A Sherlock Holmes drugged by his rogue of a lady love, waking up naked with his hands chained to the bed posts and the key festooned to his manliness is believable to me. A man imperfect, susceptible to goof ups, locked for two weeks in his room and drilling bullets in the wall for want of work and willing to plunge into the dark world for answers appeals to me.
I am a 28 year old audience that today’s film director well understands is unimpressed by the precision and the slowly thinning fog of a mystery. I may look prim and proper with my hair parted down the middle but my mind is as active as a beehive. It needs kicks and its needs excitement. A humourless tale of the past that wets the senses with its aesthetics is good on a certain day but me the 28 year old audience, a character as muggy as the Hong Kong skies, needs action, likes her hero to moan and groan, be a faithful friend and covet the friend’s woman as well.
And so as old fashions come back into fashion, we the yuppies of varying degrees are digging out our super heroes from the comic annals and concocting skeletons to make them more real and juicy. We do Freud proud with our anatomy of the id, ego and super ego.
It is Holmes, Batman and Spiderman for now. Watson, Robin, Alfred and Mary Jane may be next.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Ras
As much as I like Hong Kong, the absence of colour in day to day life irks me. I especially miss seeing colours bursting out of flowering trees, gardens buzzing with bees and birds and the effect of seasons on the city foliage. On a trip to Phuket, we stayed at a resort running wild with flowers and every nook was a melange of colours and greenery. Some pictures are bad but all the same I am publishing them.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
A road taken
In spirit of the much kicked wisdom-choices determine realities accordingly-my spur of the moment enrolment for one of the cheapest photography courses brought me in touch with another side of Mumbai life- the young and struggling kind that seventies’ Indian cinematographers panned on to bring in the common man touch!
It was a motley group that gathered 9 am to 4 pm every Sunday, in a green corner of Worli to learn camera tricks.
A girl from Alibaug, just out of school, travelled two hours to and fro in pursuit of her dream to become an ace photographer. The shy young man in bell-bottoms hoped to graduate from a garment shop assistant to a photographer’s apprentice. A not so shy boy who to everyone’s envy had a DSLR and talent. A flower child of the ad world who had condescended to “such type” of course for a “bit of a background” on the nitty-gritty at minimum cost. The “looking for Shangri La” dude who had done it all-salsa, theatre, judo, squash and even a cookery class and was still looking! The glowering Mr T from Allahabad who assisted Mr S who once in a while stole a glance at the lissom Bandra girl. Tara, whom I befriended, thought being a “Mrs” represented plan B when plan A failed.
Often, we all stepped out of the classroom in quest of the perfect frame. Like flies we crowded around the flower bush, chased the white cat, spied on neighbour oldies, harassed kids in the park and took turns to click a tramp that demanded a princely sum of Rs. 50 but settled for Rs. 20. Some days we went to Chowpatty searching for abandoned Ganesh idols and other trivia. I took my first ferry trip to Alibaug with my photography mates. Encouraged by a friend and unable to suppress nature’s call, I jumped a wall to use a college lavatory.
I became a muse and a model for a photo shoot. I discovered the Fort area, camera in hand. Looking for candid shots, I soaked in the sun setting on the Marine Drive. I made friends and earned frowns from people caught unaware. I spent time with myself watching crowds struggle to get in and out of trains. Bhuttas were devoured and many calls made home, as I stumbled upon something new every day. The flower sellers under the bridge outside Dadar station and the wholesale wet market never failed to bring joy. The first glimpse of the sea as the train approached Churchgate never failed to make the heart skip a beat. Wandering into a Shiv mandir, I heard my first recital of Shiva Tandava Stotra.
It brings a smile even now when I think of all the adventures I had practicing my photography skills. I did not become much of a photographer but I learnt a lot more. Like, a road wrongly taken can lead to a road side book stall and it is not the cover but the pages however torn that make a book a book. It seems that it was not chance that I discovered the course ad in TOI but the heavens that conspired to give me a window to look through at the city.
It was a motley group that gathered 9 am to 4 pm every Sunday, in a green corner of Worli to learn camera tricks.
A girl from Alibaug, just out of school, travelled two hours to and fro in pursuit of her dream to become an ace photographer. The shy young man in bell-bottoms hoped to graduate from a garment shop assistant to a photographer’s apprentice. A not so shy boy who to everyone’s envy had a DSLR and talent. A flower child of the ad world who had condescended to “such type” of course for a “bit of a background” on the nitty-gritty at minimum cost. The “looking for Shangri La” dude who had done it all-salsa, theatre, judo, squash and even a cookery class and was still looking! The glowering Mr T from Allahabad who assisted Mr S who once in a while stole a glance at the lissom Bandra girl. Tara, whom I befriended, thought being a “Mrs” represented plan B when plan A failed.
Often, we all stepped out of the classroom in quest of the perfect frame. Like flies we crowded around the flower bush, chased the white cat, spied on neighbour oldies, harassed kids in the park and took turns to click a tramp that demanded a princely sum of Rs. 50 but settled for Rs. 20. Some days we went to Chowpatty searching for abandoned Ganesh idols and other trivia. I took my first ferry trip to Alibaug with my photography mates. Encouraged by a friend and unable to suppress nature’s call, I jumped a wall to use a college lavatory.
I became a muse and a model for a photo shoot. I discovered the Fort area, camera in hand. Looking for candid shots, I soaked in the sun setting on the Marine Drive. I made friends and earned frowns from people caught unaware. I spent time with myself watching crowds struggle to get in and out of trains. Bhuttas were devoured and many calls made home, as I stumbled upon something new every day. The flower sellers under the bridge outside Dadar station and the wholesale wet market never failed to bring joy. The first glimpse of the sea as the train approached Churchgate never failed to make the heart skip a beat. Wandering into a Shiv mandir, I heard my first recital of Shiva Tandava Stotra.
It brings a smile even now when I think of all the adventures I had practicing my photography skills. I did not become much of a photographer but I learnt a lot more. Like, a road wrongly taken can lead to a road side book stall and it is not the cover but the pages however torn that make a book a book. It seems that it was not chance that I discovered the course ad in TOI but the heavens that conspired to give me a window to look through at the city.
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