what’s on your mind?

facebook keeps asking me what’s on my mind.

well, you asked for it.

for starters, getting up at six and travelling to work is on my mind. how do i optimise my time? how do i wrestle with the crowd to get decent standing space? how do i learn not to break the jaw of some dumbfuck who’s playing his worthless crap labeled as music on his mobile loud enough for the ghost of napoleon to hear? what’s on my mind is the constant need to become insensitive. blind to beggars, to the filth around me. to not feel the constant jabs at my back coming from some asshole who wants to climb the bridge faster than anyone else. the need to shut off every stimulus that makes me want to scream out. yeah. what is on my mind is to become devoid of any emotion.

what else…hmmm

yea! what’s on my mind is how the bloody hell and when the bloody hell am i going to pay back the loan i took to study in the uk. then again, i am also considering the new job and how i am finding it difficult to move from offline advertising to online, learning a whole new approach in the process. yes and how can i forget simultaneously trying to re-enter offline in spite of being rejected for almost eight times, either for being overeducated or underexperienced.

yea, and then on my mind is when i am going to catch the new terminator movie. fuck you all who think it is bad. and when i will see ice age 3. and when i will go shooting with my friend shashank who is here on a vacation, and is leaving mid next week.

a lot is on my mind.
seriously.

pichchur

that word is a regionalisation of ‘picture’, which is how we (in india) usually refer to movies as.

but then, everything here is divided on the basis of caste, creed, colour, language, height, weight, shoe size, possessions owned…and then, where there is so much segregation, you would naturally expect the ‘jungle ka kanoon’ to kick in with all its might, smashing a few secular mandibles to smithereens. so emerges a leader, or a bunch of leaders who have the clout to make the laws.

which brings me to the main issue of this post. i have news. the official language of the country’s film industry is punjabi. i might have missed the bus when this radical change happened. i’d have been too young to even notice. but yes, the offical language is punjabi. consider the songs being played on that most monstrous invention of all humanity, television. it’s always “mennu tennu jaawaan kardi lagdi soni sohneya kudi munda apne rab naal wich…”

‘disgruntled maharashtrian syndrome,’ you might sneer. well, whatever. the fact is the entire television industry has been northernised. reality shows on ‘youth’ channels like channel v and mtv reek of the delhi accent, films like singh is king are super hits, names of characters are from up there…everything. coming to think of it, it was always the kapoors, johars, sippys who ‘created’ the industry as we know it. they were always the ones who had the money to pour in. and as the clan increased (both in numbers and girth!), it became evident which way it would all turn up in a few decades.

the kind of films coming out are crap, to start with. the industry keeps on  throwing up (literally!) some of the worst films in years. ghajini, the blockbuster of 2008 was grating on the nerves, illogical and terribly frustrating. then was chandni chowk to china, a nausea-inducing rip-off of kung fu panda. i could go on and on. coming to the better ones, there was delhi six (which everyone hated!) and dev-d. i haven’t seen too many, but then, i am writing this as a disgruntled, irritated, terrified movie fan.

coming back to the main issue, 2008-9 saw a sudden upswing in films based in delhi or centered around north indian characters. and closer home, in mumbai, you have the communality between the localites and immigrants from bihar and uttar pradesh. things have gone beyond control in that area. a slum with close to 20,ooo huts has come up within a span of five-six years close to where i live, all filled with people from outside of the state. ready vote banks for the vultures.

everything is crumbling. everything. and it’s a one way street.

canine capers

My sleeping pattern, or more aptly, my night schedule has changed quite drastically after I came back from London. I has nothing to do with jetlag or the ‘NRI’ excuse of the bed being too hard, the air being too musty or even the mosquitoes. Well, you could count in the mosquitoes.

My nightly activities these days include random o’ clock walks around the house looking for things to do. I fill up water bottles, rearrange newspapers, watch TV till my eyes are heavy, read a book; or like just now, I laced up my trendy canvas shoes, undid the laces and laced them up again. The ends never match, and I can’t exactly figure how to make them so. Then I spend some time drawing up diagrams of how the lace ends might end up matching. But it never helps.

It’s neither the bed nor those little flying buzzing insects. It is those stray dogs, those infernal creatures that should have never existed (along with the mosquitoes, I must add). There is one particular dog that keeps repeating the same phrase in Doglish (or Dogench, if you please) from 2:30 AM till five in the morning. Trust me, I have stayed awake that long. Not to decipher what he wants to convey, but because I cannot sleep with so much debate going on between the canine community in our entire locality. Considering the reasons, it is us humans that inevitably cause the increase in number of strays in our locality. Overflowing dustbins are the prime dog magnet, nicely stuffed up cats the other. Now the cats feed on the mice and rats that infest the sewers which have been closed up with concrete slabs. So the cats find their way to the bins, having to compete with their nemesis every time they try to dig their stupid little noses in for a bite.

Back to the dogs. I hate them. Strays most of all. I imagine myself getting out at three in the morning dressed in dark blue overalls, gumboots, green full length hard rubber gloves, masked with club in hand severely damaging the cervical vertebrae of each of those mangy mongrels. BOWWWOWHHWOOWWHOOWWHACKK! End of story. Then what I do is pile them up at the crossroad, all twisted up, tongues lolling out, eyes white, necks snapped, in all their deathly pallor. With a note stuck on them saying, “If the municipality doesn’t do it, I will.”

Cause of my sick, demented, inhuman outburst? Lack of municipal interest in clearing the city of its strays. Also, the utter stupidity of dog loving animal rights activism. Most of the people interested in saving cute little doggies from the dog van have never had sleepless nights tying shoe laces or rearranging newspapers. Most of them probably own a dog of a breed no one has ever heard of, having paid an obscene amount for ‘acquiring the canine asset’ and an equally ridiculous amount on its upkeep. Screw the municipality. They could never give the city water and good roads for all these years. Why would they bother about dogs? If you might have noticed, all this animal rights activism happens in the supposedly better side of the city. Now you might say, here comes all the north-south divide bullshit all over again. But that has always been the issue around which everything in the city is centred, if you care to notice.

Screw all that. I think it’s time I started rearranging the items on the computer table. The lace on my left shoe is looking a bit uneven. And my hands are beginning to itch for some canine whacking…

kudal with bhu-shi

had been to kudal recently with bhushan and shireen. they got married in may, and as the custom goes, the newly wedded couple has to visit the native place and offer prayers to the kuladaiwat (the god of that place and its people). i anyway was looking for a good break from my job (that of looking for one!). so i tagged along.

i do not recall the names of the places we went to. so for now, i will just post the images. the laziness fairies have sprinkled their fairy-dust all over me, causing prolonged spells of horizontal floor alignment…

this is nitin kaka’s house where we stayed. he’s made a fantastic lighting arrangement on the terrace. monsoon nights will be a thing to experience!

cashews in the courtyard of the house. this time, the cashew crop has yielded better than the mangoes. my trip to bhamghar made me realise that this year is going to be a dry spell. sad.

aboli flowers. i have a distant cousin named aboli. it means ‘unspeaking’ or ’silent.’

nitin kaka.

cashew nuts drying on the terrace. they taste heavenly when fried on a tin sheet on an open fire. more mesmerising is the smell of them frying, hissing about as the liquid oozes out of them, catching fire.

temple. bhushan and shireen.

shireen with her nikon fm2. beautiful camera, classic metal body, much sweeter shutter sound than my fibre body fm10.

statue of goddess. fantastically carved black stone. konkan (the coast of maharashtra) is dotted with temples of various deities nestled among towering palms, overlooking pristine beaches with the whitest of sands and the bluest of waters.

drying red chillies. it is interesting to note that every house has a garden and is self-sufficient regarding food. vegetables, rice, coconuts, spices, almost everything is home grown.

was fun to be around cattle after a very long time. we used to have our own in bhamghar. this calf didn’t let anyone else touch it! the camaraderie the boy shared with it was a thing to see.

note: try touching the flesh around the neck of a friendly cow some time. it’s like running your hand through warm butter. also, please note the word ‘friendly.’

that’s the way water is heated for a bath. three stones, dried coconut shells, wood and an age old aluminium vessel coated with ash so that flames don’t burn the metal.

men of the house.

the old house of the family. it is being refurbished.

this is right opposite the house, an area known as the tali, literally meaning a lake. it contains an perennial spring which feeds the forest around it, and also provides drinking water.

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temple drums

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chariot in the temple area. it is brought out on special occasions and is pulled by men from the village in the surrounding area. like the jaggannath yatra in puri. that is where the word ‘juggernaut’ comes from, meaning an unstoppable force.

we headed to the closest beach after the temples and family visits.

those are the real colours. very minimum photoshop work.

on the way back, we were treated to a glimpse of a play performed in the village square. since it was hanuman jayanti, the play was an extract from the epic ramayana. we stayed back a while to witness the histrionics.

next day, more family. more temple.

saw this drawing in a temple.

shireen told me that these illustrations are made by drawing the shapes and then making patterns and details with a fine tipped needle. fantastic.

i have forgotten the names of the places we went to, and also the chronology of events. had taken a diary with me (london habit) but didn’t record the travels.

all in all, a very good trip. great beaches, loving people, and the familiar red earth. what else does one need?

holi @ bhamghar

Had been to my native place for holi. It’s a very remote village called Bhamghar nestled in the mountains of Ratnagiri. The place defines the word ‘remote.’ As I often tell my friends, Bhamghar got electricity in 1992 and a telephone connection just six years back. Till then, we relied on kerosene lamps and those very beautiful blue ‘inland letters’ and yellow postcards.

I have been visiting Bhamghar with my grandparents since I was eight months old, according to my grandmother who often repeats this story  whenever the issue of me and my love for my native place comes up. I started going with them with my milk bottles, milk powder and the brush that is used to clean the bottles. When I said remote earlier, the fact that we still don’t have a single shop in the village should suffice to support my claim! We still have to walk down the mountain for a couple of hours to another village called Nigdi for getting basics like milk, sugar, rice or salt. (There is one more Nigdi near the city of Pune, which many people confuse this one with.) I distinctly remember our dinners in warm summer nights surrounded by kerosene lamps. I could hardly make out what was in the plate, but the day’s tiring mischief was enough to put all faith in grandma’s culinary skill!

If I start, I can write a book on all my memories. Therefore, I shall return to the present.

This was only the second time I had been there for holi. And I was returning after probably three-four years. So it was a great occasion for me! Borrowed a friend’s Nikon d40 for the visit. Left at five in the morning with family. Got a few good morning shots.

The Goa road is beautiful and well maintained. We reached more than half way pretty quickly. Stopped over at Ambet to buy chicken.

FOLLOWING IMAGES MAY CAUSE DISTRESS TO VEGETARIANS.

If we had stopped later at Mandangad, it would have taken us at least an hour! This is a junction of sorts where State Transport buses leave to various destinations across Ratnagiri. Purchased things we would need for the ceremonies and left.

We reached home pretty early, in anticipation of the palkhi. Now here’s how holi is celebrated in my native.  On rangapanchami, there is the usual playing with colour and lighting the pyre in the evening. Some say the pyre in our village is so huge, it can be seen from two mountains away! I missed that by a day. The next day, the images of our native gods are carried around the village in a palkhi (palanquin) decked with flowers. Some rites are performed at the main temple and the palkhi arrives at a house in the village from where it moves ahead. This year, that house was ours.

My cousin Amit who recently got married had come with his wife. Since it was the first time he was coming here after getting married, there were certain rites that they both had to perform. One was distributing sweets to every house in the village, and the other was a procedure I saw for the first time. It’s called ‘mundawlya baandhne,’ or tying the mundawlya. The mundawlya are those things tied around the newly wedded couple’s heads during their wedding ceremony.

What needs to be done is, they both have to tie their respective mundawlya, a coconut and knife (wedding paraphernalia) to one of the pillars on the loft of the house. For this, we went to my grandfather’s brother’s house right next to ours. One of the pillars was covered with visibly old mundawlya tied in red cloths.

After this, the sweet distribution thing happened which took a long time! Dolly, Amit’s wife (her new name is Avni – the wife’s name is changed after marriage), was taking in everything with awe. It was all very interesting for her, right from the cashews hanging on trees on our way to the ceremonies and the people! Also, she was feeling a bit uncomfortable in the sari. It was great to observe so much of culture being passed on.

Everyone left at nine in the night as opposed to originally planned four! I could hear the palkhi being taken from one house to the other; the musicians played tunes that I knew from 20 years back! The same old rhythm of the drums, the very familiar shehnai, and the mantras being chanted…the music wafting in through the countless walls and little lanes and trees as one unified sound. The sound of celebration. Of culture.

I have to add here that the musicians are not of this earth. They were playing almost continuously a day before we arrived, and did not stop until I left two days later! Day and night they went on with their beat, stopping to take a bit of rest, filling in on their sharp village brew, and beginning again! I sadly could not go with the people for the night events as I caught a cold. Just like that. I agree that it was almost 37 degrees Celsius. Must be the dust, I told myself. And went off to sleep.

The next day I did not do much. Went around to the temple, got back to the school and took a few shots there. I must say, the children here have a different spark in their eyes. Might be their rustic skin, browned by walks to school in the scorching sun, the oil in their hair which doting mothers massage into their heads after a bath, the sweet smelling talcum powder, or just the hunger for knowledge. And their urge to show what they are capable of.

Next day was great. Went to another village close by called Kestuli. My dad’s youngest cousin got married a few weeks back and his wife is from Kestuli. I went along with cousins as the son-in-law’s entourage! I got to see first hand the treatment given to a son-in-law.  Respect comes in all possible forms, right from the cool water given to wash our faces, the special sheets brought out for everyone to sit on, to the sweet smelling water from earthen pots kept in front of us!

Had a very good lunch, spicy, thick coconut based mutton gravy with rice bhakris, a thinner variant of the gravy to have with rice…brilliant!

Then came the betel leaves, paansupari as it is called. My grandmother used to eat betel everyday after lunch. I made one for myself and for others. I was so full after the lunch that I forgot to take pictures of the plate full of betel leaves, shreds of tobacco, the famous green container of white lime (chuna), and to my surprise, a bundle of beedis! I was later told that it is a norm to offer beedis.

Visited a lot of relatives’ houses, had sweets and were offered tea at every place we went to. Left at around five in the evening.

Booked tickets for Bombay for the next day came home and started packing. And that’s when the electricity went off! It usually comes back at seven, but that day, the bulbs flickered back to life at eleven, causing my grandma to panic. I have been seeing her pack for the last 20 years or so, and her style has not changed at all! I remember my grandfather used to scream at her from his bed to stop and go off to sleep. She has this annoying habit of packing things into small bunched up packages, gathlya as they are called. And she will spend hours gathering stuff, locking cases and doors, opening them up again, misplacing keys, rustling plastic bags, asking questions…she used to do that when I was seven and has not stopped it yet! So, she spent almost till one in the a.m. shuffling about the house till she was completely satisfied, and came to bed.

We left at six thirty in the morning, amidst the usual meeting everyone, money exchanging hands and wishes being conveyed.

It has been like that for as long as I can remember. And I hope and pray it never changes.

nothing but a song

strange how songs remind you of so much, even when you are hearing them for the first time. recently saw ‘flashbacks of a fool.’ the film is good, though prone to fault-finding among those who seek to dissect everything critically. what struck me most about the film (apart from daniel craig’s perpetual pout) was the song ‘if there is something’ by roxy music. it holds the film together, if nothing else. bryan ferry wailing about the things he’d do, even “grow potatoes by the score,” and the otherworldly sax sounding so painfully evocative…how it fits at the ending so flawlessly as if the last scene was shot FOR the film!

what is it about that songs that made me sit up at three in the morning? nothing comes to mind except lost innocence. as Ferry, towards the end says, “the hills were higher (when we were young)…the trees were taller (when you were young)” – that exactly is the crux of all our love songs, of all the films we adore, the essential holy grail of nostalgia. it is the lament of simplicity sacrificed, the memory of our days when everything was possible, when we could just be! words like ‘consequence’ has much simpler meaning, time was nothing but numbers and a dance of mechanical hands.

all that sums up why floyd’s ‘high hopes’ will always bring a tear to the eye, why the piano section of clapton’s ‘layla’ will make our throats swell up.
that is why we will keep playing those songs over and over again, and sit up at three in the morning to write about ‘nothing but a song.’

friends, outings, v-day and other things

back in bombay. the city that is falling apart, every single moment. it is strange to see things from an outsider’s pov. everything that you seemed to enjoy and accept as a part of everyday life suddenly seems nerve-wracking and disturbing. the fact that everything around you is so out of whack, and people go around pretending to believe that is how it is, and will be. well, the dilemma continues…

v-day was great! spent time with close friends, drank a bit of wine and bacardi white rum, had coffee at our favourite cyclewalla anna. this man is a boon to drunks and late night snackers. he is seen on a cycle with a steel tank full of hot milk and water tied to the carrier of his cycle, with an endless supply of coffee, tea, idlis, cigarettes and almost everything anyone might require at supposedly ungodly hours. we have been having coffee with him for close to ten years now, and he recognised me the moment i appeared in front of him. he asked me where i had been, and i told him i’ve been to london, and he gave an all-knowing look and made strong milky sweet dark coffee for us with his trademark mixing technique. anna is one of the very few people who support owls like us, having to pay a share of his earnings to asshole policemen, just so that they don’t lift his cycle off.

heard a lot about slumdog from friends who have seen it, both in london and here. people from outside think it is brilliant, and are worried about the beggar mafia. people here think it is ‘poverty porn.’ well, for someone like me who has grown up with having to see beggars everywhere, it is just another ’salaam bombay.’ brilliant film, that by mira nair. i haven’t seen it yet, but i am sure it will evoke the same feelings that mira’s film did, albeit with a positive outcome towards the end. salaam bombay was inspired by trauffaut’s 400 blows, and ends in desperation, the very stark truth that nothing will ever change. things will be as bleak as depicted in the film. a reality that we in bombay, this huge pot of desire and despair, have been conditioned to turn a blind eye to. what the audience and the so-called critics have to accept that slumdog is a film made by a foreigner FOR a foreign audience, and hence it will show things that someone from outside sees at first glance and is struck by as radically different and interesting. call it poverty porn if you wish, but the fact is that we, the people from bombay, have seen this porn all around us, and are immune to it. so much so that we need someone from outside to show us how it is. it is in fact a shame for us to have someone show us our filth, while living in it all these years. that is something we need to think about.

 

managed to see DEV D. reminded me of baz luhrman’s romeo+juliet. fantastic treatment of a very old story. surprisingly, even this film was seen as a bastardisation of the much-loved tragic hero devdas. i cannot understand this hypocrisy. on one hand you have women and men screwing around in all possible social circles, and on the other, you appreciate devdas in his original traditional form. and then again, you hate and derise someone who shows you the truth about drugs and sex and relationships. i guess that is a part of the indian psyche – to deny the blatant and in your face reality, and to seek enjoyment and release in dreams which might be light years from the truth that stares at you with tear-stained eyes, asking for retribution.

that kind of sums up my first two weeks back home. will post more as i taste life as i knew it, and as it is now.

 

p.s. please read ‘the time traveler’s wife’ by audrey niffenneger.

leaving london

bare branches, huge piles of autumn in gardens, the confusing warmth that came with a chill, mindlessly obedient traffic, beautiful gardens, cats with light orange eyes reclining on walls at the exact same spot everyday, the guy at londis, university buses, university lunch, the hogsmill with all the funny looking birds floating on it and the other ones sitting around it in their funny little dresses, vaughan oliver, ethan, mina, sandra, jenny, dan, mercy, rachel, mike, ewan, xiaowei, kaye, niall, paul, susan, studios, pizza hut, the evil chicken at dallas, barcadia, tottering little grannies with their checquered cloth shopping bags, francoise, julien, the world’s best strawberry juice, ham and cheese sandwich, a very little room with a window opening to the back garden, birdsong at half past four, pence coins in empty washed jam bottles, one pine cone sitting on the shelf, kishori at six in the morning, cooking, cooking the same old things for a year, wondering why, typing without looking at the keys and being overjoyed at all the correct spellings, andris being taken over by indian ocean and wanting more, ameya and gang, conversations right through the night till seven a.m., rahul the wrestler, beer cans all over the house, coriander stuck to the back of the fridge, feeling at home, making the book, the book…

 

 

frost on cars, frost everywhere, the road shining like a millions stars, hands freezing, thawing them on the cooker flame, snow, walking on a carpet of white with shoes making strange sucking noises, prateeksha’s first snow, trying to catch the largest snowflake on my tongue, the diabolic swans by the river, beautiful little children feeding them bread, the lonely and extremely long walk to hampton court from kingston, cider, southbank, shashank, london eye, the frozen serpentine, random chats with leena, profound chats with leena, trying to keep a sane mind, bread for breakfast,lunch and dinner, just bread or biscuits, splurging on food without a care, laughing alone, staring at the spinning clothes in the washie, kfc, naliya, sutha, pratheepa, sara, adnan, bagdas, creating new things to eat after being bored of the same old menu, three a.m. baths and then not being able to sleep till six, loving to stay in the duvet till four in the evening…

 

 

tate modern, trafalgar, strand, china town, trying to shop on boxing day with divya and gang, venkat on gas, drunks in central, drunks everywhere, smell of weed at bus stops, southall a.k.a. delhi, east ham a.k.a. matunga, paan stains everywhere, seeing three britishers in one day, just three among a sea of turbans and dupattas, jeddee coka, telling the most frustrating jokes, wanting to structure this entry according to place and time, not doing it, eventually ending up following a pattern, vaughan liking the blog and telling everyone in class, shashank urging me to put up posts, missing too many photographs because of the lack of a digital slr, radhika, early dinner at the archduke, walk to leicester just for ice-cream, catching up on all the years, the bridge, the chubby waitress at the cafe, francoise’s mocha, the strawberry juice, bournemouth, dover, canterbury, not being able to eat any fish at whitstable, the birds, promising to come back, not doing so, the rush at the airport, losing my warmest muffler, keeping andre in my coat pocket, divya turning up from bournemouth, gajesh stuffing something in my bag…

 

 

 

 

everyone everything everywhere.

 

hating, liking, seeing, desiring…

loving london.

 

 

 

 

 

leaving london….

crib. complain. shout

i’ve been having this terribly niggling headache for the past few days. something that runs from the side of my left eye, round to the top of the ear and back to the left shoulder, all supported quite well by a constant throbbing behind the eye. i have no clue when it started, but this is not the first time. and it is always the left side. don’t know what to do about it. crocin does not help.maybe it will go on its own if i ignore it.

come january end and my student visa will expire.  i will no longer have a right to live in this country. the visa extension guideline says i need to have 800 pounds in my account for three months consecutively, and constantly, to be eligible for the extension. not to mention the additional 400 which will be gobbled up as fees. the thing is, i do not have the required amount, in spite of getting the money transfered in december. things could get pretty bleak (meaning ’start packing bags for CSI airport’) if nothing works out by the end of this week. i have been looking for short courses and have found a few at my university. you see, if i do a short course (or any course for the love of covent garden), i will be able to stay back until the three months clause is satisfied. i do not know if that is legally possible. the problem with people here is whenever you ask them for advice, they refer you to their websites. well, if we all go on to websites for information, the ‘people’ in their ‘offices’ are not required at all, isn’t it? which is exactly what i have decided to question the next person who refers me to any bloody website. all in all, it’s a royal stinking mess i am in right now. and i’m finding it quite stressful to keep a clear head.

reading helps, and so does music. got naipaul’s ‘the enigma of arrival’ reissued from the library using prateeksha’s uni card. had been reading that book before the masters project started. a very good read! get your hands on a copy if you can. have clapton’s autobiography as well. started a few pages but got bored. don’t know why. thing is, with too much going on in my head, i am fiinding it tough to keep my mind on one thing. naipaul helps though, as his book is melancholy and talks about the author dealing with the idea of flux as opposed to decay. there is a profound understanding in the book of solitude, of country life and of nature’s affirmation of the constancy of the one thing that never changes – change itself.

but the headache…both physical and metaphorical. i have given myself one week to sort things out. or else, see me soon. very soon.

2009

Happy New Year to everyone! 2009 promises to be filled with new beginnings, new observations, new developments and everything that makes each one of us content!
Okay, now I wont get emo, as Shank always admonishes me for. Let’s get on.

Snowed here day before. Was at home with Prateeksha. She had come over as we hadn’t talked or exchanged details since the time I came back from Bombay. We didn’t realise that it was almost 3 a.m. I casually glanced out of the window and saw that the whole back garden was white. Thought it might have been frost. But no!!! It was SNOW! (I know Shank will get into his snow-big-deal mood now!) Since everyone in the flat was fast asleep, I whispered to Prateeksha and she almost screamed! It was her first ever snow. I remembered how I felt last year. Was working, and that too on a Sunday. It was too good! And it was great having the same experience with someone for whom it was a new thing.

Walked Pratee back to her Uni accommodation at Seething Wells. The roads and cars and everything was covered in snow. We on purpose took the lesser walked upon paths. The snow made strange sounds under our shoes. We had too much fun trying not to wake people up at that hour! Reached Seething Wells, and a snow war was on!! Everyone around was either armed with snowballs or was being pelted with them. It did not seem like three in the morning at all. Reached her flat, made coffee and took pictures.

Detour

The blog, according to the only few dedicated readers I have, has dried up both in the flow of content and the style. It seems like a ‘pravaaswarnan’ or a travelogue – been here done that saw this ate that. Sorry to say, I do not know how to share my experiences with the readers in any other way. I have been told to write about the difficult times I have had here, about what I do everyday, events and eventualities that shape my life here. All I can say is that all of that is trivial, very commonplace and boring. It is something that everyone faces, irrespective of where they are. As of now, all I have is the KFC job, which I have started working full-time for. So I have only two days free in the week. I leave for work at five in the evening, am back home by two in the morning, take a bath and read. I can’t sleep till five. Am reading Two Lives by Vikram Seth now. It is turning out to be a good read towards the end. I always make a mental note to myself to read as much as I can about WWII. I try to sleep after reading but I can’t because the heating is too much. I can’t even open the window as the wind rushes in and freezes my head. Somehow, listening to the drone of the heater and the birds outside, I fall asleep, only to wake up at two or three in the afternoon. Then it is the same scramble for bread, eggs, coffee, butter croissants before going to KFC again. That’s what a typical day is all about. I haven’t been shooting at all. Have a couple of rolls yet to be developed. Waiting for having enough money to spare for that. You see, I have to apply for the visa extension which is going to cost me five hundred pounds, not to mention the 800 which I have to maintain for three months. Which has been difficult. Everything concerning money has been difficult. But then, things will get better. They have to.

Am in touch with almost all my friends over the net. Rauter got engaged on the 25th of December and will get married in May. Bhushan-Shireen and Swapnil-Saakshi are having a great time, though I haven’t spoken to the latter since I left. Abhijeet is sad that now there are only couple picnics in the group! I told him to be around Addy, as he is the only other lukkha around! I shall join them when I come to Bombay. It feels nice looking back on all the years, and noticing how my friends whom I have known for close to 15 years now, suddenly look ‘married.’ It is a strange feeling, but then reassuring to know that the family has increased, and will continue to after the arrival of little Bhushans and Swapnils! That would be too much.

That’s all for now. Will be back with new pictures hopefully. And yes, please have a look at this link for my birthday snaps. All taken by Mina. Have to get the pics from Sandra’s and Julia’s cameras. Will do that the next time we meet.

http://picasaweb.google.com/surhudd/Birthday08#

Bye then! Have a great year. Love.