Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Wanna play hangman?
"The role of a hangman in the execution of a death sentence is very crucial. The job needs special training from doctors of forensic science. It's a highly technical job, since he has to tie the rope around the neck in such a manner that the accused dies in the minimum amount of time, which can range from 150 to 300 seconds. If the accused is muscular, then the period may increase to even seven or eight minutes. As per the Maharashtra prison manual, he is eligible to get a maximum of Rs 75 for each execution".
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Dilli Bambai
Wrote this once upon a time...
Dilli
It seems that the collective rag bhairavi of the Delhi junta melted the rain God. The city is rocking. And the first real rains of this season have come in style. I just came back from a ritual I have been doing as long as I can remember. Had a great time getting wet in the rains. This place looks awesome. For the poor mortals who can only see concrete for miles and miles, watching trees coming dangerously low, long winding glistening roads and street lights looking like hazy twinkles can be a dream.
Went out with my umbrella, which breathed its last today. Sat in my favorite place, which is a broken brick wall with eucalyptus trees and a small road in front. On a lucky day, I can sight at least six peacocks. Though my place is flooding, I can’t shut out the rains. I am happy.
It would be wrong if I don’t put in my metaphor for a rainy day. Looks the sky is crying along with me….. Its time, for Neruda and a hot cuppa of chai.
.........And it was at that time... Poetry came
to find me. Don’t know, don’t know from where,
it leapt, winter or the river.
Don’t know how or when
no, not words, not
voices, not silence,
but I was called from the street,
from the branches of the night,
suddenly, from the others,
in violent flames,
or coming back alone,
I, without a face,
it touched me.
Bambai
paani yahan bhi barasta hai
bahut barasta hai
fark...
wahan tehani se boondein tapakti thi
yahan imaraton me daraarein padti hai
us din sar pe suitcase rakh ke
kamar tak ke paani me tairte hue
ek chhoote sheher ki baarish yaad aa gayi
Dilli
It seems that the collective rag bhairavi of the Delhi junta melted the rain God. The city is rocking. And the first real rains of this season have come in style. I just came back from a ritual I have been doing as long as I can remember. Had a great time getting wet in the rains. This place looks awesome. For the poor mortals who can only see concrete for miles and miles, watching trees coming dangerously low, long winding glistening roads and street lights looking like hazy twinkles can be a dream.
Went out with my umbrella, which breathed its last today. Sat in my favorite place, which is a broken brick wall with eucalyptus trees and a small road in front. On a lucky day, I can sight at least six peacocks. Though my place is flooding, I can’t shut out the rains. I am happy.
It would be wrong if I don’t put in my metaphor for a rainy day. Looks the sky is crying along with me….. Its time, for Neruda and a hot cuppa of chai.
.........And it was at that time... Poetry came
to find me. Don’t know, don’t know from where,
it leapt, winter or the river.
Don’t know how or when
no, not words, not
voices, not silence,
but I was called from the street,
from the branches of the night,
suddenly, from the others,
in violent flames,
or coming back alone,
I, without a face,
it touched me.
Bambai
paani yahan bhi barasta hai
bahut barasta hai
fark...
wahan tehani se boondein tapakti thi
yahan imaraton me daraarein padti hai
us din sar pe suitcase rakh ke
kamar tak ke paani me tairte hue
ek chhoote sheher ki baarish yaad aa gayi
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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