i like it hazy

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!

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

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

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

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!

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

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.”