Leaving a Mark

Given the right weather and time of the day, it is fun to walk the roads of Delhi, especially around Connaught Place. You never know what unusual sights you may come across.
Jantar Mantar, today, is known more for the multitude of protests that are held around all year round. That it was a device to tell time and record the changing lengths of day before machines made their appearance, seems to have been obliterated from the minds of teeming millions that pass by it each day.
Time is a concept, an individual entity that watches silently as humanity shuffles by. Does it smile knowingly? Laugh mockingly? Or shakes it head sympathetically as men try to stop time, tame it, rule it, master it? Dynasties come and go, civilizations perish, but time persists, a witness to all change.
But humans being what they are, try to leave their mark. Some like the Jantar Mantar have stood ground for centuries and others like the Municipal Council building are new. These are testimonies to efforts of grand men. Men with money and power. Not to be outdone is the humble artist who drew an image of Lord Hanuman on the sidewalk. Surrounded by mud and broken paving tiles, you see it only when you literally stumble upon it. You stop mid-step and walk reverently around it.

This image will not last long. maybe till the next rain. But till then, it is unique. Another demonstration of the human spirit to leave a mark even in anonymity.

The Little Red Book a.k.a. Bahi Khata

This is not a Little red book of spy secrets. It does not contain a list of phone numbers of hot dudes or gals (as you may want it to be). This is a nondescript accounts book. The red book with white thread stitching is called 'Bahi' in Hindi and 'Khata' stands for accounts. This book is typical of the trader community across India. This is where they write their daily accounts. Computers have replaced them in cities but these are still used by thousands in small towns and villages.

This caught my attention as being a city-dweller I had not seen one in ages. I have faint memories of it from my father's ancestral village. This shot is from the daily wholesale flower market in New Delhi. People come from as far as Himachal to sell flowers. Flowers are imported from South East Asia. And these are sold in neighbourhood florist vends and high end shops. A large chunk makes its way to the opulent five star hotels of the city.

Technology and modernism play a big part in the business. From transportation to storage to recording sales to artistic displays. Educated, skilled people look into all this. We appreciate the fancy decors. We carry flowers to our houses and forget where it all began.

This little red book holds the record of the beginning of this journey. The farmer who lovingly grows the beautiful flowers in his village and then travels to the city for business notes down all transactions meticulously in this book. This is his excel sheet of all he has spent, earned and profited from his venture. It is the sum of his professional life.

Is happiness anathema to creativity?

I went to see an exhibition today. Beautiful, brightly colored paintings with a woman as the central theme. What I saw, was happy colors and introspective images. A look at the titles and the words written on the artworks surprised me though. All were sad, negative, full of angst. The paintings talked of hurt, betrayal, loss of innocence. For me the thoughts took away some of the beauty of the art. I came away pondering on the connection between art and torment of the human mind

Is the path to creative outpouring lined with all that is negative in the human nature? Is misery the only way to draw from the well of ingenuity. I have always heard that poets write their best works at the lowest phase of their lives. Ghazals are said to be the sweetest and heart felt when the author was wallowing in self-pity (suicidal) after a broken heart. The best music was written by angst-ridden, love deprived, sidelined-by-society rockers (Personally I think they were too stoned to think about all this and the explanations were given by their biographers. No offence to anybody. Rock is my favorite genre of music.) Picasso changed his style every time he changed the woman in his life. (Okay! We can call this inspiration).

Does a tortured mind become more creative? Can't happy, at peace with themselves people be gifted? Or is it fashionable to project an image of anguish to get your work appreciated? I have started thinking this is partly or more of a reason. Maybe people think where is the beauty in portraying something that is already beautiful. They like to applaud the beautiful image of something they loathe. Or they are so afraid of acknowledging the sadness of their lives that they will lap up anything that glosses over it. Or they like to clap at the effort of the artist to rise above the cesspool of his existence and secretly gloat they do not have to fight the very same demons.

What is wrong with cheerful disposition? Why can't positive thought flower into a work of art? Why is it less valuable or inspirational unless a trauma is attached to it? Children are genuinely happy people and undisputed in originality. I, for one, can't think straight if I am sad, angry, morose etc. etc. I can't sit and design something if I have fought with someone I love. I am most inspired when I am in a happy place. O My God! Does that mean I am not creative?

In today's episode of Dance India Dance, Arshad Warsi said, 'The all great performers have some pain or struggle in their past'. This is what gives them the passion to perform. Do have to be deprived to be passionate about anything? I do agree, you value what you do not have. But getting the object of your desire easily does not lessen the value or make you less passionate about it if you want it for the right reasons. You only cherish it more. Hard work is part of every success story but it need not be clubbed with torment. Hard work and positive outlook will take you places.

Man, Machine and Mountains

Humans have a peculiar relationship with nature. On one hand we are in awe of it and on another we try to master it. I think it is this duality that make men ride their machines up the unforgiving Himalayas. On my journey around Ladakh I came across a lot of bikers. Some were in groups and some like this fellow, were loners. Astride their metal horses, these are the modern-day voyagers. What are they looking for? Is it just the thrill of travel, conquering an inhospitable terrain or is it a journey of self-discovery? I think I'll not know till I dare to embark on such a sojourn myself. They challenge fate amidst the chilly winds and rough surroundings but not without the blessings of their God. The prayer flags are a reminder of man's faith in a higher power who he hopes will protect him against harm. This shot is special to me as it shows the indestructible human spirit, our desire to overcome the mountains in our path, literally and metaphorically.

Flag Position

One brave soul rode a bajaj scooter to Pangong Tso! The road is bad, the winds are chilling at 13,500 ft. This scooter belongs to a guy who works at the small army cafe at the lake. His jobs takes him there but must be one bone-racking yet exhilarating experience to drive up. I loved the morning light filtering through the clouds and lighting up the lake like a portal to another world. Nature is frightening and calming at the same time.

Wrap and Weft

This raffia bag caught my attention during one of my trips to Khan Market. The vibrant colors were quiet a puller. I loved the texture and the details of the natural material. Now that everyone is going green, such things are not only environment friendly but also fashionable. An added bonus is the employment it provides to the people in cottage industry. Looking at the weave made me think how like our lives it was. Isn't our life made of different strands, our life as a child, friend, spouse, parent, boss, citizen of our country etc.? All these lives are woven together to make us complete as the complex person we are. We have our high points and our shadows and all the happy moments that stand out in bright orange against the blues.

Picnic at the big mountain

Chilly morning wind, bank of of an Himalayan lake and and a backdrop of breathtaking mountains, what could be a better spot for a picnic. I saw this group of Americans braving the sharp cold on the side of lake Pangong at 13,500ft up in the Himalayas. Swaddled in down jackets they were enjoying mangoes, the bounty of the tropics. Watching them made me hungry too. All you need is the company of your friends to make even an inhospitable terrain a party place.

I See You

It is said the eyes are the windows to the soul. They show what the face tries to hide. There eyes that are innocent or soulful or mirthful or shifty. The eyes say it all when they blaze with anger, shine with excitement, cry with anguish or twinkle with naughtiness. A laugh is meaningless until it lights up the eyes. Eyes communicate without words without sound. There are looks that can kill and then there are come hither looks. A mother can admonish or reward a child with just one look. Eyes are all seeing but can choose to be metaphorically blind.

Eyes form prominent imagery in Hindu and Buddhist culture. Goddess Kali is depicted by blazing eyes. Shiva's third eye is believed to destroy all. They have inspired centuries of poets. Every artist has tried to capture the soul of the subject in the depiction of the eyes.

Eyes are what attracted me to this statue of the Buddha. The exude a serenity that is very de-stressing. Every time I look at them I feel a little more peaceful with my surrounding. They draw me inwards to the anchor of my innermost thoughts and to the place that calms me. They tell me 'I see you' as you are and not as others perceive you. Be true to yourself and you need not fear what others think of you.

Swamped!

This is that time of the month. Hey! what are you thinking? I was talking about work. The deadline for the magazine Force is looming over my head and there are still stories to come from the client. So no sleep for me tonight. But who's complaining! It is good to have work! Check out the new issue to see how India plans to tackle the threat called China. I for one would start by saying 'NO' to goods made in China. We are gladly supporting their economy at the cost of our own. When will we wake up and stop being penny wise and pound foolish or rather paisa wise and rupee foolish. The Brits ruled India using economy and now China is trying to ruin us using the same tactics. Wish the government was more supportive of manufacturing industry than just the service industry. Manufacturing is what'll give jobs to our unskilled millions. Enhancing their skill set is good in theory but are they going to starve till they get the required skills for an office job. Is the slogan "Gareebi Hatao" or "Gareeb Hatao". Can someone answer this?

Rainsong

Last weekend rain played a spoilsport. I had prayed for rain but not so much in one go that all plans for an evening out were washed away. To top it all there was no power.

But as it is said when life throws lemons your way make lemonade. So, hubby and I sat in the balcony, sipped some coke and ate hot crispy french fries. Reminded me of childhood days when rains meant pakoras by plateful.

I came into the bedroom to take a call and saw this little fellow taking shelter in the rear balcony. Couldn't resist clicking it. I thought that the wet feathers standing up on the head made it look quite rakish.

Every cloud does have a silver lining it seems.

Twenty years Apart

Till a year back, Facebook for me, was just another way to keep in touch with my family on the other side of the globe. My friend list was limited to a half a dozen of cousins. Then I added a few work friends to make connecting easy. And that was that. I did not go looking for people or try to make 'friends'. I live more in the real world than the virtual.

Then, one day I got a message from someone asking me if was the same Aarti who studied with him in school. I was surprised, to say the least. I never occurred to me that someone would go looking for me on Internet. I let the message lay in my inbox, unanswered. I mulled over it for weeks and then thought 'Hey! What the hell! If people want to get back in touch why not? I replied and accepted the friend request. Floodgates opened.

Long lost, some forgotten, some remembered and missed classmates started mushrooming on the site. Friend requests exchanged and accepted. Within a month or so I was in touch with so many of my schoolmates. Now they are friends!

After the initial messaging, all of us wanted to talk. It is very difficult to describe the flow of emotions that accompanied the first conversations. To hear someone's voice after 20 years is astounding. All those memories come rushing in. The sights , sounds, behaviour I associated with them in school was suddenly fresh. The time span of two decades fizzled out. There was no awkwardness no fumbling for words. Guess all that time spent together does account for something.

All of us have changed over the years. What has not changed, is the camaraderie that we shared amongst us in school. I think school years are magical. Growing up may make us cynics but the innocence associated with those childhood days makes us friends all over again.

Thanks to Fb and everyone's efforts to bring back old friends.

My friend list is touching 100 and not with friends of friends or random people. These are my friends 20 years apart yet close.

What Colour is the sky?

If I asked you or a million or so other people what colour is the sky the reply would be an instant 'blue'. But have you ever thought what would a visually challenged person reply? Blue or for that matter cloudy or bright means nothing to her . Things and concepts we take for granted have no place in the world of the blind. Living in my visually stimulating world I never thought about this. I just looked at the sky to gauge my prediction for the day's weather. Colours have meaning for me. They affect my mood. I have favourites and make choices for the colours of my clothes, my room even my food. I colour code my wardrobe. I am a graphic designer, colours are my world. But what if I could not see. A black, purple, orange will suddenly seem unknown. Will my world be the same? I don't like the thought. Hell! it scares me. Why do I think about it now? I was introduced to world of the sightless when I chose to volunteer for the Radio Mirchi project to record books for the sightless. Sure I have seen people around me who do not have the gift of sight but this was the first time I was entering their world. I felt like an over-previlaged imposter. When I read any book, I see it in the eye of my mind. How do I do justice to all the sightless people when I read the book? How do I convey to them the meaning of concepts we comprehend like second nature? How do I explain the red hibiscus or the blue light filtering under the door or the worried look on the mother's face as she sees her baby on the swing for the first time. I'll try my best and let my voice be the sight. It'll not be easy as I am the handicapped in their world. I wish I could understand them better. The sightless are less eqiupped than sighted people but are no way less able. But I do feel greatful for the gift of sight. I for one would like to take time out everyday and thank god for special gift. I hope I can make difference to my life and to those around me.

I succumb!

I finally gave in to the world of blogging today. With the blog mania sweeping the country today what with celebrity actors, politicians and even my nieces and nephews taking to it how could I ignore it. What will I write here? Some deep introspection or my take on life or just ramblings of an overcrowded brain. Heck how does it matter. This is my space. Watch out people here I come! On second thoughts just pass by quietly and let me be.