Blots of Raw Seina

Painting again.

There's two friends here with me. Waiting for another to join.

One of these two is a lovely painter. The other is learning, like me. He's sitting here, huffing and puffing wondering what to do next.

I'm sitting here waiting for my water colour to dry.

I'm feeling nice being here and now.

Kala Ghoda Festival, 2008

One last thing I have to mention. My wanderings towards the end of my day today got me towards Kala Ghoda and I was thrilled to see that the Kala Ghoda Art Festival was on! This would be the third consequent year I managed to attend it. (The first, two years ago, is where I bought my beloved Bow And Arrow, whose experimental existence is described here.)

Secretly, I've been looking for the Bow And Arrow seller again. Simply because my Arrow broke. No sight of the chap this year either. There was a lady selling little windmill-flags and little gaudy bows and arrows. I sniffed and walked on.

But wow, what a sight. Kala Ghoda gets grander and more awesome each year. The theme this year mainly seenmed Eco Awareness. I really really missed my camera today, and had to make a pitiful do with my phone camera.

The main courtyard had around 10 really impressive urban art installations. One was a giant wheel made of cycles. Amazing! There was a giant shoe made of little shoes. A huge metal man-mosquito. And a superfunky structure made out of an old computer, cds, wires, and circuits. It was shaped to be a horse.

They are also selling cars - The eco-friendly Reva (electric car) with fabulous art work done by famous Mumbai artists.

The exhibition area was great too... stalls and stalls by artists and organizations, and the place was filled with tourists, and young artists, and a very interested audience. The festival also has a music festival, and I was thrilled to find Garreth's name on the list of performers. Garreth, with his solo act - Dischordian - is performing next Sunday.

All in all, a very impressive space. Fabulously put together, I was impressed by the care and detail of everything - lots of toil and love had gone into making this large space so good looking. Am hoping to head off there again tomorrow to get a better look.

The click of an eye

It's been so long since I've done any serious photography, and it's eating into my heart. My time these days is pathetically occupied with house-hunting, and worrying about the soon-to-happen tax deductions. So, I'm going to write about photography. A tutorial.

I don't know where to begin. I still remember the first photo I ever ever made. I must have been around 11, and my dad finally entrusted me with holding a camera and making a photo. I dunno why I wasn't allowed before, but I do remember it being a great big deal. It wasn't a great big camera. It was a regular manual point-and-shoot family Minolta. The whole family (and cousins and uncles and aunts) were on holiday in Panchgani. We stood on the plateau, and I remember how very windy it was. I took the camera with great excitement, and strode a bit away and made a photo of the family.

And it turns into a sweet portrait of a family and -
My dad, with a content and proud smile, giving me the thumbs up.
My mother's face very excited and grinning widely.
And my baby sister clutching my mom's skirt in excitement, with an expression that reads: Afrin is taking a photo!

I should scan it.

Anyway, to the tutorial. Extremely basic for now.

I've never had formal classes on photography. Although in our Mass Media course, we took a paper on photography, our professor spent a lot more time on the 'concept' and ideologies of art and beauty and not too much on the technical part. Which was good - he did enough by explaining the workings of the aperture, shutter, and their interactions.

But for me, the two most important aspects of photography are composition and timing. That's all it takes. Obviously photography is nothing but capturing a single fabulous moment (or an ordinary moment made fabulous). And so its of most importance to be able to capture it from the right place at the right instant.

It isn't important to have a fancy camera to make good pictures. (One thing my photography professor imprinted on me was using the phrase 'make a photo' and not 'take a photo.') Equipment can only aid a photographer if he's got a good sense of composition and timing. That's my opinion anyway.

This is a nice photo that I made years ago while wandering in bombay with an extremely ordinary manual point and shoot Olympus camera, and my first ever black and white film.I love the light in the water. But the point here is the extremely ordinary camera I've used for most of my photography, and got excellent results.

I've made great pictures from running trains, and speeding bikes, and what not. This one from a moving train - but an almost perfect composition.



Another lucky one was this one I manage to get of Nigel during a concert. It was pure luck and timing, and in return, Nigel is my eternal fan.


Anyway, that should be enough for today.

PS: None of these photos were made with my digital SLR.

Points to note:

1. You always make a photo and never take a photo.
2. Timing and composition make great pictures.
3. Great equipment is as good as cow-dung if in the hands of a lazy, careless and unimaginative photographer.

A week

It's been an interesting week. Both my roommates are out of town, (for another whole week as well) and I've had a busy time. The week started off on a weird note- confusing, and painful, but its worn off.

Tuesday was Blackjack night. Quite a few of the group was out of town and couldn't make it, but the four of us who went, had a good time.

Wednesday ticked off the start of a Theatre Festival in Hyderabad - four great plays from across the country came over courtesy the The Hindu, and gave Hyderabad a much needed and very refreshing feeling of 'something interesting to do.'

The first play was produced by a group from Bombay. Love Letters. Rajat Kapoor and Shernaz Patel. Nice. Good performance, especially her. And nice set. Rather, barely any expect for the 'tetris' like blocks they kept rolling over and over.

Thursday had the Madras theater group's version of Five Point Someone. Conventionally directed, and adding almost nothing new in comparison to the book, the performances were strong. Great actors.

Friday was the most interesting and experimental play of all... An original work from the Harami Group from Bangalore - Butter and Mashed Bananas - was an excellent satirical, hilarious piece which touched politics, censorship, with a engaging script, use of dance and music, and a very good looking and talented cast.

Friday was also the day when I threw a little party, but more about that later.

The last and final play, was Amadeus. Again from Chennai, this play was the longest and probably the most demanding in terms of engaging the audience, but it was elaborately made, and the lead actors did a fantastic job. Amadeus is a play about Mozart - his life and death, and is also a famous movie. It was a bit too long, and my fever did cause me to nap off for a few minutes here and there, but, but but... I liked it.

Now, about the party. When roommate - Agent M - was leaving for her 2 week long holiday, we teased her that we'd have grand parties in the house, and basically do all the things she would not approve of. And well, we stuck with the idea, and decided to really have the party.

Invited a mixed bunch, half didn't turn up, but another bunch turned up anyway, and we:
1. got drunk
2. got acquainted
3. played a super drinking game and got smashed all over again
4. got told by the neighbors to shut up
5. made more noise
6. didn't stop laughing at all

Shame my Bohemian theme didn't work out - but there's always next time to have an authentic bohemian party.

Ah, nice. Have been resting and indulging today. Also saw:
1. Harold and Kumar go to White Caste
2. Requiem for a dream
3. Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events

Don't have anything else to add. Oh wait, darn Monday!

Random Raving

Disclaimer: Be warned, this post was written when the writer was hung over and in need to narrate. I still am, btw, and I think I will make a proper disclaimer tomorrow.

I’m drunk, or a bit high. Or let’s just say, hung-over. That’s why I’m looking intently at the keyboard and typing. I generally don’t.

Anyway, so being hung-over has a few advantages and a few disadvantages. Let’s clear off the disadvantages first.

1. Feeling of being underwater.
2. Dull head.
3. Not-so-dull headache.
4. Mild queasiness (inversely proportionate to units of alcohol consumed.)
5. Unpleasant hallucinations and images in the head.
6. Intense hunger and thirst.

Now, the advantages

1. Interesting images and hallucinations in the head.
2. Capacity to be more blunt, honest and outrageous.
3. Easily forgiving and forgetting.

I just added the 6^th point to the disadvantages. And now I’m wondering if I should go get something to eat, but, if I do, then advantage 3 will come into play and I will forget what I wanted to write.

The reason why I’m leaning over my laptop when instead I should be curling in bed, is because I saw a couple of visions that I need to put down.

I was thinking of the party I attended last night, where I was quite a flirt and certainly got myself a good bit of attention from the boys I’d met (and for the first time). And I was wondering how, among ALL those men, I couldn't think of wanting to really see any of them again. Except maybe one, but anyhow.

And I felt sad.

The vision I saw right then was of me groping in the dark for someone to hold my hand. Not a vulgar vision, of course, just symbolic. And the lesson that the vision pointed out to me, (voiced out by the squeaky voice in my head) was, “stop groping in the dark.” When the right time comes, you will meet the fun, amazing, perfect, interesting person you are waiting for. Just stop waiting, and get on with life until then.

The second one was a memory. Long time back, of a little episode with my ex-boyfriend. I am not going to narrate it here, but it was an ugly episode which left me feeling small and played-with.

I don’t want that to ever happen, and the symbolic ‘lesson’ to that one was of me wearing my belt really tight, and not loosening it ever. Unless am sure I want to. Am not sure how that comes across to people reading a blog, but I just mean I won’t tolerate anyone playing with me again. Forget allow it.

Anyway, besides all this historic crap, I am also hoping to write something fun, interesting and creative. But, am not sure it’s here at all.

Right now, am listening to a weird mix of Alan Parson’s superb Mammagamma with Pink Floyd’s Brick in the Wall. Very nice job, whoever.

Its quite trippy.

I’ve never really been to a very trippy party. Ok, I’ve been to lots of rowdy parties, with lots of alcohol, weed, and what not, but never a rave party. A Goan rave trippy party. I do wanna go. Especially with my camera, when I buy the new one, and I will look after it of course.

Oh, and now my iTunes randomizer has randomly picked Tom Wait’s Road to Peace. Excellent song. Gary sent it to me a week back. I’ve heard Gary sing this style before, and now I know where he got it from. Gary’s brilliant. He knows so much music, it would give anyone a complex.

I was actually thinking of Gary a few minutes back too. I miss the Split boys.

Yesterday, when Varun was over and he was playing music off my laptop, and he picked Split’s Holy Ghost Machine Gun, and actually sang along, and BOTH my roommates also seemed to love the song, I felt that swell of pride for my boys. They really are talented. And they need someone to push them. That was my job while I was there, until a year back. And when I go back to Bombay, I will take back my position with eager spirit. In fact, Split is one of the strong reasons why I’m quitting and going back... I miss too much about Bombay, and Split is one of the most exciting things I was closely involved with. And when I get back, there will be lots more.

This Tom Waits song is croony. And rather long. I am going to pick the next song and save the iTunes randomizer some cursing.

The Great Hosannah – Kula Shaker.

Oh man, I love this one. Very nice, because it’s got so much in it.

Really excellent song. I hate it when anyone talks when I’m listening to my favorite music. Annoys the pants off me. Wow, is that even a phrase and what does it imply? I just wanna say I get really annoyed.

Also, I absolutely hate it when someone talks when I am watching a nice movie.
Yesterday, Varun and Priya saw Pather Panchali. For the first time, and though they saw it till the end (I doubt I’d allow them to stop midway anyway) but they kept talking here and there, or now and again, during the film, and it drove me mad.

I know it’s not fair of me to expect everyone else to take movies as seriously as I do, even if it is something as special as Satyajit Ray’s masterpiece. But, I guess I am allowed to be cranky once in a while.

To make a point here, I was the president of the St. Xavier’s Film Club in my last year at college, and right since then, my list of Movies To Watch, has grown, (and barely been satisfied) until now. Back at home, I cant watch movies if my parents or Mom or anyone is at home, either I get in their way, or they in mine, and anyway if the word ‘fuck’ comes up more than once, my mom flinches and wears an expression of distinct horror.

And since I moved to Hyderabad, the ‘parents’ element was eliminated, but I didn’t have a DVD player. And now, finally I have a laptop, and over a hundred DVDs (excellent ones) lying right here, waiting to be loved.

And this is my first weekend here in Hyd, with the laptop. And so, right now, at this precise moment, I’m wondering why I’m typing this ridiculous post and not watching a movie. Must do something about it. Will hit a button to get me out of here, and into celluloid.

Toodles.

Textures and Visions

I love it when after seeing a movie, I wake up the next day, having dreamed about the film and can still see scenes and random moments from the film. That's the closest I can get to living on celluloid.

Right now, I can see scenes from a film I saw two days ago. Sur mes Levres. 'Read my lips.'
Great film.

A life more extraordinary

I want my life to be a film. I want to save someone's life. I want to survive a calamity. I want a life extraordinary.
I want to be madly in love. I want to fight for justice. I want to stand up all alone.
I want to stand at the helm of the world's biggest ship and scream "I'm the king of the world."

Split - P is for Pig

PIG SOCIETY

Pushed to the wall with vicious psychobabble
A cloud of rage that will grapple you
By the throat, by the balls, by the collar of a uniform shirt
Swing that handle
Swing that handle...

Pushed the wrong button, chose the wrong fucking channel
One more minute and we'll dismantle
And wreck this cage, this box, this rancid moving tin can
9.04 on the panel
9.04 on the panel

One more minute and something will blow
And who'll take credit for the blood that will flow?

Do they wanna grow, do they wanna go, do they wanna stop, do they wanna hit me?
I don't wanna give, I don't wanna take, I don't wanna stick close to the
Pig Society

Infinite crawl I feel my patience unravel
Can't hold on tight enough you will be gone
In a trice in a flash in half the blink of an eye
Hit the gravel
Hit the gravel


HOLY GHOST MACHINE GUN

And the Lord said
The Lord said
Yes, the Lord He speaks through me
The Lord said
To strike dead
You heathen swine who dare pass judgement on his humble servant

In the name of the father In the name of the son
I strike you down with my holy ghost machine gun

RAMOJI

I've lived in Hyderabad for the last eight months, and hadn't visited the famous Ramoji Film City in all this while. Until last week.

Karen and Brad, of no.w.here were here in Hyderabad, and wanted to go filming in Ramoji. I decided I'd take the day off to accompany them. I fixed an appointment with the International Marketing Manager, we rented a cab for the day and set off to Ramoji.

It was a spectacular place. Larger than I imagined, sprawling over acres and acres of beautiful Andhra landscape - coconut trees, large loose rocks and tiny hills. When we arrived at what turned out to be the ticket counter, we were told that the heart of the film city was still 8km away.

We were greeted by a friendly manager, who had us refreshed with a cup of tea and then introduced us to the general manager, who heard our plan and request and then agreed to allow us to shoot at a couple of locations within Ramoji. They arranged for a coordinator to take us around in our cab and we set off.

I was at once amazed by the lovely landscaped gardens, and the neat roads with fountains and abstract statues. The coordinator was friendly and cheerful, as was, we soon found out, everyone who worked at Ramoji.

The first location/set he took us to, was a village square. Indian village square. Very nice. Small shops. Pan wala, bullock carts, stalls and small houses. All against a stunning backdrop of a steep rocky hill. Karen and Brad at once decided that they would film there.

The other location we shot at, was a lovely Hindu temple. Just the kinds you see at the movies, with white pillars and bells. The funny thing was our guide told us that the pillars were of plaster of Paris and could be taken off and moved around. So, of course, it wasn't really a temple, and there was no idol in the inner chamber. But, he insisted that we take our shoes off if we wanted to go into the inner chamber. That's the duality of our rituals and beliefs. Unreal and real at the same time.

After that, we went to an airport, a railway station, a Kings courtroom - straight out of an episode of the Mahabharata - and one location that we were really, really lucky to see.

A film had recently been shot at Ramoji and a grant set worth 1.3 crores had been created. The film was something to do with Yama - The Angel of Death and the set, was a dark chamber, ornate with golden carvings and marble floors. It was an incredible set. And the only place where we weren't allowed to take photos. But then, we were very lucky to see that set. It would soon be taken down.

But more than the large area of Ramoji and its brilliantly designed and maintained land, what we were also impressed by, was the looming legend of Mr. Ramoji. The man who owned it all.

Mr. Ramoji owned all of this. It was incredible. The film city has its own broadcasting center and owns 12 regional TV channels. They have a state of the art film processing and editing lab and post production and fully equipped sound studios. They said, all you need is to come to Ramoji with a script, and you can leave with a film.

We drove past Mr. Ramoji's house.
Brad said he was reminded of Citizen Kane. It's true. The man's aura seemed everywhere. AT the desk of an employee whose office we visited, was a photograph of him and I asked if that was Mr. Ramoji. The man, a manager of the building which held all kinds of props, fervently nodded and said, 'He's my God.' We couldn't help but be very intrigued and a bit awed by what we heard.

Ramoji Film City has existed for 8 years now. But hundred of Indian films and a handful of international films have been created with the help and magic of Ramoji. I want to make a film there. I will, I think.

More pics here.

dreams

Horizons are not enough
When dreams are unleashed.

Secret dreams.
Shared dreams.
Those unsaid. Those cherished.
Dreams born to dreams, borne by dreams.

Dressed with love.
Glittering with detail.
Castles of gold
Carpets laid out.
Landscapes of dreams.

Years awaiting, cruel longing.
Hints of betrayal.
Slivers of hope.
Moments of forever.

Then, the truth unveiled.
Stunning. Complex.

Dreams realized, but not as they were dreamed.

Here's the Sex Pistols

I love punk music. I love the idea of punk, its message and its energy.

Punk, to me, means, rebellion. Punk is when you're pissed off and its punk when you're angry.
Punk is when you don't give a fuck.

I fell in love with punk when Garreth and Mel (from the band, Split) started another band, a punk band, called ForceField. Punk is so hard-core.

They introduced me to The Sex Pistols and The Clash. And the Ramones. The Sex Pistols and The Clash, particularly, have the most rebellious energy and meaning to their music.

Here's a funny story about the Sex Pistols.

In November 1977 The Sex Pistols released 'Nevermind the Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols.' The lettering on the album sleeve was a design, crudely cut out from newspaper headlines in the same way as kidnappers' notes and hate mail were delivered. There would always be someone who was offended by this. One day, the manager of the Virgin Records shop in Nottingham was arrested under the Indecent Advertisements Act of 1889. The police said they couldn't use the word Bollocks.

Richard Branson, (whose record company, Virgin, had signed up the Sex Pistols), called a lawyer who'd helped him nearly 10 years ago on a similar charge…(for using the words venereal disease) and the lawyer said, "Bollocks? What on earth is wrong with bollocks? It's one of my favourite words." He recommended they speak to a linguistics specialist to find the exact meaning. He called up Nottingham University and spoke to Professor James Kinsley.
"So one of your staff has been arrested for displaying the word bollocks? What a load of bollocks! Actually the word "Bollocks" is an eighteenth century nickname for priests. And then, because priests generally seemed to speak such a lot of nonsense in their sermons, "bollocks' gradually came to mean "rubbish."

"So, bollocks actually means either priest or rubbish?" Richard checked to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
" That is correct."
"Would you be prepared to be a witness in court?"
"I'd be delighted."

Quoting Richard Branson: (from his autobiography, Losing My Virginity)

I enjoyed the court case. The police prosecutor was determined to win what was clearly a case of national importance. The shop manager admitted that he had prominently displayed The Sex Pistols poster. The policeman had the smug look of someone who was doing the public a great service and expected to be praised for it.

When the professor was cross examined, he explained that "bollocks" had nothing to do with testicles, but actually meant 'priests' and then - due to priest's sermons being full of it – 'rubbish.'

"So, professor Kinsley, are you saying that this expression 'nevermind the bollocks, here's the Sex Pistols', which is the basis of this prosecution, should more accurately be translated as "Nevermind the priests, here's the Sex Pistols?"

"Yes.. or it could mean, Nevermind the rubbish, here's the Sex Pistols. It sounds like a strange title for a record, but I doubt whether the Church would mind."

The prosecutor then pressed on this point, asking him how he could be sure that no clergyman would be offended.

Professor Kinsley then played his trump card, by folding down his polo neck to reveal a dog collar. Professor Kinsley was also known as Reverend Kinsley.

"That's enough," snapped the magistrate. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders and, adopting as much magisterial solemnity as he could muster, announced:
"The case is dismissed."

Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin
We could plan a murder
Or start a religion.

- Jim Morrison

Potty about Potter

Very silly title again. It's very easy to create them.
Anyhow, I love Harry Potter. It's been a while, though, since I've been consumed by Potter fever, but I feel it coming. It's very near.
I never tire of going back to how it all began. I remember coming across a list in Bombay Times. Some list to the effect of Must-Read Books of the Week or something. 4 out of 5 in that list were the Harry Potter Books. And this was not a children's book list. I was very intrigued. Hadn't heard about the series until 4 books were out.
I was in class ten. At our next 'open house day' (when you get exam results), school hosted a book sale. Now, generally the practice at home was if you do well in your exams, mum would buy you a book or two. I don't think I'd done too well in my exams. I still got mum to buy me a book. And as I could only persuade her to buy one, I picked the fattest Harry Potter book. HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE.


So that's how it all begun. And here's what's so amazing about Potter.

The entire series is very engaging and easy to get hooked to. The plots are complex, interwoven, thrilling and brilliantly thought out. The characters are so real that I'm in love with at least 5. Her imagination (even if she's borrowed and tweaked a lot from other stories) is excellent and fascinating. I've tried my hand at fairy tale writing and I can't confess how difficult it is to come up with any kind of 'fantasy-world' that is plausible and amusing and as exciting as Hogwarts and the magical world of Potter is. Well, I could go on forever.

But more than anything, I owe a lot to those books. This part is very corny, but yea, when I was going through some rough phases, and I'd often burst into tears, I'd find solace in my Potter Books. It's true. I could, and still can, open any of the books, to any page, and get hooked instantly and certainly get a chance to laugh in the first 4 minutes of reading.

There was also this time, when I took upon myself this difficult task of converting people to read and love the Potter books. It was easy in some cases, when people were keen to read, I'd just lend them my books or urge them to borrow them from somewhere. I've also gifted the set to a couple of precious friends.

But this task often turned ugly when I came across people who had great disdain and resentment for the Potter books. There was a time when I'd like to have punch them. But soon, I realized it was no point. People either loved the books or hated the idea of them. What was unfortunate, was that these guys hadn't given Potter a chance. I've been exasperated and so frustrated in numerous arguments about how they should at least read a few pages. But then I figured it was pointless. So, I decided I'd have nothing to do these snobs.

It got so bad for a while, that when I was in a situation where I'd have to make new friends, inevitably, when we ran out of small talk, I'd ask the person I'd be talking to if he/she read the Potter books. And it influenced my making friends with that person or not decision.
But, some close relationships were formed because of Potter.

Pooja Shah - I was sitting next to her one day in the first week of Math class in my pre-12th standard preparation classes. The class was full of aliens. So far I hadn't met one person I could exchange words with. She, however, had an expression that revealed to me that she felt the same way about being where we were. A frustration that bordered on disbelief. It really was that bad. So, after a few minutes of what's your name-s, I asked her if she read. She did. And she was just reading a Potter book. I fell in love, and from then on, we were two humans in that sea of aliens. But we didn't notice them ever again.

Shammi - My ex-boyfriend. One of the ghosts in my life now. But, yea, our first conversation was about Potter too. Again, I was sitting next to him in college, first week at Xavier's and he held in his hand, a magnificent hard-bound copy of Book 5. I'd read it already, and immediately gushed off into 'you wont believe what happens to Sirius in the end!' And he read the expression on my face and guessed correctly 'what happens to Sirius in the end!' I was horrified, I hadn't meant to reveal it. And I simply had to apologize profusely.

But, besides all that, the Potter Books are precious to me. They'll always be special. Now, I can imagine the pressure that J. K Rowling must have gone through when she wrote book 5 and 6 after the immense success of the series. Imagine - the whole world is commenting, guessing, requesting, begging, discussing, ordering, predicting the content of something you're trying to write. And you have to write it well enough to shut up the critics in the first place. Crazy. Commendable.

I'm dying to read the last book. Of course, am sad that it is the last book and apprehensive about what the end is going to be like, but yea, it's about time.

The Jungle Book Story

My all-time favouritest film, and one that's my earliest memory of watching anything on TV is Walt Disney's Jungle Book. Man, I grew up watching it. My cousin brother and I'd watch it every single day, I think even before we began school. When my sister was born and we moved to Andheri, we took the precious video tape with us. And then I'd watch it after school, with my baby sister.



We knew the songs by heart. I'd laugh every time I saw it. And of course, cry at the sad parts. Then, as time passed and school took up more time and going downstairs to play with the boys gradually became more important, that old video tape stayed gathering dust (and fungus on the film.) We had to eventually throw it away when the VCR was replaced with a VCD player.

Many years later, around 3 years ago, I had a severe heartache in memory of the film. The songs would play in my head and mom would keep narrating bits from the film to remind us of the days when we'd spend every holiday watching it. I decided I had to see it again soon.

It took a while to find, but when I eventually got my hands on a pirated DVD near Fort, I was super-thrilled. The family gathered together that evening and saw the film once again, after years. I was amazed by how much I remembered. And by how fantastic, engaging and brilliant the script, the characters, and dialogues were. Are.

I saw it again, the next day, with subtitles on. And the tiny little subtle jokes that were otherwise missed were discovered for the first time and once again I enjoyed every second of the film.

For anyone who hasn't seen it, you must. It's 40 years old (1967), but I promise anyone of any age will love the film.

Recently, I saw the making of the film on Discovery Channel. It was funny how the film grew, out of a book, into rough sketches, and then slowly the characters took on characteristics of the Voices of the characters. Baloo the bear, for example, looks like Phil Harris, who 'lent' his voice for Baloo.

Kaa, Baloo, Bagheera, Mowgli, Sher Khan, King Louis, the elephants, the vultures - each of the characters are hilarious and so well developed. Well, I could go on and on about the film and I was reminded about it right now cos I just heard a couple of songs off the soundtrack. Ah, did I mention the excellent soundtrack?

Resolve

Of late,

I’ve been sitting

Pretty alone.

Of late,

Companions

Have been walking

And have left me sitting.

Of late,

I’ve heard echoes

And I’ve heard music.

Of late,

I’ve gotten used to

Solitary ruby.

Of late, I’ve

Got new glasses

To look through.

Of late,

I’m looking through

new glasses.

Of late,

Am looking

At an old vision.

At a mirage

That’s constancy

And bubbles.

Of late,

I’ve learnt new languages.

And invented an old game.

Of late,

I’ve decided to

Stop fooling myself.

Of late

I’ve been laughing.

At us.

Jan, 2006

My Love Affair With Split

I've had strange tendencies. In my relations with rockstars.
During my first year in college, my boyfriend started a band: Seguey. I loved them. Not only because I loved him, but I loved the excitement of jamming, getting gigs, performing and all that.
Seguey had nowhere to practice, so I let them come to my home. They'd get guitars and amps and the drummer would practice on my electronic piano. And I'd tell my parents that this was important.
I'd print out lyrics, and note down chords, and serve tea.

Soon after I broke up with my boyfriend, Seguey dissolved. Everyone had scattered by then. There were plenty of other bands in college - Zephyr, Something Relevant. But I just knew them. I wasn't a part of the universe anymore.

Last December I met Garreth, the vocalist of a well known band called Split. I'd heard of them, and had seen them perform at Independence Rock - twice. Garreth told me about a gig coming up the next few days. I promised myself I'd go.

I did ... I saw them, and felt that great thrill that being pounded by loud live music beats always gives you. And it's even better when you know the person creating that live music.

A few days later, I met Nigel at a Christmas Eve party. He plays drums for Split. We were both drunk. I went up to him and told him I'd seen his band perform two days back and that I knew Gary. We immediately sat down on the grass and spoke.

About Garreth and how he is Nigel's God. About Split and how I'd love to attend practice. I promised I'd be as silent as the furniture. Not that they'd care about me being there, but just to be earnest.

Nigel and I danced, I thought it was funny. A few weeks later, I was at band practice and then I never missed any.

I love Split.
Garreth sings, or croons, or screams. And closes his eyes, like Jim Morrison. And goes berserk on stage.
Vishwesh plays guitar and jumps around and trips over cables on stage.
Mel plays guitar and wears a communist cap and bobs his head.
Shekar plays bass and looks as if he's performing a surgery.
Nigel hides behind the drums and complains that no-one can see him onstage.

They're immensely talented, like so many others of our young musicians.

But there's a tragedy here. Here in India, no rock band makes money. Not enough money for them to be able to just do what they do best- make music. No, they can't do it.
They all have to have jobs. And then what they want to do most gets put aside for weekends. Practice on Sunday morning? Yea. Inevitable, someone can't make it.
Gigs get cancelled often. Our entertainment industry is booming. People would pay anything to have a good time. But still no one arranges good live shows.

The rock scene, at least in Mumbai, where I come from, is dominated by Death Metal and its variations. Not that much variation of that kind of noise is possible, but yea, that's what one means by Rock Music here.

But Split is still around. They love their music too much to stop. They think and talk about the band a lot. They fight and get drunk and abuse cops. They argue about wanting to do something to the world. About a revolution. They write songs.

I've known them for 8 months. I've felt the heart-ache of the music.
I want things to change. I want more people listening to new music, music created by our musicians. I want crowds to appreciate Original Compositions. I want they to be willing to pay for this music, so that musicians can make a living from making music.
I want Split to never stop. I want them to be able to stop doing what they don't want to, but have to, and I want them to change the world.


I want them to record their first album in December.

Push Button Publishing

I like blogs. I like what blogs have done to people. Made them write, think, show off, make friends and - write more. It's a good thing. I didn't ever imagine I'd come across so many brilliant writers as I have on blogs. And they seem to write exactly the way I'd want to.

So, I'm jealous. And finally brave enough to attempt it myself.

It's more like a test though. Or a disciplinary exercise. Am I really going to be able to keep this thing going? Most of the stern and brave resolutions I've ever made (or any that required any regular effort) have vanished over the moon. I'm curious to see what will happen to this one.

But then, I've always wanted to write. And always known that it requires discipline. And always known the levels of discipline or self-control are negligible in my case. And always felt that I must start doing something about it.

But just examining what blogs have really done to people is a rather interesting thought. They get hooked; and obsessed. Especially about those comment things. Yea, those comments are at times the most amusing and annoying things about blogs...but I'll admit, am always curious enough to read them.

So yea, blogs convert people. And change lives. And save lives. And do all those things that things, ideas, habits, people do when they're given a tad bit more attention.

Meanwhile, I'll just press the button, and publish and join the world of self-proclaimed authors.