabad. Just wanted all of you to know that I’m fine.

A whole new world

2008-07-09T00:58:00.012-08:00

I am of the opinion that as an outsider you take a closer look at a city than you would as an insider.

21 years in Ahmedabad v/s just 3 years in Pune. I think I can talk more about the later than the former - not a fact that I’m particularly proud about. So last week, with the hope of knowing more about my city, I took a heritage walk in the old city of Ahmedabad.

Organized by the Gujarat government, this walk takes you through the labyrinth corners of the vicinity where the city originated. In these lanes, time stands still and each building narrates the story of the grandeur of the bygone era.

We started with the house of Kavi Dalpatram. This bronze statue sits at the entrance.

The two hour walk takes you through various ‘pols’ – the self-contained neighbourhoods, some of which are virtually small villages. In olden days, these pols were protected by gates and secret passages.

An old woodden door that caught my eye

Today, when you walk through its narrow streets, you cannot help standing in awe before these architectural wonders.

A traditional bird-feeder known as a 'chabutara'

These carved out pieces that adorn every house here bear the influence of various cultures. While the floral pattern is a Persian influence, the presence of angels is very European.

This one bears a chinese influence

And then you enter these Jain temples where gods carved out from wood some 400 years ago still retain their luster and glory!

Some pics taken from outside the temple

Inside a particular house, it looks just like a ‘chal’, only that it’s bigger and grander. Some of these houses still accommodate huge Jain families (some 80-100 people).

In those days, it was a matter of pride for the family members that their girl child is educated. They'd place such small statues on the main door to indicate that.

Amidst these lanes also lies the tomb of the man who built this city – Ahmad Shah. (He was only 20 when he built it!) The intricate designs on the walls that surround it are beautifully carved out.

The city was systematically divided. There was the residential area called pols and the commercial area called ols. The markets of the old city are still the biggest markets in Ahmedabad and here you’ll find every damn thing you have on your list!

A banner with a typo that caught my attention

The walk ended at the Jama Masjid. It was the first time I entered a mosque and the feeling was overwhelming. The huge central area is surrounded by walls where some urdu words are painted.

The central area

The soothing Urdu script

To say that the central dome is a work of beauty would be an understatement. The 500+ pillars within the mosque give rise to an interesting play of shadow and light. I just had to close my eyes and say ‘Allah’ in my heart to feel one with Him.

One of my favourite pics from the day

I wondered, how many people know this facet of Ahmedabad. How many even care to? And as I type this I wonder if it would be fair to even call it the old city. In those couple of hours, what I discovered was a complete new city.

Shaival and me :)

Thanks Shaival for your wonderful company. Thanks Om for helping me out in posting the pictures.
P.S. - You can see some beautiful pictures of Ahmedabad pols here.

The first mistake

2008-06-30T23:09:00.002-08:00

A little mistake and everything goes for a toss. All the goodwill that you've earned washes away in a nano-second. You look at yourself and ask, 'how the hell didn't i notice that mistake'. They look at you and say, 'we didn't expect this from you'. So what are you supposed to do. Say sorry is the first thing that comes to mind but that doesn't solve anything. Next you accept your mistake and promise that such a thing wouldn't happen again. Peace enters the room but you just can't come over the fact that you missed that silly mistake. The clean slate you had all this while shows a mark. And no matter how small it is, its so evident. It's right there, in front of you.

Damn...how could i miss that.

Artistic Expressions

2008-06-07T02:31:00.008-08:00

And i thought candle light dinners were supposed to be romantic! :)

I wonder what the visualiser must have thought of when he selected this particular font for 'candle light dinner.' Let me guess - Is he afraid of the dark? Did he watch a horror movie before making this layout? Or did he simply remember the first time he went out for a candle light dinner with his girlfriend, which turned out to be a horrifying experience?

Whatever be the reason, the point is the right font makes all the difference!

Something's missing

2008-05-26T21:06:00.000-08:00

6.20 p.m. and she was done with her work. She left the air-conditioned office and headed home. Hot and humid air awaited her outdoors. The sun was still shining and she could see the colour of the buildings, rather than the grayish shades that they put on later in the eve. It looked like a different world.

She got into the car and started her drive. 5 radio stations. Not a single one played a good song. Every two seconds, her finger kept pressing the next button, cursing the producer who didn’t think twice before playing that awful number on such a beautiful evening. Luckily she found a CD to her rescue. An old favourite calmed her restless soul.

Nothing could replicate the magic of old songs, she thought. There was meaning in every word that was written. The music was such that generations later people would still cherish it. Why had it become so difficult to live life in that pace, she wondered.

She wished she could pause her life and enjoy all those things she had not in months. Listen to all her favourite songs and get nostalgic. Read the books she had bought with the hope that she’d read them someday. Make a card for that someone special. Have chai in the garden and watch the birds return home. Call up a friend and talk like there were no tomorrow. Cook something special for her family. Go out for a movie with friends. Write on her blog….

She played the song once again, the lyrics crying out her heart’s desire. Dil dhoondhta hai phir wohi fursat ke raat din...

Life's like that

2008-03-11T09:03:00.000-08:00

I hate Fridays. They are like those people you wish to avoid but nonetheless happen to meet at regular intervals. Like a ‘dare’ that befalls on you no matter how strategically you try to play. It’s like what one feels like on reaching the top of the giant wheel. It all looks so beautiful from that height. Everything seems within your reach. But as it slowly descends, the larger picture is lost and all you are left with is that thing which lies immediately before your eyes. It’s exactly the way a Friday begins, giving hope to numerous possibilities. But by the time you plan something, it’s all lost. Whoosh. The ride is over. You have to come back to ground reality and begin the circle of daily routine.

The best things happen on a hunch, like they did the week that went by. A women’s film festival, a photography exhibition, a display of drawings put up by school children and another exhibition of a renowned painter, Nabibaksh Mansuri are the events that made my week. There’s something about the places these activities take place in and the kind of people you see there that gives rise to an emotion that lingers around for quite some time. Suddenly, you feel a part of a community that endorses the aesthetically appealing activities. It gives you a different kind of high; a voice that screams out ‘yeah, this is life man’. To paint a picture with bold strokes on a huge canvas, to capture the myriad human expressions through the lens, to appreciate beauty and have the freedom to express it the way you understand it...That’s life.

Had it not been for media studies, I would have taken up fine arts. I’m reminded of a line from Bob Dylan’s song, “People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent.”

i have something to say...

2008-02-06T07:24:00.000-09:00

It’s been long since I posted something on the blog. Considering the medium, even 2-3 days is a long time and I was away for almost 20 days! Reason? Even I don’t know. Not that I didn’t have anything to say, but just that I didn’t know how to say it. But today I do.

I dread the word ‘expectations’ and no matter how hard I try to avoid it, it manages to come back to me time and again. Sometimes it’s about things I expect from others but more often it’s about things I expect from myself. At times I think I know exactly what I want from life. And at times I’m left completely clueless. Sometimes I crib because I believe I do not have enough options to choose from. And at others, I get boggled down by the choices in front of me and hate it when I have to go through the pain of choosing one thing over the other.

It gets even worse when people put a certain amount of faith in you. Relationships often get marred by expectations. It’s not easy to please everyone; rather, it’s impossible. But still, we keep trying, thinking that some day we will succeed. And though we know we are doomed to fail, we do not lose hope.

I, like everyone else, like to find solace in the word ‘hope.’

We the Bloggers

2008-01-19T00:07:00.000-09:00

Last Sunday, on ‘We the People’ (NDTV) the topic of debate was – Should blogs be regulated? My immediate reaction was - What sort of question is that?! Despite the absolutely senseless topic, I dutifully watched the entire debate - thought it was my responsibility as a blogger to do so :P

On the panel were people behind some popular blogs:

Compulsive Confessor
Emancipation of the Eve
Sour Apple Martini

To my surprise, the debate was highly disappointing. I thought it was meant to take blogging seriously. On the contrary, it displayed a very shallow understanding about this whole new means of expression. Add to it the many digressions it succumbed to only to return to the topic towards the end of the show.

Imagine this: Barkha Dutt reads some shocking lines from a post where the blogger talks about his sexual orientation and returns to him to ask ‘Do your parents read your blog?’ Excuse me? Is it some kind of exercise where your parents’ permission is mandatory?

The show was full of contradictions and superficial knowledge about blogs. A teenager proudly announced that he considered it to be a cheap stunt and his classmates had started blogging to get famous overnight! Sigh. He still hasn’t seen anything beyond Orkut.

Thankfully, towards the end the segment on the good and bad about blogs managed to pull out some decent threads. Again, nothing new was spelt out but it encouraged some discussion. Mr. Jagdish, a journalist who maintains a Hindi blog asserted that blogging has revived a new way of writing. Now you don’t have to wait for a newspaper or a publisher to print your stories. Add to it the instant responses! (I told you, nothing new!)

Barkha’s personal experience of an anonymous post holding her responsible for the death of 4 soldiers during the Kargil war led her to believe that though blogs offer freedom and eloquence, they lack accountability. This, in turn raised a question (which apparently was the original topic of the debate) “should blogs be subjected to some level of regulation?”

Towards the end of the show I felt it was a complete waste of time. I wish the NDTV team had done some decent research to know that not all blogs are ‘personal blogs’. Comments like they are a threat to the ‘indian culture’ and a mere way to get ‘cheap thrills’; picking up writers of only personal blogs as panelists; Barkha's superficial knowledge about the subject and the dearth of audience participation marred an otherwise potent topic of discussion. Nothing new was articulated, no conclusions were made. It was an utter disappointment, except for the fact that it became this post’s raison d’etre.

Cut-throat competition – literally!

2008-01-15T23:06:00.000-09:00

Uttarayan – the kite flying festival was celebrated with much gusto during the last two days here in Gujarat. Colourful kites, loud music and voices screaming ‘kaypo che’ and ‘lapet’ filled the air. Relatives visited each other, friends indulged in some fruitful bird-watching on the terraces and undhiyon-fafda-jalebi was the obvious menu in every household. The tanned faces, bruised fingers and sore throats of every second person I met were a telling tale of the fun-filled day spent on the terrace.

But today is a different story all together. The colourful kites that adorned the skies are now seen entangled in the branches of every tree and electrical wire that comes to sight. The dangerous glass coated threads (manja) that became the reason of much jubilation and many frustrations until yesterday now lie on the roads, clinging to every vehicle and passer-by in its way. And I haven’t even spelt out the worst that could have happened – something I feared the most.

The headline reads that a man lost his life after a Chinese thread (apparently with more glass powder) slit his throat while he was driving on his two-wheeler. Seven other people lost their lives while chasing kites and two toppled off the terrace. More than 500 birds were injured and 90 lost their lives during these two days - some of which include the most endangered species.

I cannot help but think, are these celebrations even worth it? Why don’t people understand that their moments of joy could cost someone his life? It degrades the very essence with which such festivals were started in the first place. And Uttarayan is not the only festival to be blamed here. In every festival - be it Holi or Diwali – the nuisance overrules the celebrations. Chemical colours burn the skin; black smoke chokes the air – but we wouldn’t stop celebrating such festivals. Afterall, they are a part of our tradition, isn’t it? Think again. Do we still have to continue like this? Can we not think of better ways of celebrating these festivals in its true spirit?

Ad-dicted – The best ads of 2007

2008-01-07T03:59:00.000-09:00

From typical saas-bahu soaps to typical reality shows - television programming is getting more and more stereo‘typical’…

Little wonder, there are only 2 things I watch with full devotion on TV – the amazing shows on Travel and Living and advertisements.

2007 I believe has been one of the good years for ad agencies owing to some major changes in marketing strategies, mergers and launch of some great brands. The following are some of my favourite ads that were showcased in 2007:

(Follow the link to watch the ad)

Happydent – Hats off to Prasoon Joshi – the man behind the 100 watts smile. What does he eat? I mean, who would have thought of such huge sets, never-seen-before idea and a crazy execution for a mere chewing gum? Little wonder, all the ad functions went gaga over this ad. It surely deserved it.

Bingo – Bingo marked a new trend in advertising – something that we’d never seen before. A clip which started as a tele-shopping ad for glad bangles gets weirdly associated to Bingo’s combination of mad angles! Stupid? Creative? Whatever people say, the fact is that you remember the ad because of its craziness. No confusion, great combination indeed.

Airtel – The brand moves from its “express yourself” tagline and goes deeper with a new thought, ‘Barriers break when people talk’. The original idea was to set the ad at the Wagah Border, and get Indian and Pakistani soldiers to start a football game together. But later, it was changed to make the appeal much more universal. The result – Airtel breaks the clutter and once again becomes one of the most recalled brands.

Vodafone– Hutch becomes Vodafone and the ads just get better. No dialogues, just some background music, great performances and gripping visuals. You’d leave anything aside to watch these ads one more time. I especially love the elevator ad where the poor chap waits the entire day to meet his soulmate and finally meets her. The song ‘take me away’ was especially made for the ad! Loved it.

Lee- This one’s Lee’s first television ad in India and what a success! Denims get a sensuous look and the song ‘I want to touch you’ does the magic. This one was made by a 6 month old ad agency from Bangalore called ‘Happy’ and here too the song was especially made for this ad.

Madhya Pradesh Tourism –Jheel dekho, taad dekho, sher ki dahaad dekho, aankhein neeche neeche dekho, aankhein phaad phaad dekho...
I wish I make something as lovely as this someday. The addictive music, the perfectly rhyming list of sentences, the tamasha treatment – you are sure to enjoy this ad everytime you watch it.

I’m sure there are many more ads but these are the ones that come to my mind instantly. While the world cribs about increased airtime to ads, I would say they are probably the only creative spots we are left with on Indian television today. And I strongly believe there should be a channel completely dedicated to ads so that soaps and reality shows do not spoil the fun of appreciating creativity at its best. What say :)

First post of 2008!

2008-01-02T00:30:00.000-09:00

Couldn’t think of a better way of welcoming the New Year on this blog than posting one of my favourite poems…

Sitaron se aage jahan aur bhi hain
Abhi ishq ke imtehan aur bhi hain
Tahi zindagi se nahin ye fizayen
Yahan siakdon karwaan aur bhi hain
Khana’at na kar aalam-e-rang-o-bu par
Chaman aur bhi aashiyaan aur bhi hain
Agar kho gaya ek nasheman to kya ghum
Maqmat-e-aah-o-fughaan aur bhi hain
Tu shaheen hai parvwaaz hai kaam tera
Tere saamne aasmaan aur bhi hain
Isi roz-o-shab main ulajh kar na rah ja
Ke tere zameen par makaan aur bhi hain
Gaye din ke tanha tha main anjuman mein
Yahaan ab mere raazdaan aur bhi hain

Beyond the stars there are worlds more
Our quest yet has more tests to pass
This existence alone does not matter
There are boundless journeys more
Do not rest on what you have
There are paradises more to explore
Why worry if you have lost one abode
There are a million addresses to claim
You are the falcon, your passion is flight
And you have skies more to transcend
Lose not yourself in the cycle of days and nights
Within your reach are feats even more
Gone is the day when I was lonesome in the crowd
Today those who resonate my thoughts are more

Mohammed Iqbal
Naujawaan ke Naam, Bal-e-Jibraeel, 1908

Stop to shop

2007-12-30T23:37:00.000-09:00

Lord save me from the disastrous shopping trips I end up into. Last afternoon, my parents got a pleasant surprise when I announced, ‘I feel like shopping.’ Their eyes gleamed on hearing this rare expression from the Big B and immediately mom got ready to accompany me for shopping.

Alright, I know I’m a little too choosy when it comes to clothes (more than 4 clothes still have price tags attached to it and more than a dozen shirts that I haven’t touched since ages still usurp my wardrobe space). But then, that’s me. Live with it.

Almost an hour into the shop, and I felt like banging my head against the wall. Why, no I mean, WHY don’t I ever get the kind of clothes I want?? All of them are so tight and dhinchak. Why can’t they just keep simple, normal clothes? Everything has to be so bloody body-fitted. I mean, how do even people breathe in it? Tight jeans and tight t-shirt. Go to a tailor and he wouldn’t even have to take out his measuring tape to know your vital stats! And everything seems to be so loud (probably, it’s my mistake - I went during party season). Everything was glittering – loaded with sequins, stones and God alone knows what all.

Anyways, my point is why does fashion have to come in the way of what you feel comfortable in? Isn’t it ok if I don’t like those clothes? Wouldn’t it be just fine to move around in my jeans and kurta? No, I’m absolutely normal. Just that I detest this whole idea of going with the ‘in’ thing.

End of topic. No more shopping trips for me. In 2007 I mean. Better luck in 2008!

Wish you all a very happy New Year!!! :)

5 taare to Taare Zameen Par

2007-12-27T23:01:00.000-09:00

2 days back I watched TZP. I must admit, it’s after a long long time that a movie made me cry. After all the gyaan regarding video-production in DCS, I started looking at cinema from a very cynical point of view. So everytime I watched a movie, I would scrutinize it to the core and comment on it left right and centre. The result, I would never enjoy the movie. And this left me cinematically malnourished. Thankfully, this movie came forth as a saviour.

The subject itself is so strong that you happily overlook the minor flaws here and there. It’s a simple story beautifully captured and complete with brilliant performances. There is an instant connect with the character of Ishaan (Darsheel) – the dyslexic child burdened with the expectations of his parents and teachers alike. At some point in time, everyone has been misunderstood in his/her childhood. And this story is just about that – the vulnerable state of a child when people dearest to him are not ready to understand his state.

Where did we ever get the crazy idea that in order to make children do better, first we have to make them feel worse? Aamir Khan’s role as the art teacher Nikumbh compels us to reflect on parent’s behaviour towards children who are forced to join the rat-race; parents who are not ready to understand that ‘every child is special.’ His concern for Ishaan looks genuine, his fear for Ishaan’s future wants us to get up and help him too. The unspoken words between Nikumbh and Ishaan; the depressed look on Ishaan’s face; Nikumbh’s moist eyes – there are so many instances where you feel a gulp in your throat.

Add to it Prasoon Joshi’s beautiful lyrics; Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy’s unfailing music; lovely animations that take us into Ishaan’s mind; some unusually great performances by many debutants and the documentary shots of children shown during the credits. The year couldn’t have ended better!

CNN-IBN: Taare Zameen Par, directed by Aamir Khan and written by Amole Gupte, is the one film you have to watch, even if you haven't watched anything else this year because it's a film with a big heart, an important message, but mostly because it's a film that could change your life.

My long lost handwriting

2007-12-26T02:24:00.000-09:00

Few days back I appeared for an exam – a written exam! Yeah, the exclamation mark ‘cos it’s not everyday that I write 20+ foolscap pages. There were 4 exams in all – 2 on each day. The first paper I sat down to WRITE gave some good exercise to my fingers. The first paragraph took quite some effort and had different handwriting on every line. Thankfully, I continued with the best sample of the lot.

Everytime I released the static position in which one holds the pen, there was a slight crackling sound in my fingers. It took some effort and some pain in the knuckles to get back to the pen-holding position once again. Three hours and 20+ written pages later I realized what a humungous task writing has become. I don’t remember the last time I wrote a long letter. I haven’t opened my diary since last 10 months! Scrawling my illegible signature; underling sentences in a book; scribbling some lines here are there – these are the only things I remember doing with a pen nowadays. We are so used to keying in data that we’ve even forgotten how our handwriting looks like!

I mean, think about it – aren’t we losing a quintessential part of our identity? Everyone keys in the same-looking characters on the screen. So what happens to a whole stream called handwriting analysis? When you read someone’s hand-written letters, you can actually see that person’s face superimposed on that letter (ya, 70’s film type). Your sweat can drip on a note; your perfume can be absorbed by the fibres of the paper…Can you feel the same when you read a mail?

Mails, chats, sms – communication is becoming shorter and quicker. In the process, writing is becoming an archaic form of communication. The ability to communicate without editing is being lost. I mean, when was the last time you typed even one complete paragraph without pressing the backspace key?

Typing is faster while writing is slow. No wonder I have lost patience for creating a text at a speed slower than I think. At the same time, I love to write and I don’t want my writing skills to decay. I want to continue to write, to pour my feelings on a piece of paper and then read it after years and wonder if it was my tear drop that caused a smudge on that paper…

Intoxicated!

2007-12-25T03:13:00.000-09:00

She was done with her work for the day but didn’t feel like going home. It was still afternoon. What could she possibly do at home – watch Travel and Living? Well, that wasn’t a bad idea either. Thankfully she thought of something else and landed at one of her favourite places – Tea Centre.

She took a corner table meant for four and ordered masala chai. Two groups of people seated on the other side were discussing Sensex and Modi; neither of which interested her. She looked the other side and peered through the clear glass wall. Surprisingly, from that height the traffic looked much more organized. Strange things that people do while waiting on a signal – a girl combing her hair, a biker trying to squeeze in his bike between two cars to move ahead faster - caught her attention. Meanwhile, her masala tea arrived - two full cups made from tea liqueur, ginger, pudina and other tea masala. As she sipped the piping hot tea, she wondered why people still referred to Gujarat as a dry state; they could always enjoy intoxicating drinks like this one!

That afternoon, time moved at a leisurely pace, letting her enjoy every moment of it - the soothing white and lime green interiors, the glass wall between her and the chaotic world outside, the aroma of the chai, doing nothing in particular…

After a long time she found some good company. After a long time she spent time with herself…

P.S.: This is my 52nd post (missed the half century!). No, it hasn’t been a long journey. Rather, the journey has just begun. Looking forward to your company ahead :) Cheers!

Death of a different kind…

2007-12-19T00:03:00.000-09:00

The blogosphere seems like one vast ocean of knowledge, inspiration, creativity, questions, musings, thoughts, fancies, cribs, scattered emotions, non-sense – every single thing that defines us. At times I’m happy to see that such a thing actually exists and at times I’m simply awed by this unbelievably never-ending process of dissemination!

One of the best parts about blogs is that you are sure to find an expression to some of your deepest thoughts which you could never put into words. I came across this post on Atul’s blog. It’s something that I have been thinking about since long but could never spell out so neatly…

...blogs, like memories, don't die. Or something to that effect. And I believe so. People delete blogs, they stop writing at their blogs, yet blogs themselves don't die. They may be pushed back in the darkest deepest recesses of an inaccessible server somewhere, but they don’t die. At worst, they don't grow - they stagnate for want of nutrition.

Blogs don’t die. Bloggers do. They die two kinds of death, one of which is certain.

Between A and B

2007-12-18T01:28:00.000-09:00

A: Isn’t 18 the official age to marry?

B: Not any more… they’ve changed it to 21 years for girls and 23 for guys.

A: Oh, ok

B: It’s so weird…at 18 they think you’re capable of making national decisions but not your personal ones!

A: That's 'cos national decisions don’t f**k you up so badly…

Sunday Morning

2007-12-17T04:16:00.000-09:00

It’s a cold morning. She wakes up earlier than usual and heads for the front door to pick up the Sunday paper. Without even glancing through the headlines, she turns directly to Page 20. The world can wait; she needs to know what the coming week has in store for her. “An exciting week ahead. Financial matters will improve.” She grins. “But…” Oho, why the BUT? “But the sudden change in planets can pose a problem on the social front. Parents or friends may not agree to your plans.” Shittt.

Life’s so predictable...

Jitega Gujarat?

2007-12-15T00:03:00.000-09:00

The big debate about Gujarat continues on all news channels. Ghosts of Godhra and Sohrabuddin haunt back, taking up most of the air-space and the crowd once again gets divided into extremes – to be or not to be (with Modi). While Mr. Bandukwalla said that its time to forget 2002 and move ahead, there are people who think that Modi needs to be hanged for all the blood and gore that shredded the moral fibre of the state.

I switch off the television and am lost in deep thought. This is for the 1st time I’ll be voting. It’s quite a responsibility. On one hand we have a Modi who has changed the face of Gujarat, made it the land of investments and convinced people that we live in a ‘Vibrant Gujarat’. On the other, he’s the mass-murderer – the modern day Nero who set the state on fire and gleefully watched it from a safe distance. So while people do not stop praising him for making Gujarat one of the most progressive states of India, the same people abhor him when they watch the sting operations with men describing the details of the Gujarat genocide. And now that it’s time to take a stand – Modi or no Modi - people are struggling under the burden of choice.

My question is - Can the Modi of 2002 be separated from the Modi of 2007? Is it really possible to forget (if not forgive) everything and move towards a better future? Is it possible not to think about ethics but only about economics? Can there be a middle path? Can progress and justice co-exist in Gujarat once again?

The dichotomies boggle me and I fear the consequences.

To be or not to be (with Modi) is the question my Lord.

O re piyaa...

2007-12-14T00:16:00.000-09:00

Bliss
Freedom
Sorrow
Pain
Perplexity
Plea
Love
Longing
Hope

It’s amazing how one song can capture all of these emotions so powerfully. It’s after a really long time that a song has touched my heart so deeply. The lyrics are so euphemistic, the music so sufiana and the voice simply magical...

It’s the song ‘O re piya’ from the movie Aaja Nachle, sung by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan.

O re piya haye
Udne laga kyon man baawla re
Aaya kahan se yeh hosla re
O re piya haye

Tanabana tanabana bunti hawaa haaye bunti hawa
Boondein bhi to aaye nahi baaz yahan

Sagish mein shaamil sara jahan hai
Har zare zare ki yeh iltiza hai

O re Piya
O re Piya haye
O re Piya

Nazrein bolen duniya bole
dil ki zaban haaye dil ki zubaan
Ishq maange ishq chahe koi toofan

Chalna aahiste ishq naya hai
Pehla yeh vada humne kiya hai

O re piya haaye
O re piya
Piyaaaaa....

Nange pairo pe angaro
chalti rahi haaye chalti rahi
Lagta hai ke gairo mein
Palti rahi haaye
le chal wahan jo
Mulk tera hai
Jahil zamana
dushman mera hai

haaye

O re piya haye

You need to listen to it to know what I’m saying. Here it is.

Your favourite restaurant can help you improve your blog!

2007-12-12T02:14:00.000-09:00

My 1st post on blogging got a pretty decent response. I had written it when I was still new to the blogosphere. Now, having spent a considerable amount of time reading hundreds of blogs and being significantly regular with my posts, I am trying to interrogate what factors make or break a blog.

This analogy struck me while having dinner in one of my favourite restaurants last Sunday. I have been to this place umpteen number of times but on this particular visit I consciously thought - what is it that brings me back to this place? Alright… let’s put it this way – why would you go to a particular restaurant?

a) the food is really good
b) you like the ambience
c) the service is flawless
d) it sets a standard

Ditto applies to a good blog!!!

a) Excellent food: Everyone’s in search of good food for thought. Good writing and good topics are definitely the first things that draw readers to your blog. Like a specialized v/s multi-cuisine restaurant, you too can find your forte. You could either maintain a blog that projects you as a pro in a specific subject (media, photography,etc.) or offer the world on your plate. However, do not forget to lay emphasis on the presentation. Well-garnished food not only looks good but also tastes better. Quotes, pictures, etc can give a complete facelift to your posts.

b) Ambience: Many people seem to underestimate this but the fact remains that the look of the blog matters. It doesn’t mean that your template should be fancy or extremely stylized; it should be visually appealing and ‘clean’. Personally speaking, a blog with thousands of links on either side puts me off and leaves me hunting for the actual post.

You love to go in a restaurant where you feel most comfortable. Similarly, the reader should be comfortable when he/she visits your blog. They should be able to concentrate on the substance of your blog. I’ve come across some blogs where a heavy backdrop moves with the cursor. It’s very irritating and I end up with a headache :P

c) Service: Ask yourself - is there any way my readers benefit from my blog? If yes, they are sure to visit your blog time and again. ‘Benefit’ here has no one definition – you may be a pro in some field helping them with information or you could be engaging them in a dialogue/debate that helps them look at the finer nuances of life.

d) Set a standard - Inconsistency can become a big hurdle. When you go to a restaurant, you know what to expect from that place; the same applies to your blog. It’s important to maintain a standard. People visiting your blog should not be disappointed. Do some homework – find out which posts are most popular; what is it that your readers appreciate on your blog. Accordingly, try to improve; experiment a bit if need be!

They say, if you pour your love in food, it is sure to taste better. So no matter what you write, if it’s from the heart it will definitely be appreciated :)

If you have any suggestions, do share!

To end on a sweet note...

2007-12-07T04:04:00.000-09:00

It had been a hard day for her. In an attempt to divert her mind to something pleasant, she turned on the radio. Just then, she heard that tune – it was one of her favourite songs. She gently smiled; kept the little transistor next to her ears. Every word which was so beautifully woven in that soulful music touched her heart once again…

Aapki manzil hun main, meri manzil aap hain
Kyun main toofan se darun, mera saahil aap hain

Koi toofanon se keh de mil gaya saahil mujhe
Dil ki ae dhadkan thehar ja, mil gayi manzil mujhe

The magic of the song still lingering in her mind, she sighed. All’s well that ends well. Tomorrow shall be a new day…

English, Professor!

2007-12-05T01:15:00.000-09:00

There are those famous jokes about the way Gujaratis speak English – snack-snakes; hall-hole, etc. For 21 years in Ahmedabad, I had never come across any Gujarati who spoke that way. However, sometime in 2004, while on my train to Pune, a Gujarati girl scared the shit out of me when she said, “My bag is full of snakes.” It took some seconds to realize what she meant.

My point being, English is a very funny language. Just a slight twitch of a syllable and the entire context changes. And professors are those species who have the knack of using it in the weirdest ways. Forget the ‘open the windows and let the airforce come in’ under-grad jokes. We are talking about the use of English language at the Masters level. And when it comes to DCS, you are sure to chance upon some real gems of phonetic bends.

Here, every professor has a distinct style. Let me begin with Mr D – the same not-so-beloved professor who taught us the basics of Mass Com. His tragedy is that he often gets confused with the long 'eeee' and the short 'i' in words. The result – some absolutely new meanings emerging out of bland sentences and many embarrassing moments…

The beginning – innocent and forgivable…

Media is a very complex subject. To understand it completely, you need to pip into the nuances. (peep into the nuances).

For a class that would dig double-meaning in every sentence, this was perhaps their best chance…

This was during our class trip to Goa:
This is such a rare sight – so many goats on a bitch!!! (beach)

After this one, girls were ready to kill him!

While talking about the Press Council of India:
It’s like a paper tiger with rubber *** (teeth)

But this is just the teeep of the iceberg. Once you seeeet in his class, you’ll realize how torturous things can get! His tongue sleeps was too much :P

Isn’t it?

2007-12-04T02:21:00.000-09:00

Fair, wheatish, dark - In the marriage market, women are reduced to a shade card.

Rewind – stop – play

2007-12-03T02:42:00.000-09:00

Pune. Call it a seductress – that’s what it is. Three years of bitter-sweet experiences in this city have made me the person I am today. And here is an attempt to relive those moments that are etched in my memory. Funny, sad, nonsensical, enlightening – documenting some of these moments is my way of falling in love with the city all over again. So let’s start where my life took a 360 degree turn – the University of Pune.

June 2004

Our not-so-beloved professor is teaching us the basics of Mass-Com. Most of the students are yawning, others are daydreaming. It’s just the first month and many have already mastered the art of sleeping with their eyes wide open! I’m the unfortunate one – sitting in the first row, obediently listening to each and every word and taking down extensive notes. The voice of an over- enthusiastic professor in the next classroom cuts across the fake sound-proof walls and makes the already boring lecture absolutely incomprehensible. And it’s not just the voice; a foul smell too enters the classroom. The dead souls in the class start making some movement. Twitched noses and disgusted looks finally bring us all to a common ground. Everyone exchanges quick looks, suspecting that the one sitting next to him has farted. Not that such an incident had never taken place in school or college but studying at a Master’s level in this esteemed University made me believe that students no longer open-fire in stuffed classrooms. After 15 minutes of torture, the lecture gets over and we catch hold of the culprit – it’s the unclean loo, strategically constructed a few steps away from our class. Eeewww…

Welcome to a whole new world of academic experience. We call it DCS – The Department of Communication Studies. Tucked away in a not-so-nice-looking corner of the oh-so-beautiful Pune University, this is the place where I shall be unlearning the old ways of learning for the coming two years.

Surprise!

2007-11-30T01:55:00.000-09:00

She rings the door bell, palm covering the eye-hole. As she hears his footsteps approaching, her heart beats faster. The door opens and he’s dumbfounded. His face holds the exact expression that she’d imagined – happy, confused, surprised. She cannot stop smiling and gives him a huge hug. The same sweet smell that she’d been missing embraces her body once again. He gently kisses her forehead and gazes into her kajal-laced eyes. They don’t say a word, just look into each other's eyes and smile.

Tears roll down her cheek. She’s daydreaming again...

I Hope You Dance

2007-11-28T01:43:00.000-09:00

There are times when you feel so lonely, you almost want to run away from the crowd. Times when you feel so lost, you have no clue of what you are doing. You need someone so badly by your side that every passing minute seems like hell. But you need to calm yourself down and not let this phase overpower your senses. And then, a song comes to your rescue. It’s almost miraculous how the lyrics give you strength to fight a lone battle.

My inspiration comes from this beautiful song by Lee Anne Womak and I thank that someone special for introducing me to it:

I Hope You Dance

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,

May you never take one single breath for granted

God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,

I hope you still feel small when you stand besides the ocean,

When one door closes I hope another opens,

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance...I hope you dance...

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance

Never settle for the path of least resistance

Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth taking,

Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth making,

Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,

When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance...I hope you dance...

I hope you still feel small when you stand besides the ocean,
When one door closes I hope another opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
Dance...I hope you dance...

I hope you dance...I hope you dance...

You can listen to it here.

Let there be light...

2007-11-26T03:15:00.001-09:00

She would go to the maidan every evening and see the sun set. It gave her a sense of completeness – to see the orange sky die and the darkness of night take over. She almost turned philosopher during those moments and no matter how harsh the day had been, the transitional phase calmed her. She knew, no matter how dark it gets, the brightness of the sun shall triumph once again; it’s just a matter of time.

Om Shanti Om - The Review

2007-11-20T23:30:00.000-09:00

Well, there are three types of cinema goers:

1. Those who consider cinema as a work of art, have some cinematic sense and look for an aesthetic appeal.

2. Those who consider cinema as a product and look for a complete paisa-vasool experience.

3. Those who watch anything and everything.

Well, OSO – arguably the biggest film of 2007 – is a treat for everyone. I must confess at the very beginning of this post that by no means am I an SRK fan. However, he is the plastic beauty (tweaking the phrase) from Bollywood that can mould himself into characters from a fun loving college student in most of his movies to the legendary Ashoka to the socially responsible NRI in Swades. So whether you like him or not, he’s definitely worth a watch for the sheer fact that he is the King of Bollywood.

Spoofs have always been a favourite with the Indian audience. And when an entire movie rests on Bollywood’s attempt to laugh at itself (including SRK), it is sure to catch many eyeballs. Farah Khan leaves no stone unturned and gives the audience just what they love the most – a riot of film stars, larger-than-life sets, good music, hot babes and babas (how can you forget the six packs?!) and the eternal happy ending.

The film churns out a potpourri of tried and tested success formulae, carefully handpicked from many films. Like any super-duper hit movie, OSO has everything – emotions, drama (way too much), suspense, horror (oh yes!) and action. And all of this spiced up with a dash of nostalgia – the 70’s look. Especially the song, ‘Main Agar Kahoon’ is a visual treat - the blue-tinted night, the moving scenery against the car, the full moon rising in the background forming lovely silhouettes…Farah almost romanticizes the bygone era and leaves you wanting for more. But then comes the kahani mein twist. The hero must die to come back in another era with more drama. And this is achieved by not attributing any hero-like qualities to the character. So unlike the matrix stunts of Main Hoon Na, you have Om, the superman doing ‘Udibaba’!

As for the performances, SRK doesn’t have to try too hard to fit into the 70’S melodramatic role – overacting comes naturally to him. Deepika looks ravishing and Shreyas is adorable. As for Kiron Kher – she could have replaced Madhubala in Mughal-E-Azam ;). Towards the end, the real heroes of the movie – all the crew members - are honoured on the red carpet in patent Farah style.

Overall, OSO is to be seen not so much for the stardom but for the sheer amount of hard work that has gone into making a visually appealing film.

Happy Diwali :)

2007-11-07T20:50:00.000-09:00

Came across this flyer a couple of days back. Check out the spellings at the bottom :P

My Favourite Jingles :)

2007-11-02T03:08:00.000-08:00

I was going through some of the best TV commercials India has produced and then, I thought of taking note of the best jingles that have won the hearts of millions:

Tan ki shakti, mann ki shakti…Bournvita
Nope, boost wasn’t the secret of my energy; it was Bournvita and the credit goes to this very catchy jingle. Even the latest ‘epang, opang, jhapang’ is quite popular.

Tandurusti ki raksha karta hai Lifebuoy
Yes, the red coloured brick with a strong smell was (and continues to be) one of the highest selling soaps in India. Do not remember any other soap that became popular owing to its jingle.

Buland bharat ki buland tasveer…Hamara bajaj
It’s not only about the song but also the product with which you were so attached some years ago. Remember those scooters which had to be tilted on one side? The song rings a note of patriotism (I don’t know why, but it does.) One of the finest jingles produced till date.

Kurram kurram…Lijjat papad
People dressed in rabbit costumes and a bunch of people dancing in a garden made for a really funny campaign for Lijjat papad. Nonetheless, the kurram kurram was the perfect use of onomatopoeia for these crispy papads. I also distinctly remember the little rabbit that would pop up in the end!

Jab ghar ki ronak badhani ho – Nerolac paints
Simple lyrics and a lovely tune – a perfect combination that caught one’s attention, especially during Diwali.

Zandu balm…zandu balm
Some jingles may not be great but the fact that you remember them till date – just like some stupid nursery rhymes – make them worth mentioning. Zandu balm jingle falls under that category.

Nirma…nirma...nirma detergent tikiya
Think of great jingles and you’re sure to mention this one. Over the years, the Nirma ads have changed but they still use the same jingle.

Titan
No lyrics here but Mozart’s soulful symphony mesmerizes the audience till date. The moment you hear it you know its Titan. That’s what they call ‘excellent recall value’ in advertising.

Maggi maggi maggi
Had it as a kid, have it even now – it’s the ultimate quick-dish. However, I’ve never managed to prepare it in 2 minutes.

Mera gaanv – Amul dairy
Ok, some may not recognize this one. Probably it was aired more in Gujarat. Smita Patil and shots from the movie ‘Manthan’ talk about women-empowerment and how Amul dairy has brought in a revolution. It has the feel of a navratri song, though the lyrics are in Hindi.

These were some jingles from the bygone era. As for the new ones, probably I’ll publish another post :)

1947 – An Unknown Story

2007-10-31T01:16:00.000-08:00

History has never been discussed openly in our family. Not much is known of what happened when my grandparents fled from Pakistan and came to India in 1947. As an inquisitive child, I pestered my grandparents on several occasions but in vain. All I remember is the real-life ‘story’ my nani would relate everytime I asked her about that historic journey from Pakistan to India. “You won’t believe, we had a swing adorned with gems and gold chips back in our haveli in Pakistan,” she said with an air of spontaneity. Each time I heard that, my eyes would gleam with surprise. It was hard to believe that my nani used to live in some kind of a palatial house. I would imagine her lying on a gem-studded swing, the kinds they showed on Tipu-Sultan series on Doordarshan. “But we had to leave all of that behind and rush to India. All we could bring along were the many silver and gold coins we had,” she continued. I knew what was to follow – the most designer belt I had ever heard of. “I had this belt with a zip running on its back side. It served as a secret pocket and I hid all the coins in there and wore it under my saree.” Next to follow were the long train journeys with unknown people who shared the same sense of insecurity; the survival stories in unhygienic camps; passing through jungles where snakes would simply slither away and hiding in unusual places. Finally, after many days they reached Mumbai and from there they shifted to Ahmedabad.

That’s it; my excitement level would suddenly dip. Everything that followed seemed very routine and took place in a country I live in. I wanted to know more about Pakistan – as if it were a country very different from India. So nani would tell me tales about her village in Pakistan – how she would play with her friends there, the household tasks she would do….She would get transported to some other world – a place she once called her home. “Aisa nahin nani, kuch alag batao,” I would suddenly interrupt and break her trance. My demands would snatch her back to reality - to a place where she was compelled to unlearn the old ways of learning and start from scratch. It was disturbing for her and that clearly reflected in her tone. “Aur kya sunaun? Mujhe aur kuch yaad nahin,” she would dismiss me and I would leave disappointed. Then for quite some time she would sit all alone and get lost in her world once again.

I knew she lied. She did remember a lot about her days in Pakistan but never wanted to tell us. Perhaps she didn’t want anybody to intrude in the little corner of her world – the fields where she could run carefree; the friends with whom she could share her dreams; the people who didn’t hold any prejudices; the haveli with its overarching doors and the gem studded swing where she could lie down peacefully.

In the name of God

2007-10-28T22:03:00.000-08:00

i came alive
from the burning flames
while she stood there
succumbing to the political games

they slit open her womb
and flung the foetus in the pyre
who would say they are humans?
they were beasts
in human’s attire

‘in the name of god we do this’
they killed mercilessly and said
one ghastly act provoked another
and soon the untamed fire spread

six years have passed
but those screams still haunt me
the bloodbath, the horrifying sights
flash across unexpectedly and jolt me

‘you were lucky to have escaped the genocide’,
they thank the lord and say
somebody go tell them
i was saved once
but i die every single day

Urban Escape

2007-10-24T01:45:00.000-08:00

As I drive to office, I cannot help but notice the dichotomies surrounding me at every juncture. I find myself staring at streets and pedestrians, looking for a deeper meaning hidden behind each of them - the tall buildings juxtaposed against the slums of the construction workers; an old man struggling to peddle his cycle being overtaken by a minor riding a kinetic; an empty restaurant next to a roadside tea stall thronging with customers; a man selling low-priced clothes on a hand-cart parked under a huge hoarding of Benzer; a group of IT engineers crossing the road while being cautious not to step on the coconuts and lemons sprinkled with sindoor and placed on the crossroads in order to ward off evil... Every single day I come across a new story and find myself getting lost in the details of urbanity. The multi-layered essences intrigue, inspire and enthrall me. The city in its myriad facets weaves a reality that is so hard to believe and so convenient to ignore…

2007-10-20T01:19:00.000-08:00

A fly without its wings would be called a 'walk'.

Of Old Times and New

2007-10-18T23:27:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, birthdays were such a simple affair – streamers and balloons adorning the room (ma would spend the entire evening on it), home-made snacks for friends (samosas and wafers were the favs), playing passing-the-parcel and musical chairs (the best part :)) and giving away pencil box or pens as return gifts (everybody would fight for a colour of their choice). The occasion was more about having a good time with friends and family, not bothering about the shape of your cake or the colour of the wrapping paper on the return gifts.

Cut to the new-age birthday parties. First and foremost, you need to think of a theme -Barbie doll parties (where everyone dresses in pink) or jungle theme parties (where kids behave wildly as ever) are passé. Today, ‘A journey into space’ and Harry Potter themes are the favourites. Once you have decided upon a theme, plan the decoration. It doesn’t matter if it implies hiring a professional who’d charge thousands for the paper mache models and the paper cut-outs – the decoration should transform the birthday party venue (preferably a restaurant or a club-house) into a space station or Hogwart’s school of witchcraft. Invitation cards, birthday cake, games and return gifts – everything needs to be in sync with the theme. Some people go to the extent of coordinating the colours too! Such is the madness that the preparations start almost a month in advance – frenzied mothers surf the net for suggestions, the shape of the cake is decided, the cooks are booked - making the event nothing short of a marriage…infact, it’s an annual headache.

And after having attended many such parties and seen the tamasha, I wonder – is it really worth it? Whom are these people trying to please? Do the kids really want such stuff or is it the parents who are the ones conscious about their status? What was wrong with the kind of birthday parties we had? And can such celebrations match the innocence and joy of those humble parties we had not so long ago?

'ello Mr. Moth

2007-10-12T02:10:00.000-08:00

We exist.
Life persists.
And light travels.

The planet heaves.

Moths hang around
attracted to the light
and the life of the night.

Shaam ke parvane,
they troop in,
gather their selves, and pop out.

You can see them doing the Salsa at times.

They leave behind their visiting cards:
pairs of wings you can almost see through.

Munir Kabani

Dreaming of You

2007-10-09T22:45:00.000-08:00

there’s something about the look in your eyes

something I noticed when the light was just right

it reminded me twice that I was alive

and it reminded me that you’re so worth the fight

compromise v/s adjustment

2007-10-03T00:37:00.000-08:00

When you reach a suitable age, your parents start getting worried about your marriage. They are more worried that you'll have some weird ideas about the kind of life partner you want. So they keep telling you, "Beta, shaadi mein thoda compromise to karna hi padta hai."

I keep saying, "I'm ready to adjust, not compromise."

Many do not differentiate between the two, but there is a stark difference.

Compromise is letting go something of your self in order to create some kind of balance in a relationship. It may become mandatory since the relationship demands it, or more often than not, because of major ego clashes.

Adjustment can be seen as a voluntary act. It's at your own free will. You think of making things better, of creating a perfect blend and hence are ready to alter the degree of one or more of your characteristics. I repeat, you alter, do not shun the characteristic completely, which happens in case of compromise.

In a relationship, two people are like two musical notes. Both the notes are equally important and have a role to play. When one is high, the other ought to be low and vice versa. Only then can they produce music that sounds melodious. Adjustment is all about moulding yourself according to the situation. When you compromise, you are losing on one of the notes and hence taking away the essence of music.

Chak De India!!!

2007-09-24T22:05:00.001-08:00

24th September 2007 - India wins the world championship after 24 years! Call it number game or the spirit of the men in blue led by our true Indian Idol- Mr. Dhoni, the match that shall remain as one of the most glorious victories of the Indian Cricket team in years to come!! Congratulations team India :)

Destiny

2007-09-20T01:20:00.000-08:00

I was made for this moment

As the sun rises, I get ready,
put my best (read garish) clothes
and wear jewellery that shines so bright
then stand on the road-side
in a posture that is sure to attract
many a buyer

Many eyes fall on me
I know I'm the best of the lot
A man approaches and asks, "how much?"
The man next to me replies " 501"
"Not a penny more than 250"
The man agrees, takes the money
and hands me over to him

I go to his place
and am treated like some god
I'm placed on a pedestal,
showered with flowers
and offered the best food every day

Soon many people
start talking about me
and line up
just to steal a look

My popularity grows by the day
but this doesn’t last for long…

Soon they ask me to leave
Nonetheless, with the promise
That I come to their place
The next year…

"Ganpati bapa moriya
Agle baras tu jaldi aa"

On Writing

2007-09-18T21:43:00.000-08:00

"The scariest moment is always just before you start"

Stephen King

Well, Calvin has a different viewpoint...

if life were like nails…

2007-09-12T03:53:00.000-08:00

if life were like nails…

i would chop off the ends
when they got too ugly
or unmanageable

smoothen its rough edges
and give it a desirable shape

then apply some enamel
which leaves it shining

and gives it strength
to grow again…

@ L 5 -13

2007-08-31T02:26:00.000-08:00

This one comes especially for my roomies, with whom i've spent some of the best moments of my life :) makuts...we rock!!

Hariyali se dhaki un galiyon mein
Humne bhi ek jahan banaya tha

Ek chote se kamre mein
Duniya ke har sukh ko paaya tha

Yaaron ke saath bitayi thi kai shaamein
Tanhaiyon mein thandi hawaon ko apnaya tha

Bin vajah kiye the jahan jhagde
Phir gale lag, ek dusre ko manaya tha

Har baat pe hasi
Har cheez mein shararat
Har pal ek naya khwaab sajaya tha

Us kamre ki woh choti khidki se
Humein ek naya aasmaan nazar aaya tha

Shayad khud hi ko khokar
Humne wahan ek naye main ko paya tha

Ratatouille - The movie review

2007-08-27T01:51:00.000-08:00

Ratatouille may seem like a simple story of a rat named Remy who wants to become a chef, but it goes much beyond than that. It's a story that reinstates the idea that nothing is impossible to achieve. People will always ridicule you and let you down, they'll tell you time and again that you are not made for a particular task, but that shouldn’t come in your way of realizing your dreams. There may be 'ego' clashes too (ego is a food-critic in the movie), but if you have the passion and the determination, nobody can stop you from achieving what you want. It does a Jonathan Livingstone Seagull and re-establishes the notion - Believe in yourself!

My favourites from the movie:

The art of cooking

Food is like music. Each thing has its own taste, just like the different sounds. But when they come together, they create a symphony of sorts. There are immense possibilities and all you need to do is close your eyes and imagine what magic can be created when these things merge. In that sense, every cook is an artist who's culinary skill strikes a chord.

Gustauve

Gustauve, the famous chef from Paris and Remy's mentor believes "Anyone can be a cook." It's a thought that comes across time and again in the movie, only to reinforce the idea that everyone in the world has the potential to achieve something great. You just need to realize it.

Ego

Ego, the cynical food-critic says some really beautiful lines towards the end, which are from his last article in the paper. He talks about the job of a critic - a person who simply needs to pass a word on the hardwork of someone else. Over the years, the critic may grow accustomed to his power, may become 'ego'istic, but then comes a time where he realizes his mistake.

It's a must-watch for everyone! So go ahead, have a laugh, enlighten yourself and return to comment on this post :)

There she comes..

2007-08-22T02:52:00.000-08:00

Ah, there she comes…

With a spirit that finds solace
In the chilly wind
Which cracks her skin
And reaches out to her soul

With a silence that speaks
Of the gratitude she feels
Towards the one that lit
An unflinching fire in her heart

With restless eyes
Looking for something
She had unwilling left behind
The last time

Now her eyes light up
A smile dawns on her face

She is back to the place where she belongs -

Pune

Pune Calling!

2007-08-09T21:35:00.000-08:00

Yayyy! Leaving for a 4 day getaway to Pune today. Been away from this beautiful city for almost 4 months and this is just the right time to be there. I have been informed by reliable sources that the weather there is awesome! All I can think of right now is the lush-green University, coffee and muska bun at good luck and hours of chit-chatting with good ol' friends…Will have more stories to share once I'm back! :)

On rains..

2007-08-08T02:38:00.000-08:00

Seems like all good memories get evaporated

And strike on you in the form of rain

********************

Indoors

When it rains

you feel refreshed

though you sit in a room

and don't get wet

***********************

Sipping tea while it rains

Funny how a drizzle

is enough to start a flood

of thoughts

What stops us from blogging?

2007-07-31T01:49:00.000-08:00

The following reasons are based solely on my observation and interpretation. You are free to add some more:

a) Fear. This is perhaps the most common and biggest problem. Blogs being public diaries give you an online face-value. You don't want to end up writing something rubbish. You also have the fear that perhaps your language is not fit enough to be 'published' online or not as good as your creative friends'. I would say - chill. There is only one way to overcome this fear - write, write some more and keep writing to flex those writer's muscles or else they will soon become inactive.

b) Too many ideas at one time. This is another problem with many people, including me :) . I always start with one idea but can never concentrate on it. As a result I have many unfinished works. Finally, I have realized that there is no harm in it but it shouldn't distract you to such a great extent that you do not write anything at all!

c) The perfect blend. You always want to write something which has a perfect flow - a good beginning, middle and an end. But when you sit to write, you cannot write accordingly. It's always that the writer in you clashes with the editor in you. I would suggest - let the creative juices flow. Then put on the editor's hat and give it the final touch.

d) Time. Yes, it’s one of other big reasons which we always produce when someone asks us, 'Hey, haven't seen you update your blog lately?'. I know we all have prior commitments and loads of peripheral work which requires all our attention. But it doesn’t take hours to write something, isn't it? So just log on, write something- one or two lines of how your day has been, some random thoughts, song of the day, some lyrics that kept haunting you, etc etc. These little things will help you stay in the groove.

e) Motivation. Whatever you do, you look for some kind of motivation. In case of blogs, it's the reader's comments. When you see those comments, you know someone out there is reading your blog and hence are motivated to post something more and also experiment a bit with your topics, your language. Comments help you grow as a blogger, which is something not possible with your personal diaries. So, if you read something which is good or wherein you could add something, always leave a comment. Not only does it help you in networking, but it also motivates the other person.

Like I said before, these are solely based on some talks with friends and observation. So, I many or may not be right. The reason I state the ways we can overcome this block is because I think everyone has a story to tell and blogs are a fantastic way to share them. So, keep blogging and hope to see your updated blog soon :)

The best things in life…

2007-07-27T02:22:00.000-08:00

Smell of the rain-soaked earth
A long-distance call
Receiving an email from an old friend
Finding a ten rupee note in your washed jeans
Listening to your favourite song on the radio
Finding a pressed flower in your book
Reading funny notes you'd written during lectures
Reading old messages
Singing a stupid song in chorus with friends
A head massage after a long day
A hot shower
Laughing over a stupid joke
Having someone play with your hair
Home-made food
Girls' night out
Watching a classic

Getting your first salary
Sitting under the shade of a tree
Watching the sun set
Walking on the beach
Making maggi at midnight
The smell of coffee
Blushing when friends tease you
Having someone tell you that you're beautiful
Candle-light dinners
Walking hand in hand with the one you love
Realizing that there is so much more in life to be explored….

Who wants to be a Millionaire??

2007-07-25T02:22:00.000-08:00

My prophecy has come true! FILMY entertainment channel is actually launching a talent hunt show called "Bathroom Singer"! (Thanks Ritu for the breaking news!) For people who have come in late : http://bhumikaa.blogspot.com/2007/06/on-bathroom-singing.html .The tagline of the show says "Jismein jitna zyaada jhaag hoga woh jeetega". Just incase people have any confusion, they have clearly stated that here 'jhaag' refers to the "entertainment quotient". http://www.indiantelevision.com/headlines/y2k7/july/july21.php

I simply cannot imagine how will they choose the participants. I have all sorts of ideas which I'd rather not mention here ;). And as far as the audience goes, imagine a participant's mother saying "Isse bachpan se hi gaane ka bahut shauk tha. Jabhi bathroom mein jaati thi, zor zor se gaati thi. Padosi bhi pareshan ho jaate the! Lekin mujhe pata tha ki iske talent to ek din zaroor mauka milega aur aaj yeh 'bathroom singer' ke floor, sorry, manch par aa pahunchi hai!"

The weirdness of this venture doesn’t end here. The prize money is an unbelievable Rs. 2.5 million, higher than all the singing talent hunt shows so far!! So who wants to be a millionaire?? I'm sure there are many takers here.

Fresss Vegetables

2007-07-18T03:21:00.000-08:00

Last week I decided to go vegetable-shopping to Reliance Fresh with my mother. For people who are not familiar with this place, it is a chain of 'vegetable malls' started by Reliance. So you get all your tomatoes-potatoes, dals, oils, masalas, wafers and everything edible at this place. In short, it's a place where you buy vegetables in an air-conditioned atmosphere and more importantly, you cannot bargain! The prices are clearly written on a board, which is neatly placed on top of the counter. What's the fun?! So you just keep walking with the cart, keep cursing the rising prices of the vegetables and end up buying very little.

The 'vegetable mall' has surely revolutionized the way we look at this whole business of vegetable buying. However, the aunties are still learning to adapt themselves to it. So you see your Kamlaben checking every single bhindi before she puts it in the polythene. Then she puts it on the automatic weighing machine. It reads 106 gms. Naaah, that's not what she's looking for. She removes exactly 2 bhindis. The machine now reads 100 gms. Perfecttt! Her eyes lit up as if she has achieved the impossible!

While Kamlaben enjoys her moments of joy, I see my mother getting irritated by the strange mechanics of vegetable buying that she has been introduced to - the air-conditioned atmosphere, radio mirchi playing in the background, a person announcing the 'Fresss offers' on the mike…She decides that she'd rather buy the remaining vegetables from the vendors who have their carts standing just opposite the mall. So, we head out of this place and walk to the usual sabji-wallas.

The vegetables are neatly arranged on the cart, gleaming fresh with the water that has just been sprinkled on it. You can smell the fresh pudina and the green chillies. The yellow of lemons looks beautiful placed next to the red tomatoes. This time mother feels much more comfortable. She checks every vegetable with her expert hand, throws it on the weighing machine and haggles with the vendor. Her voice is loud and clear, despite the noise of the vehicles honking in the background. The vendor gives in and reduces Rs. 5 on the overall bill. I look at her and smile, giving her the 'I'm loving it!' look. Mother feels happy and we walk away with great satisfaction and two bags full of vegetables.

While She Waits

2007-07-14T01:40:00.000-08:00

I'm scared of her. She haunts me everyday. As I climb up the stairs, I can feel her presence. Clad in her white Pakistani pyjama - kurta and head covered with a thick dupatta, she sits on the last fleet of stairs. She watches me as I take deeper breaths while climbing the last few steps. As I move around doing my work upstairs, I feel she is standing behind me, watching me carefully.

I hear some strange noise and look behind. Nobody. But I know it was her. She must be getting some kind of sadistic pleasure in watching me all tensed and sweating. She knows I have this inexplicable fear of being all alone upstairs. It's been years, but still I haven’t been able to overcome this fear.

Climbing down the stairs is the thing I dread the most. There is darkness behind me and in that darkness I know she is following me. I can feel it - she is right behind me. As I try to move ahead faster, she gets closer. It's just a matter of a few steps. My heart beats faster. I don’t want her to snatch me away. Last four steps, three, two, one, ground. She's gone. The moment I touch the ground, she vanishes. Looks like she has no power beyond the fleet of stairs.

I heave a sigh of relief. Once again I have returned safe from her territory. I have been lucky for the past 15 years. But I know, one day she'll take me away with her….

Learning to move on

2007-07-11T23:13:00.000-08:00

While I was returning home after class today, I felt a gulp in my throat. It was a sense of loss I couldn’t decipher. A lot of things filled up my mind. Was I unhappy, shocked or just getting emotional, given the moment? I don’t know what was it that had gone wrong, but atleast I realized that something had definitely gone wrong.

It was her last day in college today. She is a professor that came across to me as a rebel, as a dreamer, as a person who always wished to accomplish something more each day. There were many who didn’t like her - called her a snob or selfish. But I knew from the first lecture that I attended that I wanted to be her. It was a secret desire and I did keep it a secret till date. It's only now, as she leaves the college that I choose to reveal it.

Indian writing in English - that's her field if specialization. It's a subject constantly surrounded with issues of identity, authenticity, and of the sense of 'Indianness'. It was not a safe subject for a college professor, I thought. Then why did she have to take it? Perhaps, she liked to do the unconventional.

As and how days passed, I felt an urge to know more about her. She taught us poems of A.K. Ramanujan. "Memories like a snake slither away at the most unexpected moments," she said while explaining one of his poems. The passion with which she taught the subject made me wonder that perhaps even she has a past that comes back to her and makes her feel uncomfortable at times. She talked about the identity of Indian-English authors but deep within she was questioning her own. It was reflected in her initiative to investigate the dilemmas of Sindhis who fled from Pakistan during Partition and settled in Gujarat.

She is a Sindhi married to a Gujarati and realized that in the bargain Sindhis had lost a lot - their land, their traditions and now are even losing on their language. I saw her battling for identity. I saw a self burning from within, wanting to break loose and make a mark for herself, a self ready to take on challenges and show to the world the person they had been underestimating all this while. In her voice, in her words, in her look I saw myself…

She made me realize that to learn something from life, you need to move on. There shouldn’t be any guilt in leaving something behind because that's how you grow. The many talks with her enlightened me, pacified me and encouraged me to take the steps that I did. She instigated the desire in me to make my dreams come true. And today, when she was leaving I couldn’t react. I saw the me in her moving away. But then, she has left a bit of her in me to keep the fire burning…

2007-07-09T02:00:00.000-08:00

Rim jhim gire saawan

Sulag sulag jaaye mann

Bheege aaj is mausam mein

Lagi kaisi ye agan…

I feel like KKKKilling them!

2007-07-06T04:06:00.000-08:00

God, how can someone even stand them - yes, I'm talking about the much detested K serials. A few days ago I did sit through one of those stupid programs. Feels like I went through some kind of agnipariKsha…but people, I survived! I was helpless - had fever and a severe headache and was lying on the sofa in the room. My mother entered the room realizing that it's 9 and religiously switched on the television to watch Kasautii Zindagii Kay. (don’t know why the double 'i' and why the spelling 'kay' while it is pronounced as 'ki' ??)

Mother was relieved to find that she'd simply missed the recap. And guess what? Even I thought of watching the program, since there was nothing else to do…duh. But I wanted to know what is it about these serials that women simply cannot resist. So, I gathered all courage and sat through the torture for 30 minutes.

How, no I mean HOW idiotic can any program get?? Everyone seems to be staying in a raj-mahal; there is no concept of day and night - it always seems like day, thanks to the flat lighting; there is no concept of age - you look like 25 even when you have a daughter of that age?! And yes, the men apparently never go to office and the women are always decked-up in glittering saris and loaded with matching jewellery (the latter can be witnessed in any social gathering nowadays!). There is much more than this, but even listing it down gives me a headache.

But what really got on my nerves was the editing pattern. One nonsensical sentence by a character and the camera goes dhatang dhatang (back and forth disco style) on all the peripheral characters present in a room. While one face has the expression of omigod, the other simply says OH…MY…GAWD. At the end of the day, all of them give the same expression. But do not underestimate the editor. He has other ways of showing astonishment, anger, sorrow, etc. The camera goes whoosh ( left to right), then whoosh (right to left) and another whoosh (tilting from top to bottom). So it serves as some kind of a repeat telecast. If you missed it once, here we are showing it to you the second time. Oh, you missed it again? Never mind, we are here to go whoosh even the third time.
The more whooshes, the more dhatang dhatangs on various characters, the better the registration amongst audience- well, that's what the editors think.

Thankfully, there were more advertisements during the serial, which were far more entertaining than the program. At the end of those 30 minutes, my head started to ache even more severely (what else could you expect?). But I still cannot decide who is more dim-witted - the makers of the serial or the viewers...

Colours of Paradise

2007-07-02T05:00:00.000-08:00

Ochre - not yellow, not brown, something in between
Grey - just a drop of black in the white so clean

Violet - blue and green merge to create a sight so captive
But beware, for looks can be deceptive!

Green - the blue sky and yellow sun come alive
Nurturing a colour that breathes new life

Orange- the fire in yellow gets more wild
Engulfs a tinge of red and makes it mild

Pink - the softness of white gets more loveable
Embraces the feminine and makes it adorable

Blue - each hue so different, different stories it tells,
Some of a precious stone, while some of rains spells

Rain-soaked memories

2007-06-27T23:44:00.000-08:00

In the labyrinth streets of my mind, memories find their place in every nook and corner. As I pass through these, I notice some rain-soaked memories tucked away in a corner - under a shed to help them from fading away. These are some handful memories of the days wrapped in the smell of the earth, the hot puffs from the bhajiyas and the endless cups of teas. While some are wrapped in an inexplicable search for the purpose of my being, some are full of fond memories with an evening spent with a loved one.

I have spent many evenings all by myself; walking alone on a path that leads nowhere and taking in whatever nature has to offer - rain, splashes, insects. On this journey though, I did ask myself many questions - why I was here in this city, away from home; what is it that I plan to achieve; what is it that I want to do 3 months down the line when I'll be compelled to leave this city and go back to my hometown. I needed time with myself - to answer these questions, rather to simply raise these questions. And there, on the lonely path, walking on soaked leaves and saving myself from splashes , I experienced many doubts being washed away from my mind and feeling one with the purpose of being here.

Now as it watch the raindrops from the window of my office, I can't help but think of the rainy day I asked myself, "What is it that I want to be?". It's another rainy day, in another city and I crave for the puzzled me who asked that question. I didn’t have any directions then and was head bound to find one, rather make a path for myself. I loved the restlessness, the passion, the many questions that left me sleepless at night. The showers instigated me to answer those questions. It was as if it were saying, "Here I am, pouring on the earth - the place where I belong. Where is your destiny taking you?" There was a perplexed me, a mystified me, a confused yet ambitious me who wanted to answer the rains.

Yes, it's another rainy day, in another city, so what is it that's bothering me? I'm cozy and comfortable in the four walls of this office. So what if I cannot run out and soak myself in the rain, but watch it from the glass windows? So what if I cannot smell the earth or feel the cool breeze? While it pours, I get a glimpse of the perplexed me standing in front of me. Drenched in the showers from head to toe, she smirks at me and asks, "Is this what you wanted to be?". There is no reply. Not yet.

An Unbearable Wait

2007-06-25T22:02:00.000-08:00

dreams await
wishes call out to me
wait longer, they say
the fruit shall be sweeter

let me go, i say…
to my surprise, they let me
i move ahead, full of joy
and rush to open the door

only to find myself
in a bigger cage…

2007-06-06T02:35:00.000-08:00

“Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep... wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you're just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky his is to have you.... The one who turns to his friends and says, 'that's her.'"

On bathroom singing...

2007-06-01T21:28:00.000-08:00

I do not have a sweet voice. But that doesn’t deter me from singing, atleast not in the bathroom! One tumbler of water and the Lata Mangeshkar in me comes to life. Seriously, what is it about bathrooms and water that you can't help singing in the most horrible voice that has been granted to you?!

Ok, I guess I've figured out some good reasons:

1) You need to do some kind of timepass- obviously, how can you just pick a tumbler and pour water on you all the time?! You need some entertainment bhai...

2) Nobody ever listens to you. So the bathroom serves as a vent for all your pent up feelings. Atleast you can listen to your own voice.

3) The closed 'room' with the shower in your hand makes you feel like you are standing (or sitting, whatever you prefer!) in a karaoke studio and are about to come out with your debut album. SOLO ofcourse ;)

4) It's a good place to practice your singing skills which nobody ever appreciates. Who knows you may enter the next Maha (or is it Vishwa?) Yudh and become the 'Voice of India'!

5) And the most important : You are all alone in the bathroom so no matter how bad you sing, nobody can do anything!

And there are interesting features too that I have cited:

1) The songs HAVE to be fast-numbered or else it slows the pace at which you bathe. You see, the beats of the songs are directly proportional to the speed of bathing. And there are very rare occasions that you can spend hours in bathing.

2) The songs are majorly from the latest flicks, mostly the ones that Radio Mirchi plays in the morning. Only at times do I feel like singing good ol' songs like 'Kabhie-Kabhie', which eventually I have to fast forward due to unavailability of time.

3) Yet another important feature of bathroom singing is that it teaches you to adapt yourself to different situations. Imagine this: you are singing 'Jhoom Barabar Jhoom' (which happens to be my latest favourite) It is the time for you to apply some face wash. Obviously, you cannot continue singing but nothing can stop you from humming. So you continue humming the next stanza with all kinds of alterations in the pitches as your hand moves over the cheeks or the nose.

4) And it definitely evokes creativity. See for yourself - the songs get a personal touch when the latest events become a part of the song. It can be some political event, some problem at home, the name of your loved ones and so on.

Bathroom singing is god's gift to all of us! So do not, I repeat - DO NOT pass off bathroom singing as something frivolous. You never know, in future there might be some competition like 'Bathroom Idol'.

If you too have any logic for bathroom singing or any bathroom favourites, do share it! :)

Meet our clients

2007-05-29T04:25:00.001-08:00

Diamonds are forever

2007-05-23T04:06:00.000-08:00

Finally! After more than 2 days of grueling, around 10-15 'fresh' concepts, and hours of introspection, one of my concepts was finalized…phew! Firstly the clients are never clear about what they want :

"You make something that gives a corporate feel." Eh…what do you mean by that?

"Ok, make something that talks greatly of our company". Well…that’s what we are paid to do anyways

"Oh, then why don’t you think about some concept and show it to us after 2 days." As usual, not at all focused.

Anyways, when I did make a few concepts, they said,

"Well, this is not what we want." Is it? Then why don’t you just vomit out what you want?

"Value - yes, make something on values." Hmm…that doesn’t help either but atleast something is better than nothing.

So another 2 days, loads of brain storming and at the eleventh hour my muse gets active and I hurriedly write a concept. I show it to my boss, he looks at me, and says, "Wow! That’s nice…that’s one of the best concepts I've seen lately. Minimum words, great impact!"

Whoa! I never expected a compliment like that from my boss. And then he adds, "Well, the client wants the complete film in 4 days. Just wish that they approve of it." BANG. So the grueling is still not over. I just wish the client likes this one, not because I've worked really hard on this but because I think this will really look great visually. Well, I forgot to tell you about the client - they are one of the biggest diamond dealers of Gujarat! I don't mind getting a solitaire as a reward for good work ;)

Coffee and conversations

2007-05-18T22:56:00.000-08:00

In a country that thrives on tea-drinking populace, a coffee joint would have never been a profitable venture. Or so we thought. Just look around and you will see the shift in the 'drink' that people prefer now. Coffee joints like Barista, CCD, Mochas and others have given rise to a whole new culture- the coffee culture. They attract teens and college crowd who are purely after making an impression . So you would hear pseudo accents, narrating pseudo stories among pseudo friends - all at an attractive price that brings you the not-so-good coffee.

I have been to this new generation coffee joints but I loathe the coffee they offer. With all its fancy names and sky rocketing prices, what they offer is least impressive. I'd rather have a coffee at the nearby tapri for something less than Rs. 10 and still be satisfied. And weren’t coffee joints meant for some quiet time with friends and more so with yourself? Ah, ofcourse these joints offer you that facility - with games, loud music, the guitar kept on one side, the cozy couches and the fancy snacks, they do make sure that you spend quality time out there.

Nonetheless I do visit these places at times just to observe the crowd - they are young and hungry for attention. Clad in the latest fads and lingos, the girls and boys try their best to look upbeat with the cuppa coffee in their hands. The place compels them to behave in a particular manner and that inturn turns out to be a complete turn off.(too many turns here!)

But you cannot deny the fact that these places have surely been successful in spreading a culture that goes beyond the drink. So, if you are at some place where you are asked "coffee or tea?" and you answer "coffee", it means you are the young and restless, cool and happening kind of person, image-conscious, fashion savvy, intellectual types. And if you say "tea", it would mean you are like any other local round the corner, who works and sweats and comes home and has tea and is not aware about the latest fads and book releases.

In an attempt to make even tea-drinkers look hep, a tea joint was set up here in Ahmedabad, called 'Tea Centre'. The greatest irony is that this place is set up right above a Barista. Next to the most popular coffee joint there are almost invisible stairs which take you to this small and cozy place. I believe I must have been to this place more than I have been to a coffee joint. I simply love the interiors of this place - white and light green in colour, it gives you a feeling of freshness. You can watch the busy crossroads from its glass walls while you sip one of the 20 plus variety of teas this place has to offer! Though the strategy of both the places is the same - cool interiors, great variety and not-so-humble prices- the 'Tea Centre' still breeds the kind of people who come there for the love of the national drink rather than being seen as a part of a status symbol.

But there is nothing that beats the simplicity of the old Iranian coffee joint in Pune called 'Good Luck'. Situated on the road which gets its name from the famous college on it - Fergusson- 'Good Luck' has been serving for more than 5 decades now. It rests on a crossroads little ahead of Barista and CCD and still throughout the day it throngs with people who have literally been fed on its coffees and muska buns over the years. The many windows draw in the traffic noise, the waiters run hither thither in sweaty uniforms and the people walk-in in bathroom slippers and a worn out t-shirt. Still, this place is more genuine than any of the new coffee joints. A steaming cup of coffee served with maska bun loaded with butter that melts in your mouth after being dipped in the coffee….ummmm. Absolutely divine.

And as I walk out of this place I spot a Mochas round the corner. The dim lights and the smell of vanilla and strawberry flavoured hookahs make it look like some suspicious place. I read the phrase "coffee and conversations" and ask myself "is it?"

The Broken Image

2007-05-16T23:14:00.000-08:00

In January 2004, I attented the first literary seminar of my life - the Katha Seminar. By far, it has been one of my most memorable trips to Delhi - the literary talks, the many movies at the film fest, the Delhi winters...I enjoyed every minute of it! The seminar opened a whole new world for me and I realized that there is life beyond classroom lectures. Not that I didn't know about it earlier, just that it hit me the strongest during this seminar and compelled me to take a step ahead. It was precisely at this point that I decided that I would pursue my Masters in Media Studies.

I attented several workshops at the seminar and one of it was a workshop on poetry writing conducted by George Szirtes - a renowned poet from Europe, who has also extensively worked in the field of translation (http://www.georgeszirtes.co.uk/). During the workshop he asked us to think of an object, personify it and use it as the subject of our poem. After 15 minutes I had in hand the first poem I'd ever written. This one holds a special place for me. Let's see if you can guess what is the object that is personified here :)

THE BROKEN IMAGE

But once I was
Loaded with images
like books stacked
shelf after shelf,
I could see everything-
yes, everything
But myself…

The hidden tear
The child's fear
The first grey hair
Following an unknown path
Leading nowhere

But now,
A thin line cuts deep through me
Like a once bountiful
but now dried up sea

And I can still see it all..
The hidden tear
The child's fear
Alas! I'm hacked in two
They don’t come near...

The first step...

2007-05-15T21:23:00.000-08:00

it's just a matter of minutes and it's done! why the hell did it take so long for me to start my blog? i was always looking for the 'right moment' - don't know what that means 'cos i just had to click a few buttons to start blogging. Today, finally i said- well, i have to start blogging, no matter what. So, here i am finally with my blog. I've got loads to say, loads to write and loads to share. And finally i have a space of my own to do this...i'm so excited! :)