Pune in Monochrome

And a little bit of colour.

I'm supposed to write a letter of appreciation for a person who has produced a saffronised series of 'value education' DVDs. I guess it's just divine justice that he is called pee-yush.


Please do feed the fish.

Why did you have to wake up?

I don’t need anything. I’ve had my khichdi (although I did skip esubgul. I prefer a suppository, you didn’t bring one, did you?), I’ve swallowed my pills.

Why do you look at me like that?

I promise I didn’t use the heater for too long. I know they said it’s bad for my sores.

I felt like a pizza again, but you wanted to know how I could even think about it. (Which would you pick, by the way: pizza or esubgul?)

Those wide eyes of yours. Like they’ve swallowed up your voice. Say something.

Remember those yellow afternoons? I never told you stories about being a refugee. Packing up and sneaking away to a newly made country. Losing my gold medal (pure grade, 24 carat) because it wasn’t hidden in the payesh.

Oh look, there are more people in here. What fun! Is it someone’s birthday?

Why didn’t someone tell me? Wait, let me get up and dress. Oh that’s alright, I’m sure you don’t mind waiting.

Did I tell you about the time I wrote an exam with livid red ants on my back? It was maths and I got full marks.

It’s rude to stare. Wait! I did not mean ignore me instead!

Where are you going!

What’s that strange box?

You don’t mean I’m...dead?

Maybe I’ll remain a voice forever trapped in your head.

Opposition, Proposition

Let us play tag.

You’re It.

When I blow the whistle

Try and catch me.

No, silly,

It’s just a game;

You’re not really supposed to catch me.

Okay, I’ll be It for a while.

Random ramblings of an insufficiently occupied mind

Reading other peoples writing is so inspiring. It gives me ideas about the kind of writing I might try. I used to enjoy writing at one point of time. Now what I write is mostly boring stuff. I'm convinced this is because I am working. My most prolific years were-respectively- seventh grade, college and T.I.S.S.

Seventh grade because I had an English teacher who for the first time realised what I had all along: that I was a terrific writer. *Here I don a pair of extremely cool shades and lean impressively against a wall*.

More specifically, she said, "Who's the new girl who wrote a fabulous entrance test paper?" and shook my hand. I remember blushing (ME!), remembering all those essays and scintillating short stories that always came back with a 'Fair' (I mean 'fair'?? What kind of a feedback is that anyway for a STORY written by a KID?), and thought 'Ha! Good riddance to YOU, old school!' I'm sure when I came back and told this story to my parents they had their share of 'Ha!' moments (which, by the rules governing parenthood, they are only allowed to subtly betray.). They had been trying to get me change schools for a very long time. By the way, my logic for refusing to leave that school, the first time, was because I was one of eight kids in junior school allowed to wear a wrist watch because I was a Prefect. I guess I liked gloating over that fact*.

College, because I still believed I was a genius-waiting-to-emerge *** and T.I.S.S. because by then I knew the truth (refer to ***).

Working is boring. It severely cuts down on my vela time when the only things competing for mind-share are two library cards, free movies off the internet (oh man, some day IPR in India will wake up with a start and all this will end, won't it? Sniff.) and endless piles of books I'm way too old for.

Why did I have to grow into cliched adulthood? Gasping with shock on birthdays (Twenty FOUR?! No friggin way!), having all the joy sucked out of life, having to set a schedule for fun (or miss losing the weekend to sleep)...

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be one of those who starts every sentence with 'In those days...' very soon. I'm going to wonder why my (nonexistent-now and for a long time hence) kids don't accept my Wisdom and Experience already instead of having to actually, stupid things, acquire it themselves. I'm also going to be the one with the mid-life crisis when I will stride up to my boss, repeat the clever, rehearsed, speech about why I'm too good for my job, and quit and spend a year travelling with hippies. Ok, that last bit won't happen because I'm never going to be in such a job.  As of forever, I'm way too interesting to regress to that :D.



*This disturbing aspect of my personality revealed itself rather early in life. As a wee toddler of four, I was the only one in a class of fifty (hundred, if you count both sections) allowed to drink and pee at will. This had everything to do with a medical condition and nothing to do with the benevolence of the mainstream Indian educational system. I would, apparently, drink pointedly from my bottle, everytime some other toddler was refused permission to drink water**.

**I have no regrets. I was too young to know that I was actually trying to start a rebellion instead of being the happy Babu in the colonial system.

***Now I know I just have the temperament of a genius (the yo-yoing temper, the mood swings and the constant need for stimulus) without the actual genius bit being a by-product. I haven't shared this with anybody as yet. I'm perfectly happy to let my demeanour fool them for as long as they like. It's hard to help being born with a face that always looks to be deep in serious thought when all I'm really fantasizing about is mutton korma with naan.

I must write an S.O.P and I keep getting stuck.

Here's hoping I can update this post with a P.S. that will state: S.O.P accomplished and I'm terribly pleased with it!

The thin line between sneaky and street photography

In the past couple of months, I have discovered that I really enjoy street photography. I love the spontaneous moments, and the sense of art flowing from life. I wish I had my camera with me all the time, so I can capture images like the one today morning, which made me stop in the middle of the road with its, well, eloquence. 

A group of old men and women were crossing the street, the winter sun lighting up the red flags with the hammer and the sickle that they were holding. It was a poetic moment.

I obviously have a lot to learn about photography. Street photography,to me, is all about capturing a story, and I'm not sure how to deal with the classic problem of shooting strangers. Do you ask them for permission? Do you shoot 'from the hip' to avoid drawing attention to the fact that you are trying to capture, forever, the image of a person who just happens to be there? I was reading an article on this on Digital Photography School. I understand the author's logic about the need to be, well, sneaky (and smile disarmingly if caught by your subjects, hoping they'll understand that its not your fault, but that of Art). Some of the greatest moments on the street can be when people have intensly private moments in a public space (and I do not refer only to the photo of the kissing couple), which will be destroyed if they  realise they're being caught on camera. At the same time, the voyeurism of non-informed shots bothers me. And by the way, I have no idea if there are any laws against street photography in India. I'm not going to find out either, ignorance will be bliss :)

For now, I think I shall try and use my judgement. I won't ask for permission if I don't think the moment is 'private'-but I won't hide my camera either. So hopefully, if people object to being in my frame, they can move out-if they notice me. I will ask for permission where I can. Because I, personally, get creeped out at the thought of being on some stranger's camera.   

These are some photos I've taken on the street since getting my camera.

Paharganj, Delhi. Near Sam's Cafe.

At Sarojini Nagar, Babu market. I did ask the tailor for permission to shoot his machine, although I shot the watchmaker too. I like the fact that they're aware of the camera. I think it only adds to this shot.

Paharganj, Delhi.

Paharganj, Delhi

The non-living are easy on the dilemma :P

New York City, Broadway Street

Ditto

Near NYU (No permission. But they were so into their game they didn't give a fig about me or my camera :D)

Near Central Park, New York City. I'm a little more uncomfortable when I want to shoot people doing their job. They're not trying to look arty, but I'm turning them into something that is,for me. I really should ask them for permission...

Brooklyn Bridge.

Performers also make it easy to decide. They're performing, if not for your camera (heh heh), then for an audience. I guess it is polite if you leave some money, as appreciation for THEIR art. But impoverished student types (um, yes I still put myself in that category) can still get away with the excuse of Art.