Voids of Wisdom

फिर आया चीता

2012-01-08T00:11:00.001+05:30

Man in Wind - 2

2011-12-25T10:16:00.001+05:30

Croc in Squares

2011-12-25T07:07:00.001+05:30

What The?

2011-11-26T23:20:00.001+05:30

एक ड्रिंक

2011-11-17T07:34:00.002+05:30

A Life Electric

2011-03-30T11:10:00.002+05:30

Channels

2011-02-26T12:23:00.000+05:30

Caught a Cat

2011-02-22T11:00:00.002+05:30

Berlin, Berlin (Slideshow)

2011-02-05T14:35:00.004+05:30

Singh is (Vi)King

2011-02-05T13:56:00.003+05:30

Angry Bee!

2011-02-04T10:33:00.019+05:30

Music courtesy Rovio. Found at: AngryBirdsNest.

No lights

2011-01-17T23:24:00.009+05:30

Sometimes I switch off all the lights in the house.

We used to get power cuts, a lot of them. In the peak of summers, with mosquitoes swarming outside. Patches of light will swim in from street lights and some houses that had generators. As our pupils expanded we began to move around, calculating how long this is going to last.

Matches and candles were not brought out instantly, partially in the hope that the lights will return soon enough - partially not to waste the candles. Shirtless bodies took their positions, sprawling near the windows hoping for the breeze, then realizing how muggy it was. Sweat began to pour and patience started to wear out. Magazines became fans, and someone lit a candle.

A candle didn't get anything done. It just made objects visible, most that could be seen without the candles and others whose positions were a part of our being. Like the stairs, which we could have used even with our eyes closed. The candle was just a beacon, a sign of industry, the flag of the family. We brought our books to the table to respect the candle. Soon enough we established that studying was out of the question. We usually ate something then, mostly quietly.

With the absence of electricity, came the absence of daily din - the talking on the TV, the buzz of the refrigerator, the whirring of the ceiling fans. We could hear people in the lane below, and on the road outside. We were cautious not to be loud. Our ears were tuned, have other parents let their children out.

The youngest were the first. Then came the others. Sound of chatter surrounded shadows perched on bikes, everyone spoke freely. Like transported to a world where rules were missing. We were free of expectations, to study, to sleep, to keep quiet.

We settled in this world, which made us think of history and the skies, and of other people's business. The lines of authority melted, the young ones crept up to hear the raunchy banter, quietly enjoying and pretending not to understand. A new gang had formed in the darkness.

Then the lights came back with a jolt. We were unhappy at first, but our tired bodies and the calls from our houses dragged us back.

That's why I switch the lights off, to let it go.

East Side Gallery

2010-09-19T14:06:00.002+05:30

Alienation

2010-09-15T13:46:00.000+05:30

Neptune at Alexanderplatz (Slideshow)

2010-08-30T23:13:00.004+05:30

Thoughts on sleep, and a clip from Apocalypse Now

2010-08-29T22:10:00.035+05:30

1.

My uncle, who at that time was into metaphysics, once told me that for everyone, everyday comes a moment when they pass from wakefulness to sleep - but it's impossible to know when; to consciously realize that moment.

Escape from our daily world just creeps up on us.

2.

Have you ever left a cinema hall, white credits rolling on a black screen, the best part of the soundtrack playing in its full glory, and as you walk past the glowing Exit sign, you can't leave the movie behind?

Have you ever woken up with a dream not leaving you?

The great bard once said:
“We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep”

The Clip

(Courtesy: YouTube)

Portraits from the Berlin Zoo (Slideshow)

2010-08-28T12:12:00.000+05:30

Milestones

2010-08-26T11:37:00.000+05:30

A Passing

2010-08-25T11:37:00.000+05:30

Bundestag (Slideshow)

2010-08-22T20:15:00.002+05:30

Aminals from an average workday 2

2010-08-13T20:10:00.000+05:30

4 months

2010-08-02T19:53:00.000+05:30

Binsar (slideshow)

2010-05-23T17:38:00.015+05:30

Animals from an average workday 1

2010-05-22T20:40:00.001+05:30

The Jackson Capsule

2010-03-17T12:25:00.039+05:30

_______________________________________

This goes out for Kamal Bhatnagar.

________________________________________

When I was growing up, cassettes were cutting edge. If you held on to your pocket money for a month, you could buy one. And then it played, it played first on your tape recorder and then on each of your friends’. It was borrowed for parties and guarded from strangers. Boys growing up in apartments defined by cement patterns and lime paint knew which cassettes they had access to. Cassettes were currency.

As a cassette played again and again, it wore out. It could only give you some months of joy, every boy knew that. Playing a cassette was never a casual affair, the music was destined to fade out - it demanded your attention while each note was clear. A cassette had to grow old and die. Death was sometimes glorious; the tape was pulled out and thrown into the wind. The dying notes floated and vibrated in the air, and sometimes the shining tape remained stuck in overhead wires for days.

Some cassettes though never died. They were preserved in drawers and boxes; even while their songs became distant and grainy. The boys knew these cassettes. When one of these cassettes played, one of the boys transformed. He moved with an energy that only he connected to. While the boy danced, he was your commander.

The cassettes were his glory and your chance to gloat. They were from Michael Jackson.

Oh!

2010-03-07T12:16:00.003+05:30

Alien between the lines 2

2010-03-02T12:31:00.000+05:30

Alien between the lines 1

2010-03-01T08:00:00.001+05:30

Kanha (slideshow)

2010-02-22T12:26:00.000+05:30

Tigers wait

2010-02-10T15:02:00.000+05:30

Where the bald things are

2010-02-08T14:48:00.000+05:30

Mean green

2010-02-06T12:51:00.008+05:30

Bored bird

2010-02-06T12:45:00.000+05:30

Bear this

2010-02-06T12:36:00.000+05:30

I storm the Hindi press

2010-01-31T17:19:00.000+05:30

Click image to enlarge

It's urgent!

2010-01-31T14:45:00.000+05:30

My name is red

2010-01-31T14:17:00.003+05:30

In a cardboard world

2009-12-26T15:43:00.001+05:30

Still life (Wait, it's a slideshow)

2009-12-26T14:49:00.002+05:30

I can see that

2009-11-19T21:46:00.009+05:30

Fiat with surround sound

2009-10-21T11:47:00.006+05:30

Anterminator

2009-10-18T20:34:00.001+05:30

Man in wind

2009-10-18T18:57:00.005+05:30

A brief reminder

2006-04-01T20:13:00.001+05:30

[To the occasional stray visitor (aao ji, maala shaala pehno): The following was an attempt to crack what I thought was a copy test.]

To be dragged by the idea of proving yourself of being something that you need to define is a mind-numbing experience. It's an opportunity you keep dreaming of, but when it knocks on your door, you want to hide in the darkest, most unreachable cellar you wish you had in your three-bedroom flat.

It's like being an adult who is sent to a park for no particular purpose. A Child, who doesn't really bother about what others think, would instantly know what to do. He would crush the first bug he sees; and then be an airplane and a train simultaneously and wallop around. The adult, on the other hand, would look around for ideas. He would suddenly be conscious of his body. What to do with my hands? Should I sit? But I don't have a book to prove that I am enjoying the solitary stimulation. Should I mix around with that airplane kid? But then the most he would do is pretend that I am a skyscraper and crash into me. That reminds me, I don't even have an mp3 player, how do I look cool?

The point of the pandering is this - as we grow older and become conscious of what we are being seen as, we lose the knack of instantly switching on the most magnificent and easy-to-use device we have to be ourselves, our imagination. And if you are one of those who can't come to terms with this allegation, let me take it upon myself.

I am at a loss to pinpoint that one thing I would like to write about to prove myself to be an okay-ish writer: one whom you might want to pay to get some words out of. My ideas run around like squirrels, each furry, warm,and cuddly. But to grab one, and keep it alive till the time I present it to someone else is tough as hell.

I am Robinson Crusoe running around like a madman looking for a piece of animal skin, to stitch me a nice brief. The illusory ship has finally seen my smoke signal. The small dinghy is on its way to take me home. And I am naked. I tried to ask man Friday for his brief, but he won't part with it. And now, it seems, he is sure that I am gay.

As it turns out, a readymade brief is a nice thing to have. A nice V-shaped one is preferable. Twist it around any side, like >, or <, or ^; and it points to where you should go. Look at Gandhi and Jesus, their only earthly possessions were their briefs, and they led the whole mankind. Or switch on your TV, look at Angelina Jolie's briefs and your mankind would tell you where to go. So, UG (i.e. the copy test provider man), as kind as you were to be the benevolent king and give this poor artist a free run, this bum would have liked a brief.

Because without a brief, my balls are in your court, and everyone can see them.

Monkeys in the devil's workshop

2006-02-11T13:24:00.004+05:30

I am currently looking for an outlaw chimpanzee called Kanoon. He is easy to spot...psst...lambe haath. If you find him, please send him straight to the sets of Kanoon: The Barbarian. Its a hatke-potboiler-with-a social message. King Kong facecs police atrocities types, full paisa vasool. Emran Hashmi, Ajai Devgan, and the Deol clan have refused the peanuts I am willing to pay-so I am banking on Kanoon...he might enjoy the offer. So keep your nuts out, and don't hestitate to call me when grabbed.

Woss shakin kids?

2004-10-18T14:14:00.007+05:30

"Bucky Katt, that's the name" - that's what he says when he comes in. Kids, if you still dig Garfield, you are barking up the wrong cat.

Anyway, if you are here to read something original and funny, then hang on, cause I wasn't born funny, I have to rely on epifunnies.

By the way, welcome and all that.

The road to Okhlahoma

2004-09-21T11:06:00.001+05:30

I type this from a corner of a workstation farm, a wall on one side, a babe on the other. The babe as articulate as the wall (or me, for that matter).

The farm, in Okhla Phase-1. People in Delhi will wrench their noses reading that, rest can also do so - this is one thing Delhiites have got right. Okhla is a prime example of haphazard urban development, there were offices set up here as soon as space started running out at more decent and accessible places in Delhi. It is amazing how 'we Indians' (cliché alert) can set up slick airconditioned offices in places where there is not enough electricity to run the traffic signals on the potholed, bumper-hit-bumper-hit-cow roads leading to them. I was on one such road on my way home yesterday, with a colleague who will be the reigning champion if a Grand Prix for second gear lovers was set up.

In a slow car, you will notice that it's Navratri - nine days (nights, to be precise) when Delhi goes nuts about all soughts of goddesses (although being in Delhi is not a pre-req for being nuts about goddesses for nine nights...I should have said deities). So if you are here on one of these days, and you see a long line of hawkers selling coconuts and red chunnis, basking under a string of perilously close-to-your-head bulbs - you are near some Mata (read mother) temple, some of the most happening religious hangouts in North India. Hey, they are happening, after all they organize Jagratas (read night outs) where desi Cacophonixes belt out Mata songs set to Bollywood numbers (Have you heard 'Mata Laga'?, it rocks Ma[ta]n!).

I am not opposed to all this devotion pandering, if it is kept to the hangouts. It's a pain when it spills on to the roads. Hey it's Jagrata night, let's completely block a road! Hey what's better, let's put huge loud speakers in residential blocks! Wow, we can put out gaudy outdoor ads too! I saw one of these ads on the road, rough English translation: "Jagrata starting with Aarti by nine virgins (in Hindi: Kanyas)". Mata save us.

The road to Okhlahoma happens to lead to one such hangout. But before that, you have to see other varieties of Delhi's delights. Really banged up mini buses (read RTVs) stopping and starting at their own will, the cow next road has better road etiquettes. By banged up, I mean banged up, like coming straight out of a civil war. Put some guys with AKs in them, we can get Darfur right here.

And a really struggling for space Mosque, people praying on footpaths, rising and lowering their heads together. It is calming to see, but not in a rush hour. Get inside people, this is a busy road! There's more: Monkeys, Cows, a booze shop (oasis), Sonata driver fighting with three-wheeler guy, people racing buses, sarcastic guys sitting in slow cars...they are the worst I say.

The babe on the next workstation hums, the wall still the same. I realize I haven't had coffee for a while, now you know that I am not cantankerous usually, its just lack of coffee (Yeah sure!). I get up and leave in two minutes from now...you stop staring at the screen.