She sat pensively, worried about something. Ricardo had no way of knowing what it was that hinged her thoughts away from their lunch. He was ecstatic, he had almost blown away the chance of meeting by suggesting he wasn’t interested in a heavy lunch. He would have eaten the entire animal kingdom, if she was in the mood for heavy lunch. 

It's strange how the memory of that day is etched in Ricardo's mind like he took a photo of the day and put it in his wallet. Midday sun overhead, sea breeze winding through the lanes where their offices were, sunglasses... a lot of people wore sunglasses that day he'd noted. The local carbonated drinks in rainbow colours and a new cuisine were tried out that afternoon. An isolated afternoon in a long summer with days rather indistinguishable from each other. 
May - 2009

I've decided to have Spanish names for my imaginary characters; given my current fascination with the Iberian Peninsula. But it's not exactly current, this fascination. Some of it was put in motion after I saw two back to back movies starring Ricardo Darin and Soledad Villamil (the rest of course comes from the excellent Blaugrana).

Love happened after that and all information on Soledad Villamil was devoured within the next hour. The Secret In Their Eyes is definitely worth a watch; in fact the relationship between Villamil and Darin as a subplot is superbe too.Take a look at this song and try denying Cupid his aim. I don't understand Spanish, just a bit of French which is similar to Spanish, but I thoroughly enjoy the song as if I understand every word she sings!

I step into the balcony I have often mentioned. It’s 3:38 a.m. by the watch. It’s a Fastrack I had bought, one of my early acquisitions from my salary and hence precious. It was from the Titan showroom outside Andheri West. That was where I lost a phone too. Stepped out of the auto and suddenly realised that the phone wasn’t with me. Frantic running around and calling the no.; no response. The crowd had swallowed up an entire auto in 3 minutes. These two events are separated by a whole year. It’s funny how my mind can link up different periods of times together effortlessly, something my writing struggles with. I climb the balcony railing and jump out. I don’t hit the ground. Not the solid cemented pathway, nor the soft mud. Instead I’m reminded of the soft sounds of rain on a night almost half a year ago. And as the memory lingers, I let the memory complete itself savouring the particular pitch of the rain that night half a year ago. I remember the strange shadows cast by the neem tree outside my balcony on my walls from the orange lamps that lit the passage between the two dorms. But most of all I remember feeling an echo of sadness in the rain. And quite suddenly I didn't feel alone. 

- March, 2009

I've decided to start posting some of the stuff saved up on my computer over the last couple of years. I guess I started writing them out as blogposts, or sometimes personal notes. Most are lost, but some I saved up carefully. There are bits of ambitious short stories and sometimes just random lines strung together unfit to be called prose and too embarrassed to even masquerade as poetry. 


Powered by my over enthusiastic imagination, I'd draw parallels from characters and lyrics I'd encounter and forever keep blending my real life into the stuff I'd read/listen to. The primary reason for posting them I think are the memories each piece is associated with. Sometimes what they describe are memoir like and sometimes I can vividly recall the days and weeks that surrounded a particular bit of writing which would mostly be nonsense to a reader. 

Thing is, I'm suddenly back in that semi reality state; completely overpowered by the book I've been reading for a really long time now, having been interrupted by my Himachal mountain biking/cycling trip. It's not bleak by any stretch of imagination (not my Murakami fetish again). It's just a happy story. Quite like my sudden discovery of Belle & Sebastian, who I TOTALLY recommend. I'd need to thank A & D for reinforcing each others views and pushing me towards my 24x7 Belle & Sebastian playlists.

Here's one of many favourites. Describing almost exactly the way summer has been for me. 


Asleep On A Sunbeam.

When the half light makes for a clearer view
Sleep a little more if you want to
But restlessness has siezed me now, it's true
I could watch the dreams flicker in your eyes
Lying here asleep on a sunbeam
I wonder if you realise you fascinate me so

Think about a new destination
If you think you need inspiration
Roll out the map and mark it with a pin
I will follow every direction
Just lace up your shoes while I'm fetching a sleeping bag, a tent...

Another summer's passing by
All I need is somewhere I feel the grass beneath my feet
A walk on sand, a fire I can warm my hands
My joy will be complete

I thought about a new destination
I'm never short of new inspiration
Roll out the map and mark it with a gin
Made my plans to conquer the country
I'm waiting for you to get out of your situation
With your job and with your life

All I need is somewhere I feel the grass beneath my feet
A walk on sand
A fire, I can warm my hands
My joy will be complete.

I've been tempted to write for many days now, but as always sometimes a little fear and sometimes hyperactivity have conspired to keep me from all my attempts. Often my mind has taken flight and left behind all that I wanted to write about, unattended and lost!

I've been home for some time now. Blessed with the good fortune of having won some Rs. 3500 worth of Crossword coupons, I treated myself to 2 days of grand shopping. It’s interesting to see how store staff  become overtly friendly after you purchase books worth Rs. 2000 despite stinking of alcohol at 2 p.m. in the afternoon with a half empty bottle of rum stuffed into your jeans. And that too, in presumably snobbiest locality a Crossword could be in; Bandra W. Of course, being the pro of midday drunken splurging, I conducted myself with enviable grace. The truly charming Mr. Drunk.

My first book, heavily recommended by V, was the Tin Drum. And true to what all my friends (other than V) told me, it was a tough read. Frankly speaking, I plodded through most of it. But I think I’ll be re-reading parts of it. My reaction to both this book and Midnight’s Children is similar to a certain extent. There are passages that have just blown me over, catching me completely unexpected after long drawn passages I’ve been skimming over. Some passages so complexly beautiful that I find myself lost trying to determine which thread to follow. Like maybe sitting in front of a 100 member orchestra and wondering which instrument to focus on. Which performer to track and assign the amazingly beautiful composition turned up by the orchestra as a whole. My mind trying to simplify the complicated interplay of words, emotions, colours, sounds churned up in a single sentence and absolutely unable to grapple with the staggering problem at hand. Maybe that’s the kind of writing one should aspire for I tell myself, tired after reading all these passages, making a note of the page no.s for reading up later.

And right now I’m reading Paul Auster who was discovered over a humid 2 months of summer in Bombay at A’s place. The Murakami-esque bizarre stories – the New York Trilogy, the first book I read made a strong impression. The current book I’m reading is very average to say the least, atleast till now. And especially in the backdrop of a giant like Grass, Auster’s writing doesn’t seem like it’s even trying to attempt to play catch up. But even then I like the easy read the book is. The breezy pace with which it runs, even if there is talk of death and a funeral and there is sadness in the pages, maybe I’m glad it isn’t the overpowering gut wrenching sadness with which Mr. Grass or HM would strike me. With authors like them, it’s not easy reading the book. It becomes so real that it actually becomes a physical sensation. Gripping you physically and tearing you up from the inside. Of course, that firm grip doesn't reduce my admiration for them. If anything the ability to write like that puts those authors beyond any conceivable form of praise I can assign to them. Like slippery accomplished fish they evade every net of praise I may try to ever weave.

I’m beginning to enjoy home now. Essentially, I’m settling into a routine. And I am quite a man of routine, once I find things to do. Of course, there is also a certain amount of unrest... Ulysees like I long to start travelling again. Of course people at home (no Telemachus or Penelope here) seem eager that I be off since my lazing around the house is not welcome after 2 weeks. I have used up my quota of being treated as a guest. So to make peace for everyone, my plans for travel have also been made. A North Sikkim trek and by a cycling trip in the Himalaya subsequently. I guess I’m infinitely lucky to have the time for all this travelling. Going through the computer I found a word file chronicling my travels in ’09. Haven’t done that for ’10, though I did manage to travel much more last year than before; and that too to some of the most exotic places I’ll be going to in a long time. Andamans and the valleys of Spiti and Pin which as per some geological records were the floor of the Tethys Sea eons ago!

I’m tempted to travel to Zanskar. And I’m unendingly amazed by these firangs who always manage to travel to the remotest of places in our country way before we even woke up to the prospect of travelling to these places. I came upon a site by a Brit who travelled through Zanskar in the early 90’s! I mean we weren’t even an open economy then! The sepia tinted pictures are the best part of his net-travelogue. Seem to have lost the link to the page. Will post when I find it again.

Himalayan Travels

8 Days, 1060 kms and more (Delhi -Chandigarh - Shimla - Kaza - Manali -Chandigarh - Delhi), HRTC buses on high mountain roads, Kunzum La (4551 ms), Kaza (3565 ms), Rohtang La (3820 ms), Dhankar (3750 ms). Bitter winter weather, moonscape, stars on the horizon, crescent moon sighting at 1 p.m. (post meridian, yes!) over Spiti River.

This is the worst withdrawal I have ever suffered. Hope to put up the travelogue soon.

                                                          Click on the image for details

Impressions

The impressionists were a group of French painters largely beginning to gain prominence around the late 19th century. Led by Monet who had had enough of paintings of royalty. The funny kind of self portraits, Louis XIV type. Painting, he said, should represent what the human eye sees. And he pursued, what I believe, a scientific approach (as scientific as you could get in the late 19th century). He observed that what the human eye sees when it sees a field of grass is not essentially each blade of grass and it's shade in every detail. Rather, what it sees, would be blobs of colours yellows, greens, dark greens, whites, blacks juxtaposed next to each other in a certain pattern, which when seen from a distance mixed optically to form the composite picture of the field of grass. To Monet, the quest was to represent this pattern of distinct colours without mixing them, so that once you saw the composite mixture your eyes would see as if seeing real life. And saying this, he set off in the singular most significant quest in his life. To paint in a way that would replicate what the eye sees. He sat entire days, waking up only only to stare at a building or whatever the subject was to try and understand how light and shadow lent the colours various shades. How each shade interacted with each other creating the impression the eye saw. To get underneath what the human eye saw and took for granted every living moment. And this is the way he painted!

Rock Arch West of Etretat

Guess what the real thing looks like?

Now, here are a couple of mental exercises before you click on the pictures to see the larger versions. Try and list mentally the colours you would have on the rock and the water from the picture. Then take a look at the painting (click on it to view the large version) and have a look at the colours used. Also, notice how the colours when applied on the canvas are not mixed. They don't blend into each other. No matter how unlikely the colour, they're all existing juxtaposed next to each other unmixed.

Monet was this huge guy. The kind who would walk into to a room and the centre of gravity would shift towards him. Just as he envisioned this new way of painting, so did he influence a whole lot of other guys. And so grew the impressionist movement where a lot of these painters met up at a cafe near Monet's studio in France, discussed techniques and styles and developed impressionism further.

One person of course who stood out the most, whose name is possibly synonymous with art, is Van Gogh. Van Gogh's genius lay, according to my limited explorations of this whole new hobby, in his intuitive understanding of colour relationships. His brilliance absolutely is from the way Starry Night on the Rhone

 just lights up from the inside. There's a brightness from the stars, from the lights by the river that seem to come out of the painting and fall onto you! There are other similar paintings; The Café Terrace on the Place du Forum, Arles, at Night, the very famous Starry Night. In a letter to his brother Theo, Van Gogh mentions how it is wondrous to him that the night can be painted without any black colour. He refers to the night outside the Cafe at Place du Forum, Arles. And if you check out the painting and the others, it indeed lacks use of black almost completely. In fact I even came upon a paper that concludes that Van Gogh's style, the swirls and spirals coupled with the use of luminosity actually convey a feeling of motion to the viewer!Of course the fact that he suffered deeply in his last years and finally committed suicide may add to his legacy. But it surely can never take away from the genius he was.

What's most interesting is the sudden new perspective pursuing/developing something like this can give you. And it's amazing to realize that whatever we see everyday could have so many aspects to it. For starters, the next time you step out of your office or home and look at the sky or some trees in the sunlight try and count the number of distinct colours you see.

There's been a lot to write. Especially with so much of painting happening all around. I have kicked Van Gogh out of my display pic. to put in one of my own. But I'm in more than cursory appreciation of Monet and the entire group of impressionists. Creating something with your own hands in totality is a very rare occurrence of late. I mean yes, if you write something that's completely yours, then that's one of the things; else there's hardly anything that we do that could count as making something with your own hands. It's definitely been something that gives me reason to be pleased with self.

“Make a list. Cross it off. Build a fort. Read a magazine. Turn off the tv. Make some coffee. Smell the flowers. Take a day off. Take two days off. Take a week off. Go outside. Buy a plane ticket. Leave the country. Fall in love. Wear something new. Wear nothing. Camp a mountain. Swim with the fish. Paint a picture. Paint yourself. Listen to new music. Listen to old music. Play music. Take a walk. Make a new friend. Reconnect with old friends. Write people letters. Send the letters. Tell the truth. Grow your own fruit. Look at the stars. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Now, remember this moment.”
- Make a list. Cross it…from Goodmorning & Goodnight by Basheer


Have always crossed every list I've made. Stopped making them anymore. Never tried building a fort. Read a magazine. Tv's been turned off for years now. Can't make coffee. Haven't smelled flowers in a long time! Day offs - NA. Bought plane tickets. Flew off the mainland, though not to a different country. Fallen and bruised a couple of times. Need to buy new clothes! Check. Still needs to be done. Swam with fish in the Indian Ocean (While snorkeling in the Andamans a really curious bunch of butterfly fish would keep staring back at me after fluttering off into the distance to check if I was still there.) Have been painting non stop for the past 3 days. I'm too complicated to be done justice on canvas. Have been listening to a lot of Indie music of late, love most of it! Old music: refer to previous post. Need to find my harmonica. Missed out on football today :( , prefer that more to walks. New friends; that's not happened in a long time now. Reconnected with a few, yes. Does writing loong emails count? Try to, most of the times. Planted a mango tree 15 years ago, should have borne a lot of fruit. Stare at them very often. Check. Check.

Now I won't forget this in a long time!

You should do this exercise mentally if not blog it.

Doesn't get better than this. Pure vintage U2. This isn't just blast from the past, it's gas attack; central nervous system under threat!

Nothing better to do on a Sunday than dig up old stuff on your computer and look back at a much younger picture of you.

a) First job blues.
b) Quitting.
c) Republic day in college :-D.
d) Boredom in office can be turned into a blogpost. (copied from my office note book I diligently used during my internship)
e) Leaving home for the first time.

It's amazing how this blog captures so much of my past. I can remember the days, images briefly. Sometimes the feelings of anticipation, elation, worry attach themselves to the images too. Even the writing... I used to tinker with multiple backgrounds. Once I had this NatGeo photo of rains in the savannah; that's the one I remember most prominently. So there are posts with horrid font colours since the background wouldn't contrast with the white font colour it is now. There are posts with random capitalisations, drunken punctuation etc. etc.

It's scary to think I've considered deleting this site a few times already!