DAY 156

The following has stuck to my cranial walls from the time my eyes fell on the words:
A legend of Classical times says that, so strong is the eye of the lion that its sight does not die with its owner.

The spirit of the words grabbed me by my gut.

Like an architect whose vision remains long after he himself is dead.

This image is of a 400-year old tower that stands even today in the courtyard of a temple. Eons ago, lamps were lit in the alcoves that you see all along the tower, casting light upon a village which wouldn't see electricity for the next couple of centuries; the light gave the villagers a sense of security, dispelling darkness. And the bell on the tip would tell the villagers the time of the day, every hour on the hour. The idea must've been conceived by the ruler. Today not many are sure who the ruler was, unless you take the effort to look into the history books, but everyone knows, sees and enjoys the tower.

As they say the vision remains long after the visionary is dead.

It is not about who is thinking.
It is about what they are thinking.
It is not about you.
It is about your thoughts.
It is not about leaving a piece of you on this earth when you go.
It is about changing a piece of the earth forever, when you go.

Like the eye of the lion that never dies.

DAY 155

I hate driving in the rain.

Fifteen years back, my vehicle broke down on a dark, rainy night. It was past 11 pm and I was returning home from work. I was tired and wanted to get home quickly. However, my two-wheeler spluttered to a stop in the middle of the road. There I was soaked to the bone, absolutely clueless about what to do next. It was one of those roads that saw zipping motorists but hardly any people on the sidewalk. So I pushed my vehicle to the side of the road and tried to coax my scooter into life again but in vain. Those were non-mobile days. No way to call a friend for help. No public phone booth anywhere in the vicinity. but there were plenty of honking and jeering motorists who passed me by but refused to stop and help. After almost 25 mts, a kind gentleman stopped his car and offered to help me. Thanks to him I was soon my way home. It was an unnerving, unpleasant experience.

From that day onwards I hated driving in the rain. A certain fear would engulf me every time it rained when I was on the road. When the first drops begin to fall I make sure I get off the road as quickly as possible.

Yesterday, I was not so lucky. Driving back home late in the night I was caught bang in the middle of a downpour and a massive traffic jam. I could feel panic draping me like a horrible rash.

Someone taught me this trick recently - when you encounter something that you don't like or something that you fear, just for a moment, force yourself to look it in the eye and see something nice. If you could do that you are well on your way to conquering your fear.

And just for a moment I forced myself to look my fear in the eye and see something nice.

What a glorious sight it was! Raindrops on the windshield reflecting the neon streetlights are like little crystals. Really! Actually, it was a beautiful scene. Then there was the cool breeze. The pitter-patter sound of raindrops on the bonnet. The swishing arc of water as the motorist zipped through the puddles. Soon I was caught up in all these wondrous little sights and did not realize that I drove through some heavy showers to reach home.

This image was taken with my mobile camera. It is the sight that I saw from my driver's seat. Almost like modern art!

DAY 154

I like my country for the sheer variety of experiences that it offers me. It can make you laugh, cry, curse and surprise yourself 24/7.

At times in the mornings, you can see cows sunbathing in the middle of the old Airport road. And my heart swells with pride when I see the motorists going around the cows without missing a beat. Ah, this is India. I have also see foreigners' jaws drop when they see this and they keep repeating `How is this possible?' How can you let this happen? And the Indians look at the foreigners as if they are speaking an alien language. We are a very accommodating society. No matter what people say I like the `accommodating' part of our society. That's what has held this large nation of little countries together. Otherwise we would've disintegrated long ago.

Coming to this image - Every now and then I see these `Quack-tents' sprouting across the city. Little shacks that come up overnight on the footpath and street corners of this urban city. Once you part the dirty-muddied, velvet curtains and enter into the rugged-boudoir of the quack, they promise, to cure you of anything from "Dipression to weekneess in nurves to the your man-size to impontancy"

I find these tents hilarious. Whenever, I find one, I make it a point to stop and read their banners, because it is like a Laurel and Hardy show on a strip of cloth.
I am also fascinated by the optimism of these guys, who usually come from North India, travel for months together and pitch their tents in the middle of the Silicone Valley, confident that they will succeed.

Of course, I have not seen anyone enter the tent yet. At the same time, people pass by these tents without even batting an eyelid. They don't give it much thought. And the quack, usually with his wife and children reside in the tent for a week or so before they pack their bags and go in search of other pastures. But for that one week or so, from dawn to dusk, you can see the quack, sitting on a steel chair in front of the tent, hoping that he could make a quick buck on that day treating someone of their "impontancy" with the potions from his yellowed bottles. While the educated, suave urbanites pass him by - letting him be.

I lurve the quirky nature of this land.

DAY 153

When I look at this image I am reminded of this statement, which resonates with me all times:


The path is already drawn
It was my decision to draw that path.
It was my decision to live this life.
Then what am I afraid of?
Why am I anxious?
All things will be the way it should be.
The way I want it to be.

DAY 152

I took this photograph while standing in the middle of an extremely hot kitchen of a hotel.The frenzy inside the kitchen of a commercial establishment has to be seen to be believed. There is a lot of passion for the craft inside a kitchen.

The young man in the picture was thoroughly involved in putting a dish together. He was careful. He was disciplined. He was meticulous. He was passionate. He was loving every moment of it.

And he was sweating!

It is my camera that pointed out this teeny-weeny detail to me. I held my breath hoping and praying that the dangerously poised salty-pearl-drop on his face wouldn't find its way into the food. He quickly wiped it off, and went right back to his piece-de-art.

I heaved a sigh of relief.But even before I could say `fish' his face was pock-marked with sweat again...the temperature in the kitchen was such that.

I could take it no more. I turned around walked out of the kitchen and sat at the table, only to look up when a plate was shoved in front of me. A plate of fried fish. The same dish the young man was working on - it was beautiful. I could see that he had taken care to make the dish special for me. It was delicious looking.
Yet, I was looking for that unseen drop of sweat. Bile rose to my throat.

I looked up and saw the eager face of the young man waiting to hear what I had to say about his labor of love. I smiled. Forked out a piece and shoved it in my mouth. The taste erased the questions in my mind. Soon I was enjoying my meal and the conversation. Sweaty details all but forgotten.

When we eat at restaurants we know, in the back of our minds, that a 100 things can go wrong back in the kitchen and that we might be eating the result of those 100 things gone wrong. Yet, we trust the unknown faces who's made that delicacy sitting in front of us.

When we go to a hospital we trust our doctors implicitly. They take our loved ones into the operation theater. And we stand on this side of the closed doors not knowing what is happening on the other side. Yet, we trust our doctors to do good.

We trust absolute strangers, people whom we have met for the first time, we trust the degrees after their names, we trust a warm smile, a firm handshake and the quite confidence of people whom we encounter on a daily basis.

We trust them to do us good. We trust them with our lives. With our money. With our food. With all the basics of our lives. Humans are essentially very trusting beings.

Then why is that sometimes, we don't trust ourselves?

We know us well, yet we refuse to trust ourselves. Ironic?

DAY 151

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you see
the most beautiful sights.

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you experience
the most magical emotions.

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you hear
the sweetest of sounds.

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you win.

Surrendering is not giving up
Surrendering is not losing.
Surrendering is not cowardly.

For surrendering to the real you
inside of you
the great I AM
is the most natural thing to do.
And what is natural never hurts.

It was a beautiful evening. Golden light, beautiful skies and scores of pigeons homing in. I went berserk with my camera. I said to myself, oh what a beautiful picture, i will get the best of shots.

After ten minutes of continuous clicking all I got was fuddled, muddled, painted-with-human-arrogance-images.

When I am confused, when I am frustrated, when I am lost and angry, I surrender.
I surrender to my Inner Being.
And that's what I did.

I heard the sweetest sounds, saw the most beautiful images and experienced the most wonderful feelings in the stillness inside me.

I realized I was forgetting to enjoy what was before me. Instead I was busy trying to capture that joy in an arrogant manner that only humans are capable of.

Once I began to enjoy what was before me the way it should be -joyously and fully, things began to fall into place.

Images rolled in one after the other. The camera in hand, settled to capture it peacefully. And all along I reveled in my surrender.

DAY 150

As years pass by I realize that I yearn for all those things that I once shunned in my childhood.

Though I am a native of Kerala, I was born and brought up in Chennai.
A Chennai of independent houses, trees in the backyard, space for the children to play badminton, police&robbers, seven stones etc.
A Chennai that was not dotted with pigeon-hole apartments and city-like malls.

We had a Neem tree, along with other trees, in the front of our house. It canopied the verandah of my house.

In summer, my mother would clean the verandah thoroughly with soap and water in the mornings, wipe it dry and then spread the traditional South Indian mats. It needed around 4 mats to cover that particular spot.

On my return from school in the evening, I would find these mats blanketed by small white flowers with a dot-of-a-yellow-centre. Neem flowers. It looked beautiful, like a white carpet with yellow polka dots.

Then I would remember why those flowers were there in the first place. Unconsciously, my nose would crinkle up and I would go "Yucky".....The reason being, mom collected these flowers to make a sweet and sour pachadi. It was a rage with the neighbors. They loved it. And mom was ready to dish out bowls of pachadi to them.
But I hated it. "It is good for your health," she would say. And I would pretend that she was talking to me in Latin.

Years rolled by. I grew up. Mom grew old. Chennai changed. Neem trees were replaced by poky-cactus in a plastic bowl, by the windowsill in pigeon-hole-apartments. We left Chennai. And the Neem trees became a thing of the past. I see many trees in Bangalore, but haven't seen a Neem tree for long.

During these long years, I remember yearning for the same Neem Pachadi that I once loathed.

The yearnings have grown stronger. I think it is not the pachadi, but a desire to hold on to the beautiful moments of a childhood, which now seems like I lived only in a dream.

DAY 149

I like history.
I like times of yore.
I like to imagine the lay of the land of the past.
I like to walk in the shoes of the people of then.

It is, I guess, gives me a sense of
what was before me
what was capable
what could be done
what has lived
what has been

A sense that makes me enjoy
What is now
what strides we have made
What more could be done
What is living
and what will be.

This image is of a 400 year old church.
What an exhilarating experience it was
To walk the steps traced by men centuries ago
To crane my neck and view their creativity
To feel in my bones the energy of yore

And then a thought strikes...
What if I had been one of those hands that chiseled the beauteous art on those walls...
That's a nice thought, isn't it?

Day 148

I like my life for a zillion reasons.
One of them being people.
Yes, I am in a profession that gives me opportunities to meet people that I wouldn't otherwise meet.

I remember watching her films when I was in college. She was a rage back then. She still is.

There is something instantly likeable about her. I am not alone in this thinking. Otherwise they wouldn't have built a temple for her. (Though I find that hilarious, so does she)

You always imagine the people you see on screen to be a certain way when you meet them in real life.
Usually these thoughts are tinted with the personalities that they play onscreen.
But then, when you meet them in person, you realise that they are just like you and I.

They hurt, cry, weep, laugh, smile, get angry, make mistakes, are evil and good at various points. They are humans doing a job that is extremely public in nature.

I was not wrong.

Actress Khushbu was human. A very good human. A very strong human. A very happy human.

After sitting with her for almost half a day I come back with just a thought:

She is a genuinely happy human being. No matter what, she's learnt to laugh and enjoy every moment and aspect of her life. And she's it all real. That is very difficult a acheive when your life is played out in the public arena day in and day out.

(The story:http://www.bangaloremirror.com/article/1/20100519201005190543005191c2685bc/%E2%80%98I-am-brutally-honest-with-myself%E2%80%99.html)

DAY 147

For the first time i am unable to articulate why I'm drawn to a photograph.
There are no clear thoughts on why I like this image.
Or why it has impacted me and how.
There are words,here and there, but I am unable to make a sentence with them.
A sentence that will tell me why this image is important to me.

As of now, as I look at the photograph all that echoes in my mind is this:
Nothing ever gets annihilated completely.
Ever.
There is always a speck that's alive.
A speck from which life will begin all over again.

Day 146

It was a posh resort. And in the lobby was a beautiful table arrangement. Few marbles, shells and flowers in a glass jar. Simple and eye-catching. I am sure the designer or decorator must've charged the owners a small packet for that arrangement.

I sat there looking at it for a long time. Bathed in the evening rays of the sun it was mesmerizing. It brought back memories of yore. When my mother taught me to make such beautiful things out of simple things. Things that you didn't have to spend a lot of money on.

"Creativity does not come out of daddy's purse. It comes out of your head," she used to say. "Moreover daddy's purse is awfully small, it cannot hold much creativity in there. Whereas your head, that's a different matter altogether. There is a lot of storage space for a lots of ideas. And you already have a lot of ideas stored in there. All you have to do is pull it out," she would say.

How? I would ask angrily. "I cannot see anything inside my head."
"But I can," she'd smile. "And there are unimaginably beautiful things in there....lots."
"Then you take it out for me," I'd cry. I was just a child.
"No I can't. Only you can do that."
Again I would scream at the top of my voice. "But I cannot see it."
And I can still hear her voice. "I will teach you how to pull it out of your head. Close your eyes."
"But if I close my eyes, I cannot even see you." Yeah, i was a stubborn and sometimes stupid child.
"When you close your eyes. The eyes in your mind will open. And then you can see with your mind's eye. Clearly. It will lead you to all those beautiful ideas sitting inside your head. You can pull out the ones you want and work on it," she had said.

The first time she taught me to see with my mind's eye was when we were sitting on the Marina beach a place my parents took me to occasionally. And I had wanted them to buy me more than one shell-dolls.

That's when my mother pointed to the shells on the beach, numerous shells and said, "you can make a beautiful doll, yourself. Just close your eyes and open your mind's eye and you will see what you want to do and how to do it."

I still do practice pulling out ideas from my head by closing my eyes. It works always.

DAY 145

I heard a friend say, "Photographers should never use photoshop. It is not pure photography."

I disagree with the principle behind his thinking.

Why shouldn't people explore new things? Why shouldn't people accept new things? Why should they stick to the old and tested in order to be considered worthwhile?

Don't get me wrong - I am all for photographs being used as it is -straight from the camera. There are some photos of mine, which I hardly touch, except for maybe move the contrast slider a notch. Then there are photos that I turn completely on its head and do so till it matches the image in my head.

If we always stick to the tried and tested path then the universe will not expand ad we will not grow. Innovations and inventions happen because somebody wanted to do something differently from what's being done.

There is room for all.

I love this image simply because it tells me there are no boundaries or dos and dont's for experimentation and experiences in life.

DAY 144

Her walk is like a whisper.
Her talk is like gently, fluttering butterfly wings.
Her fingers massage the stress away like a melody on a restless night.

She's been working hard for the last ten years to make people feel relaxed and rested.
She kneads away their stress and strain till her hands hurt.
She goes back to a silent and lonely home for her family lives in a far off place.
A place they can afford because she decided to rough it out in a new city.
She gives. But hardly receives.

She is a masseuse.
I ask her: In these ten years have you ever had a good massage yourself.
She replies: Never.

Seeing my eyebrows disappear into my hairline, she laughs like the tinkling bells.

I am yet to process this information.

But all I know for now is that her answer makes me sad.

Day 143

This couple caught my attention immediately. And for obvious reasons.
They seemed like a nice couple, middle or upper middle class background, who believed in the concept of packaged tours once a year. (This is pure guess work and I could be way off the mark.)

They were having a good time -quietly.

It's their `henna-oranged-heads' that caught my eye.

Henna paste is used as a good conditioner and colorant for your hair. If you are Indian it would've been part of your grooming ritual. Something that has been handed down to you from your forefathers. Your mother used it, her mother did too and mother's mother's mother believed in it too. You get the picture.

The idea is if they all used it then there must be something good about it. And there is too.

So we follow it. Blindly. Whether we like it or not or believe in it or not or whether it looks good on us or not.

Henna is good on black hair. But it is not so good on grey hair. It turns white into orange. The result: Orange tops like these.

The point is not the orange heads. For all you know, this couple might love the look.

What got me thinking is this: Sometimes we forget to ask questions. Why am I doing what am I doing? Do I like what I am doing? Do I want to do it? Is what I am doing good for me and making me happy or suiting my needs?

Instead, we just do what we do simply because someone before us did it and reaped great benefits.

Sometimes, we fail to realise that what's good for the goose need not be good for the gander.

I believe the only way to chart our own course is by asking questions. I hope that I am never deprived of that luxury till the end.

DAY 142

I was standing in that lovely balcony (not mine) of a multi-level building. It was canopied by trees. I felt like I had entered the `Green Room' of the tree house. It seemed like I was standing `inside' a tree house - surrounded by green leaves, sturdy textured branches and not to forget the rustle and bustle of life `inside'.
The closest I could get to living on a treetop (one of my favorite fantasies).

I stood there for a long time.

All along, there was this black crow (in the photo) perched on a branch close by. He (or she- never learnt to tell the difference between the two in crows) sat there observing the world around him (and also me). Suddenly, I realized that for the first time I was seeing a crow really up close.

Yes, I have seen crows at close quarters. But there was something different about seeing this one.

We usually see them picking on left overs, garbage, and generally relegated to the lower strung of the bird society.

But this time around, there was something beautiful in the picture. I could actually see the iris of his eyes through my viewfinder.

And for a moment it took my breath away.

The crow IS A BEAUTIFUL BIRD.

It's just that we don't pay attention to it, simply because the crow is commonplace.

It has so many wonderful shades of black on its single body.

The coat is fine and smooth.

The feathers are formed and arranged to perfection.

The face is small and compact and its features complementing.

And the eyes - like diamonds -illuminating, brilliant, sophisticated and intelligent.

How come I never noticed the crow before?

Is it because, like all things in life, that you don't notice the crow and appreciate its beauty because it is right there in front of your eyes, at your doorstep?

Is it because we don't have to strive hard to see the crow that we underestimate its value?

How predictable are we? When a diamond sits right in front of you for long you think it is a pebble!

DAY 141

Mom and I share a close bond.
There are numerous little things that makes me think of her.

When I need a hug.
When I feel weepy.
When I am hurt.

When I want to share a win.
When I want to share a laugh.
When I wan to share a secret.

When I see a loving home.
When I see lost and lonely strays on the road.
When I see old and invalid beggars at street corners.

When I get a whiff of jasmine
When I inhale the sweet scent of a red rose
When I feel the aroma of a hot meal.

I think of her when I see
gardens
beautiful piece of art
small hand crafted work
mundane but cute steel vessels
lovely crockery and cutlery

Myriad things remind me of her.
Because it is she who introduced me to life in this world.

There is a world around me and in me.
A world that my mom has made beautiful for me -with her wisdom, with her mistakes, with her love, with her anger, with her tears, with her laughter, with her sacrifices, with her compromises, with a heart and her soul.

Above all a world that she's made beautiful for me by just being human - good and bad.

And it is but a wonderful day to say to her - I love you mom

PS: SMALL OIL CANS USED TO STORE COOKING OIL, AS THE ONE SEEN IN THIS PIC, REMINDS ME OF NOTHING AND NO ONE BUT MY MOM. THESE SMALL THINGS ARE HER HUGE WEAKNESS :) YEAH, SHE IS WEIRD, JUST LIKE ME.

Day 140

I was a no-show, yesterday.
A hectic one-day trip to Chennai on work, saw me reach home very late.
Took the first flight out. Came in by the last flight.
When I reached home, which is far, far away from the airport - it was no more yesterday, but today. So, here is yesterday's picture posted today. But then, it doesn't really matter, for all todays will become yesterdays and all yesterdays were once tomorrows till they became today and then turned into yesterday.

:) well, at this precise moment, I am following a very sage advice given by a very astute journalist many moons ago - when you slip, be smart - play with words. :) I slipped, and I am playing with words. And by now you should've guessed that I am not too smart :)

That's what happens when you live on borrowed ideologies.

Don't live life on borrowed philosophies and ideologies of godmen and godly men. Find your own from your experiences, said the beautiful lady (Known as Shambavi Didi, by her friends) in the photograph. And I find that absolutely true - and that's been my own experiences.

day 139

What captured my attention in this image?

What attracted me to it in the first place?

The answers are not in words.

But just a feeling.

A feeling that's unconsciously drawn me to this image.

A feeling that's seeped deep into my bones, traveled through my veins and touched my heart.

A feeling that is an answer to a question that I must have asked long ago.

A feeling that is a response to another feeling, that's stayed with me long after I ceased to remember the question.

A feeling that my inner being understands, but my educated self is unable to articulate in words.

The closest that I can come to describing that feeling is:
hauntingly sad, but grit and determination that is such a human prerogative.
Something that transcends all barriers.

Something that does not require words.

DAY 138

You did not come forth to learn how to do nothing. You came forth because you are an expanding being wanting expansion - this is one of my favourite quotes.

This quote came to my mind in connection with this image. The tyres were a part of a game mostly used during team-building exercises.

The simple Tyre. What a beautiful example of expansion!

Many years ago it did not exist.

Then somebody found a little spark that became the genesis of what would later become this tyre.

Then it evolved and evolved and evolved.

Once it served its purpose, it was discarded.

That's when somebody found another use for the discarded Tyre.

And there evolved a game, which not only help people have fun, but also became part of management workshops, team building workshops etc.

The first person, in this line of expansion of the Tyre, wouldn't have, in his wildest dreams thought that his imagination would one day turn into a tool of learning and team building.

We are all clogs-in-this-big-wheel. And with each day, each generation, each thought, each action and each opposite reaction, each contrast, each like and dislike, we expand.

Oh, I wonder how this Universe will be 1000 years from now. I am sure it would be mesmerizing.

For some strange reason when I think of life on those lines, I find myself easily able to live with contrasts and opinions that are contradictory to mine. Because if we don't allow it how will we expand.

DAY 137

I have missed a couple of days posting photos on this page.

I click a picture a day (photography is like breathing - i know it sounds corny, but that's what it is for me. I have to click pics everyday. I remember a day when I was unable to go out and I had exhausted all the things that I could click around my house. So I sat down and took pics of my finger nails in different angles. No it is not vanity. It is just that I like taking pictures. :)

So, though I have been clicking pictures every day, on some days I have been unable to post them. That is because I have a new assignment that consumes most of my time. Work on the new assignment continues even after I return home, late at night.

By the time I finish work, I am too tired and sleepy and I hit the sack, telling myself, I am going to get up early tomorrow morning and post the pic on my 365 day project.

Morning arrives. I wake up and then it is all a blur and whir -as I call it.

It is with great love and passion that I started the 365 day project. And it saddened me greatly when I missed posting pics.

As I was sharing my plight with my mom (and Ginju who insists I include her in all discussions), my mother as usual gave me an option (though i keep telling her her options are no options at all they only pretend to be.)

She said, "It is up to you. If you want you can drop the project. Because you started it and you have every right to do so. If you want you can continue it, because again, you started it and you have every right to do it."

At which point I was rolling my eyes at her...

The point is, she said, it is your vision. You have to own it. No body can do it for you.

Mom usually disappears into the kitchen after the punchline and I am left to fend and mend on my own terms.

Yes, I have to own my vision. Which means, I gotta make a promise to myself - no matter what happens, I post a pic here....because it makes me happy.

So, here's the image that will be a reminder to me about why i enjoy photography and why I started this project - to have fun, to laugh, to think, to stretch my grey cells and to be happy.

day 136

This definitely is not one of my best images, but it is surely an interesting one. Long after the dust has settled on this one, I will absolutely remember the adrenaline-thumping-joy, clicking this image.

It was at the nth minute that I got to know about `Photographers Prepare for a Moment in May' movement.

A message from a friend on facebook, Ramesh Menon the spirit and soul behind the group Passionate Photographers, prompted me to take this photograph.

It said: Be part of a global photography initiative.

Inviting members to carry your cameras and take a photograph at 7pm (19 hrs) Dubai time today, Sunday, 2nd May 2010 in the evening and then upload at the given link.. good luck guys.. and i hope all of your pics appear in NY Times.Be part of a global photography initiative.

(http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/08/about-3/?WT.mc_id=LE-SM-E-FB-SM-EV-AMI-040810-NYT-NA&WT.mc_ev=click)

I checked the link and it said that I have 3.5 minutes before the BIG MOMENT.

Sunday evening. I am at my laziest best. I had just logged on to check my mails and lo behold i see this message.

What followed was a sweet scramble that made my mother think for a moment - `Did my daughter loose it, for good, this time!'

What followed was a mad rush of a sequence of actions:
Grab camera.
Look around for a theme and photograph.
It cannot be anything, but something that makes sense.
Rush to the balcony. (One place that never lets me down and my window to the world and the sky above)
Sundown. Dark outside, except for the light seeping through windows and doors of homes across the landscape.
Then I spot the red light atop the mobile tower.
Something triggers in my brain box.
Urban landscape, dotted with mobile towers. Saying something about the progress the country as made and the way it has changed the skyscapes of our city.
Quickly try and take a picture.
Then realise you need a tripod, because it is dark outside, which means slower and longer shutter speed. (too much adrenaline is making the brain have hiccups)
Rush back inside to grab the tripod.
Eyes fall on the computer screen.
There is just one minute left.
Make a mad dash to the balcony.
Upset Jinju in the process.
She is angry because I disturbed her watching her favourite serial on Asianet (yes, that is not a dog, but a human in a lot of dog fur)
She barks and tries to block my way.
I whack her. A little pat, which does not even disturb the fur on her body but upsets my mom pretty fast.
Now I have very little time left.
Will I be able to make it?
Will I be able to click a picture at the same time as thousands of photographers around world?
screw the camera on the tripod. (i mean screw in a nice way)
focus, check the shutter speed and the aperture, put it on timer and press click.
Right on time.

And then wait to see the outcome. Not the best. But suddenly it hit me, I was part of something that involved scores of people across the world. And that makes the picture look good to me. It's a funny feeling. But it is nice-funny.

Just the thought of people across the globe raising their cameras at the precise moment and clicking that one photograph that captures their attention at that precise moment was fascinating to me.

Then I pondered, why did I have to rush through all this madness to take that picture at the prescribe time. Nobody was watching me. I could've cheated right? Maybe I could've clicked the photograph 5 minutes later. But I didn't, why?

Well, could be the result of mob mentality....lol

But on a serious note, I think we tend to be more honest when the responsibility and the onus is on us. You cannot cheat your conscience. It is as simple as that.

Day 135

There is a carpenter in me. And a weaver.
From the time I was a child I have been drawn to these two crafts.
I don't know why.

Being a thoroughbred city girl the only carpentry I saw up close was in films or in the form of finished products at home. Sames goes for weaving too.

Thus the fascination for these two crafts beats me.

The fascination is not for the end products of these two crafts, but it is for the actual work.

I even once came close to enrolling myself in a carpentry workshop. But the master carpenter thought I was a little cukooo in the head and that I would be a distraction to the boys in the class and refused to entertain my "madness".

There is always a smile on my face when I day dream and create situations in my head where I spend my days weaving baskets and doing some fascinating carpentry.
My mother says I need more fresh air to clear my head of all those cobwebs.

But I say, `those cobwebs' help me escape into worlds, which I otherwise wouldn't see and experience.

This is an image of a weave by the women of North Eastern India. Of course, I don't even need this image to go into my head and travel all the way up to Sikkim or Assam and be a woman of the hill tribe, breathing fresh air, inhaling the fragrance of flowers, herbs and roots, feeling the earth under my feet and the textured, soothing weave between my fingers, as I weave beautiful baskets...or whatever....well, this can be addictive....!

As my mother says, maybe I do need some fresh air...