Hello?

Is there any body still out there? :-)

... Exhale...

I wonder if you know what horrific waste is like.

I do. It's a sickening, heartbreaking, miserable feeling that makes you want to scoop your eye balls out with a melon baller designed for Lilliputians. Why the hyperbole and drama? Well, I realised on the way back to Bombay last night that the the camera I'd borrowed from A was set to take pictures that could be "used for e-mail attachments". E-mail fricking attachments, would you believe it!

This might not be a big deal you might say but as a photographer, this is the most tremendous waste of close to 3 weeks of photographs. I loaned George to the elder sibling's art partner a while ago and have been using A's wonderful Sony DSC-H7. I didn't bother to check the settings because it was a damn fine photographer's camera and was, presumably, set up properly. *Sigh* More the fool I.

I've now got over a 1000 pictures that are bloody low-res and hence are pictures that I cannot zoom into and play with. These are pictures I took of the TOI Crest William Dalrymple event at Bandra Fort, the ex-reviewer and other performances at Kala Ghoda, the World Book Fair in Delhi, and my Ahmedabad trip (making up 600 of the 1000 photos).

Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. No use crying over what's done but I cannot stop feeling bloody upset. I suppose when I get down to working with these pictures properly, I'll know the full extent of the damage. Until then, let me leave with this photo from the wedding in Ahmedabad.

I shall now go and salvage.

Notes from a Train Diary

It has been many years since a train journey to Hyderabad. Too many, I fear, because as this train snakes its way further and further south, it feels much more like going to Hyderabad than taking a flight. The anticipation and excitement have settled firmly into my stomach. Suddenly the prospect of waking S up at some obscene hour of the morning and making sure that she is alright is enough to make me grin at the rather surprised man in the opposite seat. He undoubtedly thinks I'm being friendly and will presently begin a conversation!

~~~~

You'd think that by now I'd have learned that the more you run away from something, the more persistently, the more doggedly it follows you. The IInd AC compartment was supposed to be the quiet journey of my daydreams... the "me-time" that I'm craving . The plan was to put my feet up on the opposite seat and re-read my way through 31 Songs. But with a side seat and some eight men squeezed into the compartment opposite me, all of whom belong to some kind of sports team, I don't think so. Pray I don't get arrested for murder by the time we get to Hyderabad.

~~~~

The technological change/advance in India is nowhere more apparent to me than it is in this train bogey. There are at least five laptops (I suspect there are more) within a ten foot distance of me. Mp3 players, phones and other things are blaring their own songs – from old Hindi numbers and what I suspect is music from a selection of B Grade Punjabi and Hindi films to Akon and other bullshit hip-hop and rap. Train travel was a lot less noisy six years ago. Pity is, glaring for 3 hours straight isn't getting the volumes down. The guys right opposite have been watching 3 different movies through the afternoon. The headache I have is much more because of the cacophony than being cooped up in a train all day.

~~~~

For the first time in a train journey, I have not spent most of the daylight hours at the door. I reckon that’s mainly because the landscape has changed beyond recognition. When I could once experiment and learn at the door, this time I didn't find much to keep me there. Little towns and settlements have sprung up over the wide open spaces. Ugly pink and green two-three storey buildings and empty construction shells dot the route from Maharashtra to Hyderabad instead of those interesting trees. I looked and looked after Daund but I couldn't locate the lake of my first attempts at photography.

~~~~

I have only a few hours left in this space and most of them will be spent asleep. Very, very unfortunately, this journey is nothing that I expected or even imagined. It’s been noisy, intrusive and I can’t wait for it to bloody get over. This has been a loss of innocence... of sorts. Truth be told, a part of me was looking forward to the random conversation... looking forward to the “Why aren’t you married” and “Why do you read the books you do?” conversations. Instead, I've had bad music and loud, intrusive hockey players to deal with.

Kill me now.

Extempore, Updated

What I've been doing: I did it, just so you know. The airport store, I am happy to inform you, has been operational for the last fortnight now and is doing spectacularly well. So, if you're traveling out of Bombay via anything but Kingfisher, Kingfisher Red, and Indian Airlines, do check out the store. And let me know what you think please.

I'm also just back from approximately 20 days of almost constant travelling - Madras, Bombay, Ahmedabad, Madras. As always, work was insane but a number of the evenings were full of cheatery at various games. The young son of the dear friend I stay with in Madras is an absolute delight and is probably the only person on earth who can get away with calling me all kinds of pet names. My mother's very happy that I bond with him so. It gives her great hope for grandkids, don't you know.

What I’ve been eating: Meen kozhambu (Chettinad Fish Curry) and some rather awesome prawns with utthapam at the home of the aforementioned friend. There was also some rather good grilled red snapper in Mahabalipuram and awesome French fries to go with it. It is rather surprising how few vegetables I eat in Madras. I think I eat more meat in Madras than I do in Goa! Chicken/prawn biryani, idlis and prawns, fish curry and rice, uthapam and fish curry, all kinds of kababs. No fruit either unless you're counting two sitaphals.

What I’ve been reading: Leaving India by Minal Hajratwala, the new release from Tranquebar Press. When Kulbushan met Stockli, an Indo-Swiss graphic novel collaboration from Harper Collins India. Chai, Chai, also from Tranquebar Press, a lovely travelogue of the places in India that you pass but don't get off at. Dragon Horse by Peter Ward, a young adult fantasy set in ancient China. The Patience Stone by Atiq Rahimi, forthcoming from Random House UK, that I have been commanded to give a super-quick review for by the boss.

I'm particularly interested in Leaving India though because the author's tracing and documenting the migration of her family from Gujarat to five different continents and in a larger sense, she's tracing the roots and motivations of the Indian/Gujarati diaspora. You must check out the Indian edition - Tranquebar's done a *way* cooler job on the cover than Messers Houghton Mifflin Harcourt in the US.

What I’ve been listening to: Some very awesome stuff off the ipod of the super-awesome boss. Are we not horses by Rock Plaza Central, Vampire Weekend, Okkervil River and about ten others that I don't remember now. Pearl Jam's Back Spacer. Assorted Regina Spektor. Lots of Tori Amos, Nick Cave, and Love Aaj Kal (you can put down the eyebrows now) - comfort music, really.

What I've been thinking: The returns room at the store is a lonely, lonely place and DAMN, I miss being in an office full of people. What I'd not give to be around the super-awesome bosses and my colleagues in Madras. What I'd not give for the the delicious, enveloping feeling of being part of a team that works together... well, at least for the largest part. I miss the laughter the most. They're always laughing in Madras, you know. It might be in a language that I don't understand but there is always an undulating, omnipresent laughter around the office. It's not that the store isn't a team but... they're not in the way that my merchandising colleagues are. And I fear that they never will be.

What I’ll be doing next: Trying to keep my head above the water mainly. The elder sibling's art partner, a sister of the heart, is getting married and I'm quite, quite excited because we're hosting the mehendi for her next Sunday. That I might be running to Ahmedabad for the next few days is a very real possibility and I'm really hoping that it doesn't work out. I'm exhausted in a way that I cannot even fully fathom. All I want from my life is to curl up in a cold room in Pune/Goa and read my life away. If only wishes were horses...

~~~~

Post format taken off Minal Hajratwala's blog.

Like I didn't have enough to do...

... I've also taken on daily attendance at the 11th Mumbai Film Fest, don't you know. I believe that it would have been wrong - really, really bad juju actually - not to go because, you see, the largest venue is hop-skip-and-spit away from my workplace. As in, I could trip out of the office and fall into Fun Republic. Honest!

Unlike the last time I was at a film fest, I'm not on holiday and can't be watching films all day. I'm, in fact, in the middle of setting up a store all by myself. Yes, you heard me - ALL BY MYSELF! And most certainly going whatever comes after insane - this is not the time to go running off to watch films. And so, I settled for one film per day, the 8 p.m show. I figured that if I could get even six films through the fest, the delegate pass would have been worth it.

But most fortunately, I completely forgot about Sunday. I'm four days down and I've already watched six films and there's another another three to go! I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.

More details from me later but you can get more details about the fest here.

Dim. Diffuse. Filtered.

This is how I feel. I don't like it.

Should be back in a few days. You see, I am going to fall very, very sick. If you get my drift. :-)

Laugh like you've never laughed before

My mother's 58th birthday just ended an hour and a half ago. We threw her a surprise party that we nearly ruined a hundred times over. Happiness is such an alien feeling with extended family. For an evening with the family, we got through a serious amount of laughter and alcohol. Strangers who are family who are strangers, for once, bring the most delicious feeling of belonging and joy. For an evening with family, we laughed like we never have before. I want to show you the pictures that George took but perhaps not now. My heart constricts with thanks for the laughter caught by someone I'm getting tolerate better. The night has broken down into an impending allergic cough and a whole lot of contentment.

May the rest of this year bring the same benediction.

Meet George

This is George.

The elder sibling hates the name and the ex-reviewer thinks I stole his dog's name. But there's nothing I could do, you know. I lifted him out of the box and I just knew — this was George. He's about eight months old now and I'm still in the process of getting to know him and what he's actually capable of.

Truth be told, I'm still more than a little scared of him. I know, I know. Time and practice and all will be well. I've got to admit that for a camera that I've wanted a long, long time (a DSLR and not the 450D), I am bizarrely reluctant to use it. After having used three cameras over the past four years, I know every camera has a point after which it is yours.

I don't know if this reluctance is a function of not having much to say with my camera or just plain intimidation - you know, the variety that comes calling when you, in a terrifying instant, realise that you're in so far over your head that there's no way but forward.

I took six months and a fourteen day trip to Goa to make the elder sibling's camera "mine". I took a trip to Takhatgarh and Jodhpur to become less frightened of George. I'm jinxed in Rajasthan, you see. Another one of A's cameras bit the dust in my hands in Rajasthan. Don't ask what happened or don't ask how it did but suddenly, I was much, much closer to George. Everything looked rosy on the surface of it but suffice to say, the results leave much to be desired. And for once, I really think that the less I say about something, the better.

In the days since, I have spent nights with my camera manual and the guide book. I now hope for work to leave me alone enough to go out and experiment with what I think I have learnt. I save up for macro and telephoto lenses and badger professional photographers at store events for tips. All things remaining equal, in a lifetime or so, George and I will have no secrets between us.

Pray for me, won't you?

Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi...

I want to laugh like I've never laughed before.
I want to go for a long drive, in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain. I want to describe the majesty and the grace of Mehrangarh with my camera and with my verbal fumbling. I want to stop wondering if my decisions three years ago could have made things different... in a sense, less complicated. I want a two-day weekend — I want my Saturdays back. I want to show you the peace of walking on Ashwem with my soul sister, hoping that these ten solitary minutes will last me until November. I want to sit in a breezy living room in sultry Hyderabad demolishing a tub of ice cream and laughing like... sometimes, I fear, never again. I want to stop feeling like I'm choking. I want the greatest of all professional pleasures — surfing the internet on company time. I want to walk down the B "quaters", into the A quaters and then finally out through the beautiful path down to Ladies Hostel 1. I want to be smack in the eye of an intercollegiate festival. I want the ex-boss to take the ex-reviewer, me, and some bottles of beer three quarters of the way to Nashik. I want to stop wondering what cool is. I want a random man in the Madras flower market to demand that I take his photograph. I want to exchange looks with the girls as the DJ dedicates a song to the Click Clicks instead of the Lit Clit. I want to chat with Gerzgal until the wee hours of the morning. I want to sit at Brittos in the tepid winter sun, pontificating about how, in the winter, the sun in Delhi and Goa is so different. I want to do more than just 1-2, 1-2 on the ordering system. I want to spend four days in bed reading. I want a bowl of cornflakes with hot milk but so much more than that I want a cup of Milo in the ex-reviewer's cup. I want the camaraderie, love and oneness of Room No 6. I want to believe in the goodness of the Project Director from my old company - it hurt so much that he was just any other corporate arsehole. I want to watch Pirates of the Caribbean - The Black Pearl with A, eating the dinner he's just cooked me. I want a weekend in Udwada with the boys, making fun of each other only the way boys can. I want to spend 3 days in Fort Kochi and 3 days in Munnar a few weeks after the rains have abated. I want to talk about all the new books that give me such hope for publishing in India. I want to be woken up at 5 am to be told the stories of a budding romance. I want my dream to stop taunting me. I want to spend three hours dressing up for a 21st birthday party. I want to take smiling photographs in the Nalla Park in Pune. I want to wake up in a Portuguese villa in South Goa while the rain comes gently down. I want a breakfast of beef roast sandwiches and dessert wine in Aarey Milk Colony in the dewey dampness of the oncoming rains. I want to stop avoiding the confrontations of the past that will come only in the future. I want the winter to bring me to Pune again. I want to be pompous and superior with the elder sibling. I want to sit in a balcony and smoke a cigarette while the evening deepens around me. I want to spend one perfect day — exactly the way I described it to Mota Seth. I want to tell you about my love affair with wine. I want to spend a week in Agonda and Palolem.
I want to laugh like I've never laughed before.

... ke har khwaish pe dum nikle.