My latest business card

Upcoming Exhibition 'The Fragmented Few'

Teach India campaign - Maitree meeting

Today I went to Maitree, the NGO at their RKPuram, Sector XIII, New Delhi office and it was an experience that I wish to share with you. (I mistook the dates to meet the people at Maitree as 22-24 Aug instead of 20-22 Aug.) There is a query, a quandry that I need help resolving. Will look forward to your comments and suggestions. Here goes:

Today (20th August 2008), after trying out the perspective exercises in my art class, I sauntered out to my car. It was surprisingly quite pleasant and sunny at the same time. There was a consistent comforting breeze. I sat down, turned the ignition, checked in the mirror, (don't know if I really saw myself or was it simply a nervous gesture) and swung the vehicle into the fast lane. It took me 10 mts to reach Anant Ram Dairy. Told that it is a slum, expected some shoddy mud houses, dirt and filth on the streets, open drains and lots of semi-naked children playing on the streets. Images of 'KAANTA' (illegal power connection) also flickered through. Boy! Was I in for a very pleasant surprise. Most of the houses would put posh delhi colonies to shame. Though there were some obsolete, rundown, single storey shacks looking quite out of place now with the surroundings having changed for the better. The roads were still constricted (this couldnt have been helped for obvious reasons. when we encroach beyond our houses, the road is what gets reduced) I sensibly left my Qualis parked out of the colony. The marble and granite address plates outside the houses read 'ARD complex'. It took me a while to decipher the acronym - Anant Ram Dairy. Talk about my self assessment taking a beating.

Found the place and there were a couple of kids trying to open the door, quite unsuccessfully. I offered to help and it was locked. Then I realised the the door on the left to it opened into the same building. I walked in while the kids stayed out. My nervousness was at its peak, throat parched, furtive glances, all the signs of a high BP situation. I walked into a palce which climbed a couple of steps into a glass door with ornate wooden frame. Out walked a lady who beckoned me in. I followed her directions. I remembered the kids outside and I voiced my concern for them. I am not sure if she heard me (I squeaked would be more appropriate) but that door was opened for them. I was soon seated in a smallish but quite competently, proffessionally managed, official space. Before we could start off, another guy walked in. I was suddenly the senior one (by 2-3 minutes) He didn't look any better than me. We were asked to briefly tell about ourselves; past and present. He was fresh out of Engg. college and was to join an IT major. I told them that I am attending art classes. (I am yet to work out how to tell people that I don't work, in the least no. of words, and still keep their attantion on me as trustworthy)

Introductions done, she told us about their NGO, history and current projects. They are currently running a child education program and that's where TeachIndia and we, as volunteers come in. There was a long discussion about what is expected of us (not much for they will assign 2 children to each volunteer and based on the schedule that the volunteer can take, will fine tune the program.
I was completely disarmed by the simple yet determined nature of the lady in question. Not feeling nervous anymore, I put across a lot of questions, that I felt were pertinent. They have another center in Sonia Vihar, in RKPuram (but on the other side of Ring road, near Sangam cinema) where they just have space for a classroom and a women-empowerment tailoring workshop. We were asked for our preference of venue (we decided to confirm after we see the other center, i.ie. tomorrow) and time ( they run 2 classes from 3 to 4.30pm for children upto the 5th class, and from 4.30 to 6pm for children senior to the 5th class (upto the 9th).

We have decided that tomorrow the three of us (me, the lady and the other fellow, whose name is Akshay(!)) will go to the center and then take a call on the venue and timings. Now comes the quandry. Help me out guys. I wanted to confirm 5 days (mon. to fri.) from 3-6 pm. The minimum is 1 class (either of the 2 timings) atleast once a week. I want to go the whole way. But wonder if I'll be able to do it. I discussed with my wife and she reco-ed that I do the 3-4.30pm class, as that would be right after my art class (10-2pm) and in the same area. I can be back home by 5-5.30pm and still cope with my art homework and personal life. My mondays, wednesdays and fridays are days for practice and think that they will be reasonably lighter. I am now thinking of suggesting a 3-4.30pm slot on Mon, Wed, and Fridays. I can then take stock of the time and energy that I am left with and then increase the workload. What do you think? Please let me know your suggestions. I need to give my decision tomorrow.

Now for the best part of the trip. Meeting the children. Classes are conducted in a larger hall in the basement of the same building. The door the kids were banging led there. We went down and were immediately swarmed with greetings in english 'Good afternoon Ma'am' Good afternoon Sir'. Some twenty odd voiced sang in. I was overwhelmed and was sure that I wanted to be a part of this. The kids sat on a carpet facing the door and the board on the wall next to the door. They seemed busy bundles of joy, naughtiness and life. I didnt know that I would feel as I did then. I am sorry but my vocabulary is pretty restricted and am short on words to express what I felt. But for sure this was one experience that will stay with me for a long time, purely for the way I felt.

Please send me your advice and I will let you know tomorrow of my commitment to the cause.

TeachIndia campaign beckons

Well, well! I had volunteered for the Teach India campaign by Times of India, long time back. Today (19th August 2008) I got an SMS requesting me to join the campaign, and am expected to report to Maitree (NGO) in RKPuram, New Delhi. I'm very excited and can barely wait to know how I can contribute. My art classes are really keeping me busy, what with 6-7 sheets to be submitted every tuesday. Yesterday's assignment was really tough and lengthy. I stayed up all night but still couldnt complete it. Completed it in the class. (Wonder if I'll need to give the kids some homework when I do go for the formal teaching classes? I wouldnt want to.) So when I received the SMS I could barely keep my eyes open. Sleepless in Delhi!

Suddenly the number of hours in a day are seeming to be not enough. LOL
There is a lot of pride, anticipation and nervousness too. Wish me luck guys.
I hope I can live up to the expectations. (my expectations)

My first class at the Delhi Collage of Art

Today was the day, that the one year diploma in fine arts that I am pursuing from the Delhi Collage of Art, kicked off. Though this was to start from the 1st of August, it was decided that an orientation session, followed by the first class would be held today, 3rd of August, to facilitate students from all batches (Full time 5 days a week, Alternate days, Sunday) and branches (Rajouri Garden, Safdarjung Enclave) to attend a common session at the Safdarjung Enclave branch. It was scheduled to be from 12 noon to 3pm. But as per IST, it started at 12.30pm and went on till 4.30pm, with a 15 minute break in between, while we were served some refreshments.

The pre-lunch session was consumed in the introduction of the faculty members and the general brief on the college, the course, and the regulations. There was a lot of pep talk, and the session though initially a monologue, soon shifted to a more interactive one. The faculty members shared details about themselves, the course, and their expectations from the students. The principal of the college, Mr. Ashwani Kumar Prithviwasi introduced the faculty to the students and highlighted the faculty members' background and strengths. It was very nice to meet all of them and to have been able to interact with them. Forthcoming days would give us an opportunity to imbibe their qualities and derive knowledge and technical know-how on subjects related to the course. I really look forward to such interactions, rather impatiently.

The post-lunch session was the first formal class of the year (academic year), which was conducted by Mr. Prithviwasi. (Ashwani Sir from now on). He had this special style of conducting the class, which made everyone relax and feel involved. He prompted everyone (even the backbenchers) to actively participate in this interactive class. He gave some very relevant examples from his past experiences to explain the basics and the need for hard work. His style was very honest and simple, and his manner quite comforting and disarming. His anecdotes were well timed and made perfect sense at the same time. Never did his tone seem to be condescending or derogatory.

The session ended on a high note with him emphasising the need to be proactive and to put in our best efforts. Nothing to replace hard work, was the motto.

I have enrolled in the full time batch, which runs from Monday through Friday, from 9am to 1pm, at the Safdarjung Enclave branch. So my mornings and afternoons, on weekdays are booked. With a minimum of 5 sketches to be done everyday, the evenings should be taken care of as well. 5 sketches are for C-grade students, the expectations are higher from us. Practice is to be the key to our success.

I hope that this new phase of my life provides the impetus that has been missing for some time now. My future lies in my hands and with professional help at hand, I think it would be really stupid to make a mistake now and not make ample efforts.

Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Bizarre Incidents)

Mr. S, our guide made a couple of wonderful (?) comments to Ms. L and Ms. G that shook my faith in common sense and etiquette.

1. When Mr. S met us for the first time and sat down in the car, he introduced himself and asked about our comfort so far. So far so good. Then he wanted to know if this was our first trip. It wasn't my first and I told him so. Ms. G had been to India once before but this was her first trip to Agra. Ms. L had already been thrice to Agra before but the last had been a long time back. Instead of asking when was the last time or keeping his mouth shut, Mr. S wanted to know if this was before he was born. Mr. S was in his late twenties and Ms. L had been to Agra in 1994 the last time. So, I guess that Mr. S had been born by then. But did the question deserve to be asked? What was he trying to imply? That he's very young or that she's too old!

2. The second incident happened when I was not around and I was told about it on our way back to Delhi from Agra by Ms. G. It so happened that while I had been buying the entry tickets to the Taj, Mr. S had asked Ms. G if she was on pension. I don't know what prompted him to make such necessary (?) inquiries. Of what benefit was this information to him? But all that it could have meant to Ms. G was that she looked old enough to be on pension. Ms. G is the Vice Chancellor of the University (Russian People's friendship University) and is not accustomed to people making such remarks. She is not as young as Mr. S but is still in good shape and is quite good looking and definitely not in the 'pension' age bracket.

I can not understand the reason why Mr. S could have made such irresponsible, unnecessary, and insulting remarks. I am sure that Ms. L and Ms. G would never be able to forget the Mr. S's immaturity. Nobody likes to be reminded of their age, especially women.

I am sure that if I see Mr. S again, he'll be at the receiving end of a barrage of questions and suggestions. Nothing that he should be looking forward to.

Is this how the official guides are prepared to receive tourists? Maybe the government and the citizens need to look into the proper education of these representatives of their country.

Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Part III - Hotel to Home - Last leg)

With a slight limp, I walked out of the lift as it opened its doors to let me out of the hotel. I was now limping quite visibly and obviously. Each step was shooting pain right from my right knee upwards and upwards, till my eyes had started to moisten. I paid the parking attendant and sat down in the driver's seat. I took a moment to take deep breath and calm my nerves. I turned the key. Bhrrrrr. Bhrrrrrrrrrr. Nothing absolutely, just some initial response but the engine wouldn't catch. The car refused to start. Shit!

It was already late evening and the surroundings were looking a bit deserted and gloomy. I opened the hood of the car and located the torch to help me see something in the darkness. I knew that it was something to do with the battery wiring. Tugged on the wires and generally checked for some loose connection. Checked the ignition and still there was no response. I called my friend, who usually repairs my car. Luck was on my side and he answered. Luck left me and he told me that his staff was long gone. He told me to try something and if nothing worked to call him back. I tried, really I did, but it wasn't good enough. This is when I start searching for a garage. Most were closed. I found one open but still too late, as the electrician had already left and the others were in no mood to check my car. They directed me to another garage down the road. Same story - electrician had left. Maybe it was the look on my face – disgust, dejection, and pain (So much walking had worsened the pain. I was now hobbling awkwardly.) that prompted them to remember that he might be back. I waited for about 5 minutes and he came. Drunk! Great! He heard me out without falling down, actually quite patiently and then told me that he would only start the car, not repair it. What to do? I asked him to follow me. 'Rs. 200'. Bastard! He knew the desperation of the situation. I hobbled and he followed me almost identically. Although, I don't think it was a limp for him, just plain intoxication.

He was carrying a plastic bag full of strange stuff. He rummaged through the bag and removed a heavily entangled bunch of wire with a bulb connected at one end. The rest of the length was one serious mess. He connected the wires to the battery. The wire was cut and reconnected in several places and these connections were quite loose. The bulb decided to play hide and seek. It developed disco fever. On! Off! On! Off!... He asked me to keep watching out for the light of the heater coil (on the dashboard) to go on. It flickered once or twice and then there was a continuous glow. I turned the key in the ignition and the engine caught. Such nice and rhythmic noise. Music to my ears. By now my hands were black, my T-shirt was clinging to my body and felt like a piece of me, my head was throbbing and the knee had a mind of its own. I asked him for the reason of the problem. He didn't know. Just some wire was loose. Which one? He didn't know. Bastard! I still had to give him Rs.200, as promised. Screwed, well and truly screwed.

I left the parking lot and joined the procession. The traffic had built up even more. I cruised along and reached home. As I opened the door, I was mobbed. My dogs went mad to see me back. Unfortunately, I didn't share their enthusiasm, even though I was really happy to see them. I was feeling nauseous. The reason could have been tiredness, pain, frustration, and even hunger. My wife had not returned home, but thankfully there was food in the refrigerator. I was relieved to see the food. I filled their bowls with the dog food and while they gobbled it up, tried to rejuvenate my senses with a light (?) Vodka + Coke concoction. Only after the liquid had burned its path through my choked throat did I go and washed my hands and face. Either the drink or the wash or the combination of the two. Whatever! I felt slightly better.

As I was putting on their leashes, I noticed that the white one had blue patches all around her mouth and paws. She had chewed up a pen. Now I started to notice things that I had deliberately avoided. Their water bowl was empty. It was all on the floor and they had been taking wet slides through it. Now I started to lose my mind. My tired knee was also hurting like hell. It felt as if I was going mad. I felt sweaty, dirty, tired and really irritated. I decided to take a bath. I left their leashes on during the bath. In between, the phone rang. It was my parents, who wanted to go out for a dinner (?) No way was I going out in the mental and physical condition that I was in.

Refreshed a bit by the bath, I took the patient canines for a lame walk. The weather didn't seem as nice as it had felt earlier. The wet road was also no longer enticing. Still we splashed through the water logged street. Came back home. Dirty paws, and dirty torsos forced me to give them a thorough wet towel wipe. Once done, I waited for my lady love to arrive. She came but we actually ate in silence.

Later as I settled down on the bed with her next to me, the smaller dog curled up next to me on the bed. The bigger one looked me in the eye, sniffed me and then lay down beside the bed. I was jolted with a bolt of lightning. I realised that here I was with the love of my life. All the frustration and tiredness left me. Now I feel that I love them all. To hell with the touts and middlemen and the many problems and challenges that I encountered on my trip. This was the moment that I should cherish, and remember. The rest was not important. The lesson learnt, helped me get a good sleep. But as it always happens, I forgot all about it by the morning. The trip was finally over.

Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Part II - Agra, Taj Mahal)

I parked the car in the somewhat spacious, but very dirty parking lot. Although, I feel that this is one idea that's beneficial for the environment and the monument. I remember that when I was still a schoolboy, I had visited the Taj mahal with a school trip and the bus had parked up right next to the gates. The Taj mahal had even then shown the after effects of the vehicular pollution. The white marble had looked quite grey and beige. The environmental preservation efforts have borne fruit and the Taj looks to be in better health. The parking, which is much before the gates now, restricts the pollution caused by car fumes from taking its toll on the monument.

It has also provided employment to more people by virtue of creating more opportunities like, the parking lots need more attendants, more cleaning staff, more security; the battery operated buses need more drivers; horse-driven and camel-driven carts need their respective 'mahouts' (operators); the path enroute to the actual gates from the parking lot has shown a mushroom growth in bars, restaurants, 'dhabas' (roadside, cheap eating joints) and handicraft shops. Though most of the local (?) handicraft is displayed and sold through the UP State Handicrafts Emporium, there is flourishing direct salesman to customer business. The salesmen (in most cases children) converge on the tourists like locusts and simply don't understand words which have a negative connotation. Words like 'No!', 'Get away!', I don't want anything!', 'Nahin chahiye!', 'Hatt jao!', 'Tang mat karo!' are deftly avoided by them as the persisting tone to sell whatever they carry increases in volume. The swarming lasts right up to the gates. All modes of transport stop some distance away from the gates. The short but tedious walk to the gate can be annoying, irritating, depressing but definitely not what one should have to bear when visiting a world heritage site.

Well, for ourselves, we were well equipped and also had Mr. S for defence. As per Mr. S's words, he was responsible for our safety as well as for a detailed and informed tour of the Taj Mahal. Safety was to be bought by refusing to acknowledge the mere presence of any salesman, child, beggar, children requesting money in the garb of selling trinkets, basically anyone who presented an opportunity of getting up close and personal with us. He kept safe distance from us for most of the journey so as not to tread on anybody's toes. (and I don't mean our toes here). He distinctly advised us not to speak or get into conversation with the 'leeches'. (Did he mean himself, guess not.)

I asked Mr. S about the best mode of transport up to the gates. The battery operated bus was the choice and he told us that it would cost Rs.100 per person. Thankfully, I had been forewarned and I told him that I would manage it on my own. We got on the bus, waited for a couple of more tourists to board and then raced across the road towards the gates. On the way, there is a police check post, which has a barricade on the road. The bus slightly slowed down before zipping past. There was obviously no policeman at the barricade and they looked like anybody but people ensuring security of the area. We came to a halt and as every one got off, I gave the driver Rs. 10. Rs. 10!!! That's right. I paid Rs 10 for the ride for all of us, when Mr. S had advised me to part with Rs. 400. Truth be told, there was no need to pay even that officially, as it is a complimentary service. Just imagine the amount that these people must be minting. WOW! That too Tax-free. Although, I believe that the 'tip' is shared by many hands. Well, surrounded by our small contingent of infestation (salesmen), we strolled over to the gate and I went over to the ticketing counter.

The tickets for foreign nationals were quoted at Rs.750, of which, ASI charge was Rs.250, while the State toll charge was a whopping Rs.500. (Why?) Absurdity at its best. Inscribed lower were the charges for the Indian nationals, who in comparison, were in no comparison at all. Rs. 20 only. Bullshit! (sorry for the expression) Another slap to my already wounded Indian pride. Inequality. Foreign nationals were being provided a bottle of water and covers for their shoes. I paid an extra Rs.10 and got a set of shoe-covers for me and Mr. S. The person, manning this service, very reluctantly parted with the extra covers.

Mr. S had already informed us that no electronic items, cigarettes, lighters or food items were allowed inside. We waltzed through the security check and waited for the ladies to emerge. There was some holdup and it transpired that Ms. G had forgotten to remove her electronic diary. I went outside with Mr. S to the locker room, where the diary was locked up and the key was transferred to me. We returned through the scanner and continued our guided tour of the Taj (another mausoleum) As we reached the center of the square and were being told about the unique and truly symmetric nature of the architecture of the monument and its surroundings, we were soon engulfed by the state authorized (?) photographers. They lingered around and then were eventually snubbed off by us (not Mr.S). Our attempts met with glares and they made rude remarks (thankfully) in hindi. We decided to move forward.

Mr.S told us that only cameras for still photography were allowed. Video cameras were allowed but only till the platform, and that too for a fee of Rs.25. Idiots! (my apologies for the foul language) I guess the administrators are still living in the dark ages. These days, most digital cameras can take some amount of video coverage too, along with the still photographs. Even most mobiles can do both, which are allowed. We walked through the eastern gate, crossed the entrance dome, and entered the lawns and the main Taj area. Beautiful and breathtaking. It is very difficult to be unmoved with the sheer magnificence of the monument and the impressive entry through the domed structure. The architecture is such that unless you are inside the dome itself, or beyond, the Taj is never completely visible. The complete view is well worth the pains. We were in luck as the weather was excellent. Raindrops simply enhanced the beauty and the overall experience. It was not hot, though slightly humid but at the same time breezy.

As we neared the platform, we wore the shoe-covers over our shoes. Mr.S returned the cover to the counter, where you can leave your shoes and socks (for Indians), and in the process pocketed Rs. 10 in return. He left his shoes and socks at the counter. Shoes are not allowed on the platform and beyond to conserve the masterpiece. Bullshit! (sorry again)

I was experiencing some pain at the back of my right knee and felt severe restriction in walking. I decided to let the ladies enjoy the guided tour, while I settled down on the boundary wall facing the river yamuna. Serene. Lovely. Picturesque view. I can find no appropriate words to express the thrill and peace that I felt at the same time, looking at the white marbled structure of exceptional architecture on one side, and the slightly bubbly river on the other. The river surface rippled as the raindrops fell on it. The ladies moved around with Mr. S and seemingly had a nice tour. We returned back from the platform and took off the covers . We were forced to throw them onto the pile overflowing from the small, covered dustbin. Why can't a bigger one be placed in it's place? I wonder! Ms. L decided to take some pics as we walked back.

The ladies expressed a desperate desire to visit the restroom. They had actually requested to avail the services of one when we had parked the car but Mr. S had suggested to use the ones inside the complex as they would be cleaner. And, then forgot all about it. (Same as me) Obviously, the aggrieved party remembered. Mr. S told us that it is free for foreign nationals but cost Rs.2 for Indians. Yippee! I was elated to have scored one over the foreigners. Indian piss scores over foreign.

We went out and collected the locked up electronic diary by depositing Rs.10. (Why?) We paid another Rs. 10 on the bus ride back. This time the driver collected Rs. 100 each from another group of two Indians and two foreigners. At last, equality for all.

Mr.S offered to take us to Mr.M's shop. Ms.G and Ms.L accepted the offer. We drove a bit and reached the shop. The ladies got busy with the staff, who could speak good russian. (?) I was offered a coke, which I accepted. It had got quite humid. I explain my relationship with the ladies when probed. Mr.S wanted to get me Rs. 50 from the shop. Why? This is provided to all the drivers that come with guests, he said. I explained that we were standing next to the SUV I owned and reiterated that the foreigners were my personal guests for whom I'd paid everything. (including the entry tickets and all) Rs. 50 was the last of my concerns. He insisted that I take. I refused for myself but asked him if he needed that money. He said no but still asked someone, who had just walked up to us, for the money. I requested (?) him to shove it up you know where. He didn't look very impressed but he pocketed the money back. Mr. S was very disappointed that I let go of Rs.50, which will now be pocketed by that individual on my behalf. This got me thinking and made me nervous with regards to Mr. S's payment and his ethical stature on the whole. To avoid any more surprises, I contacted my friend in Delhi and he said that he wanted to talk to Mr. M. I enquired about the whereabouts of Mr. M from Mr. S and was surprised to learn that he was in the shop. How come I didn't see him? Anyways. He was in the interiors of the shop and that is when I learned that he was the owner of the establishment. He spoke to my friend and a 10% commission of the sales was decided upon by them for Mr. S. The ladies bought in excess of Rs.40000. (paid in dollars) It turned out to be a good deal for Mr. S. (he told me he charges Rs.650 for the service)

Once through with the sales, Mr. S insisted that we accompany him to a marble shop but we refused. He sat down in the car and directed to the shop but we refused again and instead asked for the directions to Delhi. He implored me to pressurize the ladies to visit the marble dealer. I suppose he was on their rolls as well. Our denial to comply with his insistence must have spoilt his mood, as he got off the car in a huff and said goodbye. He got off but then stood there waiting. (expectantly for tips) Nothing doing! We started back. The road condition was even worse and there was no proper signage. I followed the road and almost ended up taking us the other way to Gwalior. Wow! Thankfully, I asked for directions and got back on the right road.

On the way toll tax is collected at two places. The to and fro journey costs Rs.52.50. This we had paid on the way to Agra. Interestingly, 0.50 is pocketed and the effective toll comes to Rs.53. (why not have it as Rs.53) Assuming that around 2000 vehicles ply on this route daily. Rs. 1000 goes to their pockets. One hell of a business.

This time round the drive seemed longer. Ms.G slept all the way till Faridabad. The last 30Kms. from there were the toughest with heavy traffic. We reached their hotel by 7.30pm. I said goodbye to Ms.G. Ms. L presented me with a bottle of vodka. Yahoo! She allowed me to use the 'restaurant' Actually, this was a small joke between us. When they had requested to go to the toilet at the Taj parking, I had asked Mr. S for the location of the restrooms. He had goofed up saying 'Restaurant' instead of 'Restroom'. Once in the privacy of the bathroom, I let lose the flow for 3 minutes at least. It was slightly embarrassing but I guess it's just this human thing. I bade farewell to Ms. L and walked out of the hotel.

How I wish that could have been the ending of the trip for me? What followed shouldn't have happened? Well, that's again another story, for another day.

Please Note:

Disclaimer : All photographs have been taken on last year's trip

1. Picture 1 - the view of Taj while we were still within the domed entrance;

2. Picture 2 - Taj in full glory

3. Picture 3 - Taj in a picturesque setting

4. Picture 4 - My sketch of Taj

Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Part I - Sikandra)

Having returned and almost recuperated from the adventurous ordeal, I wondered if the experience deserved the monologue that follows next. The fact is that it was not as much as my fingers or hands that had been subjected to excessive strain (no restrictions in punching the keys) but rather:

1. my lower limbs, which handled the pedals, and
2. the minuscule, almost non-existent, yet, evidently still signalling life – 'brain'.

It might be better to start at the start itself. Here goes: The big bang that followed GOD's unintended, jalapeno-induced 'burp' ... OOPS! Wrong start, or maybe the wrong story.

Let me try again.

I was blessed with an opportunity to escort two beautiful and highly influential ladies from the Russian People's Friendship University, Moscow, from Delhi to Agra. (That's better.) The ride was to be done on a saturday. Summer had been strange in Delhi this year. More rains in summer than in the monsoon season till date. But since the ladies belonged to the usually snow-laden city of Moscow (I know summers in Moscow can be hot too, but a reminder, the evenings are still windy and chilly there. Even in summer.), they had the concern of sunburns and asthmatic responses to oppressive heat in Agra – the city which boasts of Taj Mahal (Seven wonders of the world, remember). We had negotiated and reluctantly compromised to start by 6.30am. I wanted to start their leg of the journey at 7am, while they at 6am. They felt that the 4-5 hour journey would subjugate them to a blast of hot air if they reached Agra an hour later than they wished to. On friday night, they dined with some one influential from the russian embassy, and I accompanied my brother and a band of our relatives to a meet with a prospective bride for him. Both these parties lasted till late in the evening and as for me, lay down to sleep that night around 2am. I had expected it to be a struggle to get up the next morning, but it was the reverse. I had distinct difficulty in going off to sleep and even if I did doze off, to stay asleep for long. In other words, it was a disturbed sleep and eventually, I got off the bed at 6am, though reluctantly as I stood on my sleepy legs. I took my dogs for their well deserved walk, but strangely for them, at an unearthly hour. (we usually do so at 8am) Got dressed and after giving the ladies a wake up call, started my car for the first time that day.

I reached their hotel and once they were through with their breakfast (I too grabbed a stimulating(?) cup of hot, black coffee), we started the 430 km trip to Agra from Delhi and back.

The sky was heavily overcast and the temperatures were well within desirable limits. An auspicious start. Ms. L joined me in the front, while Ms. G settled down in the more spacious middle row of the SUV. Ms. G reclined the seat to the max (horizontal position) and with her shades on, decided to catch up on the few winks of sleep that she so missed. Ms. L was considerate enough to keep me engaged in small and large talk. We lasted the next 3 hrs awake. McDonalds, opposite to the Mathura oil refinery then provided me with an opportunity to stretch my aching legs and to satiate my hunger pangs (Chicken McGrill and Fillet-o-Fish with black coffee).

Our next stop was Sikandra, Agra. (The first image is of Sikandra with my car, a red SUV (Toyota Qualis) parked on the left side.) The monument holds Akbar's (the mughal ruler's) grave. Pitter-patter raindrops accompanied us across the surprisingly, scarcely populated enclosure. The touts, guides, photographers, kids with open hands, and some(?) salesmen swooped down on their unassuming victims. Well almost unassuming. I didn't want to have anything to do with them. Ms. L was experienced with these things (this was her 3rd trip to Agra). Ms. G had shades on.(although her 1st trip to Agra. Well done!) We skipped along the wet path to the ticket counter.

Foreign nationals – Rs.110. Indian nationals – Rs.10. Such discrimination. Apartheid. Racists! How dare they charge less from us Indians? Aren't we good enough! But to keep up the facade of being unfazed by this, I bought the tickets and joined the foreign nationals, who accompanied me (the 'not-good-enough-for-Rs.110-Indian').

Truthfully speaking, the monument is as depressing as its existence. Its after all a mausoleum. But I guess my mood loss was more in line with the dilapidated state of the monument and its surrounding areas. The only good factor was the lush green lawns spanning around us, peppered with blackbucks. (See the second image which has the blackbucks lazing around on the turf) (The third image has a monkey in the foreground to the monument) The intermittent raindrops were supporting a lift in my mood as well. In and out in twenty minutes. Why do you need a guide for this site? Why would you? All that you need to know is mentioned quite clearly and in plain and open view, engraved on a stone tablet right at the entrance. We had barely sat down in the car, when the infestation encroached on our private breathing space (a democratic right infringement).

'Three for 200!'
'See, one elephant inside the other!'
'OK, whatever you say, Three for 150!'
'Tea! Some tea.'

The shouts kept increasing - in number and in pitch. Troublesome and meddlesome. Thankfully, the foreign nationals have more patience. Is that why they cost more at the ticket counter?

We had been promised a guide for the Taj Mahal by a friend that I'd spoken to in Delhi. We got a call from a middleman (turned out to be the owner of a handicraft emporium in Agra) who requested us to meet him at the Hotel Taj View. Not at the reception. Outside, at the gates. This was to be the meeting point. The road up till now had been very good for most part of the journey, with some horrible stretches in between. But the potholes were restricted to some portion of the road at any given time. This did not seem to be true once we took the right turn from Sikandara to go to Taj Mahal. The potholes were an integral part of the road and at times were the only part resembling a road. Taj receives the maximum number of tourists in India. The condition of the connecting road shows the apathy felt by the city, state, and central governments. Rains were helping us along our now tiresome journey. The road was flooded completely at times and I really thank our stars that we were in a SUV with a higher ground clearance than most other vehicles. The muddy water made it difficult to make a topographical survey of what lay ahead. I crossed my fingers and surged ahead.

We were instructed to take directions on the way and so we did on a number of occasions as the road was long (seemed longer). On request, the auto rickshaw drivers directed us ahead, following the direction of our nose (I decided not to look anywhere but straight, lest the direction of my nose changed, leading to unnecessary complications) and take an immediate left (gesticulating to the left while verbally pronouncing right!) the moment we see the crossing that boasted of a black horse 'Kala Ghoda'. We stopped at each crossing and peered hard to locate one but unfortunately could make out only donkeys. Literally and rhetorically. The traffic sense or the complete lack of it bears mention, but not in this story. We were afraid that we might get late and the black horse might bolt from the crossing, thus rendering the directions we'd received, useless. Voila! There stood the black (?)(looked like an oxidized green to me) under the stone princess. The horse was in stone too (or metal) Well, the left turn negotiated, we curved along with the meandering road for another couple of kilometers, when Ms. G, suddenly awake, informed us of a fat, puff-cheeked man on a motorcycle, seemingly waving for us to stop. I had given the licence plate number of our car to Mr.M (our contact). We had reached the Hotel gates and gone past him. Mr. M introduced us to a casually dressed (it's fine with me, and mentioned just for the setting) person in his early twenties. This was to be our guide, Mr. S. He gave his name and checked about our comfort in a strangely accented version of english. Thankfully, Ms. L and Ms. G know the language well enough to understand his dialect. I was immensely pleased as this meant that I could enjoy the tour without having to interpret each and every word and consonant back to the ladies in russian. Another 3-4 km ride brought us to the Taj parking. Well, here begins another story for another day.

Please note:

1. Trip continued in part 2 and 3,

2. All the images are from my visit to Sikandra last year. This year didn't take any photographs because of the rain.

Glorious India - My India (Mera Bharat Mahaan)

I have nothing against exposure of our Indian flag nor the commercialization of the Independence Day. I don’t find myself overtly patriotic and neither do I consider myself to be totally devoid of any feeling for the country I reside in. It is also the country that saw my birth and the birth and demise of my ancestors. To take pride in your country of birth or country of residence, you do have to feel connected to it. My connection is somewhat limited to the cribbing that I do at the diverse yet identical queues that I stand in, intersections that I cross, crossings that I crawl through in my car, and call centers that I call to register complaints for the electricity outages, for the faulty ceiling fan that produces more noise than relief, leaking bathroom fittings, dried taps, inflated credit card bills, train delays and rescheduling and a lot more. I cringe at the sight of beggars at the crossings and the streets. I revel at the thought of venturing out on foot during rains, fearing the muck to absorb me as I walk or rather wade through. I wait for that long beep of the last dying effort of my inverter as I continue punching keys on my imported laptop. I honestly dread the moments when I’d be forced to offer a bribe to the policeman at the crossing, as I almost deliberately jump the signal. I can grease palms with the excellence of a Gangul-ian cover drive. Easy does it.

I have recently got entrapped in a self realization mode. The remote seems to be working on dead or at best dying, flickering batteries. My life is just not switching to another channel. I see people working around me performing different roles and varied duties. Some are engineers, some laborers. Some are soft, others hard. Some are teaching, some mugging up. Some are cleaning while others messing around. What am I doing? Sitting and waiting for my moment to arrive. I believe that everyone is born for some single purpose in life. Some find it, others don’t. I deliberately stopped doing anything else but look for the answer for myself. I am yet to find it.

But this article was not supposed to be about me. It is supposed to be about the kite that I saw. Torn and in tatters. The only concern I felt for the shredded piece of paper was towards its uncanny resemblance to the national flag. Something stirred in me. Holding my German Shepard in one hand and balancing the milk packets in the same, I took out my latest mobile and snapped a couple of quick pics. My dog did not share my concern. He had come for his walk and was sure to get one. He pulled me over to the other side of the street. He relieved himself of the overnight burden and then settled down to be taken around at my will at last. I returned to the same site and painstakingly took down the shattered flier. Now with the remnants in hand I pondered on what to do with them. That’s when I realized. This was simply paper and sticks. I was the one who saw it as a torn replica of the national flag. It was not. It could not be. The lie was true in my eyes. I folded the pieces into a bundle and promptly deposited them into the nearby dustbin. Thereby having relieved myself of the pain and turmoil that I felt.

But still the high quality digital photographs that I’d taken with my Nokia didn’t let me rest easy. The moment I transferred the photographs onto my laptop via Bluetooth, I was shocked and again reminded of its uncanny resemblance to my national flag. Was it just a chanced situation or was it destined to happen? Maybe I should avail of my rights as a law abiding, honest, caring and aware citizen and exercise my RTI to question the President, the Prime Minister and the concerned senior authorities as to why had I been so unjustly exposed to this ever lasting mental trauma and anguish. My country lay shattered and torn as I simply looked on and clicked photographs and all around me the people were unaware of the significance of the moment. They just carried on with their duties and went on with their lives. Why should I be so troubled?

Om - My first artwork

This was an attempt that I made for my friend Tobias Kudla as a parting gift. It happened on 27th of September, 2007. I had not got it framed so that it would have been convenient for him to carry. He was a true friend and remains one even now. He got the painting framed and it adorns his wall in Germany.

The following is an effort to decipher the painting:

Life in unison. The communication between the souls of the opposites. The shape of each soul is not incidental, rather intentional. The female form has a slender, and slightly more flexible, curvy shape, which lends feminity to it. It is accentuated even more by the choice of colour. The subtle nature of the orange and yellow combines to give a calm yet distinct feminine essence to the shape, that coils and curls around the more rigid and bold masculine form. The bluish tone to the male counterpart provides depth and at the same time, a colour in contrast and also in complement to the orange companion. The togetherness of the two forms is elevated by the presence of ‘OM’ symbols floating around and gaining footage and alliance to the resonating figures in the centre of the painting. The red background symbolises blood, - something which is at the source of all existence and is the substance within all forms of nature and beyond its realms to provide the environment for successful coupling of the two poles that signify life. ‘OM’ is simply a darker shade of the background, since its presence is non-refutable and does not need the figures to exist. Its relevance is in its unity with the environment, which it is a part of and probably the core of it too. ‘OM’ becomes recognisable in its spirit and form, once the resonance of the feeling and communication of the figures in proximity, increases intensity. The communion does not necessarily mean physical interaction. It is the exchange between the souls of two beings, coming together, and uniting in one, but still maintaining their individual characteristics. Individuality of the beings survives all unions, and if and when, separations. ‘OM’ figures are larger in size and bolder in presence when they come nearer to the united forms. This could also signify the realisation of the resonating (‘OM’) shapes, which magnifies their relative sizes. The existence of resonance in the surroundings is not justified by the resonance created by the joining of the two forms, rather it is omnipresent and it is only perceived better when the unison of thoughts of the two shapes allows it to be in line with the presence around it, by virtue of enhanced self-realisation.

It is also noteworthy that although all the shapes – male, female, and ‘OM’, seem to encircle and overlap each other, they do not reduce the individual’s identity, and the sanctity of ‘one’ endures and persists beyond the union.

Such a harmonious companionship is probably the sacred most state for all concerned.

My world - Frog's view

'The world is mine and mine alone', so thought 'Frog', the frog.

The light at the end of the rising walls around Frog kept him in tune with the occurrence of days and nights. The sun shone at times stronger than he could bear, for it would be directly targeted on his world. On other occasions, the evidence of a shining sun beyond the horizon, his world's horizon, was a certain warmth and glow that he could feel all around him, illuminating his world and keeping the temperatures bearable. Then there were instances when the dark clouds, which formed above his world, would unleash a sudden flow of the sweetest water that he encountered in his world. Actually, his water world was kind of too salty for his comfort. But then who had the perfect world, although he was sure that his world came extremely close to the definition of one. His world had been exposed to many intruders, but fortunately, he had been able enough, to ward off any unfriendly invasion, and to entertain guests that came and brought him fables and tall tales from an imaginary world beyond his world. The beetles and mosquitoes that came to meet their end for his benefit were never short on such stories to entertain him before becoming his meal. The world around him was well explored and there wasn't any part of it that had missed the round eyes of Frog. Frog's world was the only thing that existed in the world and with the sun, the moon and the rain, all trying to find a way in to his world, he knew he was the king, the saviour, and the sole leader of the world. That there could exist anything beyond the shallow well that constituted Frog's world was a fiction that didn't strike him in the least - a possibility.

One day, a slimy, vine-like creature with, a two-pronged slithery tongue, slid down the walls of his world. Frog was ready to devour this new food, when calamity struck and he found himself stuck inside the invader. Soon the confinement proved too suffocating for the hunter, now hunted. Frog didn't notice the rain that followed the thunderclap. He was lost and his kingdom won over in unfair, and disbalanced duel. The victor was now the sole leader, for the slippery walls didn't provide enough foothold for him to scale out of the well. Frog never made it out of his world - alive, that is. Even in death he was relieved of the pain of discovering a world beyond his own, hostile and unknown.

Do our lives represent a frog in the well approach? Can we see beyond our own world? Most don't, and most don't even want to. Do I?

Nature's dilemma

All the things around Adam and Eve were beautiful and soothing. The trees, the green grass, the multi-colored flowers in full bloom, the frolicking animals, the chirpy birds, the clear blue sky dotted with some silver-lined clouds, the cool and inviting ponds, and even the fruits weighing the branches to move serenely with the soothing breeze that made the branches sway, as it did to Eve's hair gently and enticed Adam to look towards her. He felt complete within the restricted expanse of the garden that he was confined in. The garden felt like home and not a prison.

The sin committed later was one that forced 'God' to banish the human couple from the 'Garden of Eden'. The garden was for the use of the couple and the couple only. What they achieved by indulging in an act out of pure love of each other was to experience an earth-shattering mutually-satisfying orgasm. But since the technical know-how was limited and 'God' had forgotten that as was the case with all of his creations, he had given the human pair an option to procreate and expand their number. No contraceptive devices meant that Eve was gonna be missing her next period.

Although they were banished from 'paradise', the couple didn't learn anything substantial. Their presence on 'Earth' without any limiters on the horizon meant that the pleasurable exercise of having sex for the sheer fun of it was to be repeated enumerable times, over and over again. Maybe it was that 'God' knew something that he decided not to share or that 'he' realized the folly of his own creation. He provided the humans with the will and the power to do so, without providing them with the requisite intelligence to be reasonable in their approach to ensuring a balance with nature. Since the first step of humans on 'Earth' were felt, the planet has reeled under the pressures forced on it by its new tormentor. 'Earth' provided all the living and non-living creations with an environment to exist and cohabit with each other. What it didn't know was the futility of the whole exercise?

Humans were simply dumb-witted and near-sighted. They felt confident in numbers of their own progeny. Thus they grew and grew in numbers. As their numbers multiplied, the burden on nature to provide them with food and shelter increased. This in itself was an ever-increasing burden but nature hadn't made provisions for the playful behavior of the bipeds. Humans were really keen on gamesmanship and they found ample game around them. Plants and trees were treated as mute victims, who's sole reason for existence was to provide humans with whatever they desired. The animal kingdom provided them with food to eat (and waste), skins to cover their body for warmth (and style), and most importantly with a sport to boast of, to satiate its own ego and boost its esteem among its species. Humans have always been hunting and killing, putting the flora and fauna of the 'Earth' under serious threat of extinction. That they have achieved to rule out the existence of numerous animals and plants species is of great importance to them. Humans rule. What an achievement! We have not only played destroyer to the animals and plants we needed for our immediate needs but we have also succeeded in creating an imbalance in the ecosystem, providing an option for the surrounding environment to slowly degenerate and disappear without any further intervention by us.

We have managed to triple our population in the last 50 years, nearing a small total of 7 billion. What an achievement? What's the prize? Our extinction! Once we do away with all the other species of life on 'Earth', what will be the next step? Cannibalism and complete annihilation- come to mind. Why, but why can't we realize the foolishness of our action? We are a part of the nature as long as we respect its importance and allow it to coexist it with us. It allows us to coexist as long as we allow ourselves to limit our burden on the ever depleting resources. Death is always a pain, birth always happiness. But if we restrict the number of births we can make sure that the immediate burden on 'Earth' can be limited and with the mortality rate in play, the odds might even out and the ecosystem might self-replenish. Lesser number of humans means lesser consumption of the natural resources. This does not mean that we decide to do away with a part of the population, rather that we don't increase our numbers for some time. Let nature bring a balance on its own.

We can also surely help it by not adding to the pollution levels of the world any further. Thus, providing for an opportunity for the ecosystems to rebuild and reconstruct. It is in our hands and we are the ones who need to do something.

Let's do it. Let's make love not babies.

Tee-ing off !

There had to be a start somewhere, else there'd never be this present and the end in the future to come. Somewhere, that's right. Straight from the blocks, I am tee-ing off. I just hope that I can initiate and then sustain interest in the posts to follow. But then even if I don't accomplish that I'd be better off than right now. I'd be over with my first blog, or my first blog attempt. This is the first push and now either I'll gain momentum with the sheer strength of my swing, or not to worry, will accelerate as I slide down the slope. Either way, the thrust of the first will make me lunge for another. Now that I'm bitten, will not be twice shy. Let me through. 'Fore' I tee off.