Swapping Prada's,

for some comfortable footwear. 

3 devils at Mysore Exhibition.

Lighting up a lantern

My extremely talented room-mate, Bhoomi, made this lantern yesterday with butter sheet.

 We carried up to the terrace, lit it up, and watched it float into the starless night.

Love and lessons from the idiot box.

I love(d) movies. I was a Wikipedia page containing information about the upcoming releases, remembering most of the minute details. Every Friday, on the way back from school, I had a habit of checking out the new film posters being put up at PVR. I would check out the clothes the actors would don, the hairstyles, the songs, and the outdoor locations. Now, I have fallen in love with the art of film making.

I cultivated the habit of reading movie reviews (before or) after watching a movie, which has helped me in paying more attention to the dialogues, the development of characters, the setting, the motifs and the most important - the reason why a particular scene is staged in that particular way. What does it tell us about those people on screens, or about their lives?

With the frequently occurring holidays, I watched and re watched a few movies. The first one that I watched was Rachel Getting Married, which I noticed running on the tv, when I was flipping between the channels. It is a beautifully made film on the ongoings during a wedding preparation between a dysfunctional American family. It deals with the family coming to terms with a tragic accident that occurred in the past. The film is evenly paced, giving importance to the friction caused between the family members with the preparations and the events as the background.  My favourite scene was the wedding rehearsal dinner, where we get a glimpse of all the people invited to the wedding through the toasts that they present to the to be wed couple. Later on, I watched Monte Carlo starring Selena Gomez. It contains no fusses. It is predictable, cute and keeps us smiling throughout. I remember the first time I watched it. I was (actually still am!) a huge Selena Gomez fan, and my eyes were literally on her the whole time. When I watched it this time around, I felt like finally saw the movie as a whole, not just Selena Gomez (or her gorgeous hair.) 

Few days later, I re watched Dil Chahta Hain with my room mate. This time it was less about what was on the screen, but more of what we felt when we watched this as kids. We reminisced the early 2000's, the loose clothing, the flip mobile phones, and of course the movie's songs. I watched Lucy, a sort of a creepy but mind blowing sci-fi thriller, that kept me very curious on how the rest of the film was going to be executed, once the set problem is caused. 

These are of course a few of the many I watched in the past few weeks, but I learnt that not everything I watch has to imitate the life that revolves around us. Sometimes, you require a bit of predictability, a spoonful of the past or a gust of the impending tragedy to move your heart. It certainly isn't necessary to pick your favourite type of genre. I enjoy all, maybe some more than others, but I am willing to experiment with more varied genres.

PS: I have already stuck a list titled, 'Movies to watch', on my wall, which already has more than twenty films.

Haunting the ghosts back.

In the process of making an enormous dream catcher for the college art exhibition at 3 am. 

Dusshera Weekend

I had my Building Construction exam this Saturday and the whole week my stomach was giving off this weird squirming sensation and I felt like I was standing on pins and needles the whole time. I would be going through the study notes at basically all times of the day and talk of nothing else except about the exam. So on Saturday when the teacher handed me the question paper, a big smiled spread across my face; thankfully the paper was easy. That evening, (for a much needed break for both of us), my uncle and I attended the flower exhibition taking place near the palace.

The exhibition was quite filled; with flowers, stalls, people and loads of food. Honestly, I had no idea what to expect from a flower show; a display of different flowers? But why? You can see flowers anywhere. Why specifically come to an exhibition to see something that we see everywhere?
Then, I found the reason why.

Plants were lined up on both sides of the paths going through the ground, and at intervals, there was a display of an ice cream, musical instruments and a chariot made out of flowers,

look at the detailing,

and these flowers are changed every three to four days!
It wasn't about just displaying flowers but more about what artistically more can be done with them. Some plants were displayed in car tyres,

while some were arranged according to the colour gradient.

Vegetables were also used to make sculptures, like this magnificent peacock here,

and as a tribute, a sculpture of Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam made with semiyan* was exhibited.

The next afternoon, we headed off to the painting exhibition (or Chitra Santhe in Kannada) near Shivrampet. A section of the road was blocked off and wooden frames were constructed on either sides of the roads for the artists to display and sell their works. 

Oh, it was a lovely! It was quiet, peaceful,and not too hot. There was a perfect blend of sunlight and shade, which felt like you were viewing these works in your private space, but at the same time, it gave you a feeling of openness.

There were mostly paintings displayed, all made out of different mediums, most on canvases, 

some framed,

while, some hanged loosely.

Some artists were sketching portraits of the people as well, and around them a small crowd would assemble, watching them in awe, as they watch the lines and shades come alive to form a face. Here are two boys, who were most probably bored and decided to sketch each other to pass time!

Selfie level:Artist

It was definitely refreshing and delightful to do something out of the ordinary after a long time! Whoever is in Mysore during Dusshera, make sure to visit all the events that pop up during the month!

Wishing everyone a Happy Dusshera and Happy Holidays!

*semiyan = click here

Muted Tones

Ganesha, glittering quietly in the rain.

Sleep is for the week

I excepted that running a blog would be quite easy, and if not easy, then quite manageable. I viewed it as an activity that could find its way or squeeze in between my already packed schedule. I could take out time to edit photos, I could take out time to select the ones that have to be uploaded and I could take out time to write a post about them. It seemed all right in my head. But then again, life is waiting on the other side of the court with a racket, ready to smash your head whenever you feel everything is going to be fine.

This past month has been a whirlwind of just work, work and more work. The days just consisted of tests and submissions making each day seem like an hour, and each week like a day. Among all this monotonous routine, I slept less. Very less. (I referred to myself as a walking talking zombie). Sleep became like this unobtainable treasure, hiding in a tall tower with a fire breathing dragon guarding it. It was the only thing worth looking forward to everyday and somehow it seemed fitting that I write a post on it.

I pictured myself snuggling in with three layers of thick blankets, sleeping peacefully against the sounds of the rains lashing out onto the windows. But in reality, I would walk around my house asking each of my roommates, who among them is going to pull an all nighter, and give me some company for the night. Then the work starts, and some music that works as a background noise. The pencils and setsquares get to work, with my fingers marking each point with accuracy and drawing out each line with the proper intensity. Half way through the night I can hear my bed whispering to me, slowly and softly in my ear, like a lover, asking me to leave everything that I am doing and come back to it. I consider it for half a minute, but then imagine the pile of work left to finish and decide against it. And then its back to work again.

Architecture may consist of a lot of sleepless nights, but bragging about it is more common than not sleeping itself. You boast about it to your friends while drinking your third cup of tea in that hour, you boast about it to your teachers and parents to translate it into a sign of hard work and earnestness. It becomes a competition; who can go the longest without sleeping or who went to bed last the previous night. 

For me though being able to sleep or rest is a sign of being on track. Everything is in order and the way its supposed to be. So I write this post after a night of partying and a twelve hour long sleep, to cast away sleep from this blog, and more into my hectic life.

Four days in zone four

I examine the tan on my face, arms and feet. It's hot, humid, dusty and roads are marked with more cow dung than potholes. The stench of dry grass, animal dung and mud reeks in the air, and my face carries a layer of dust and sweat. I stand with a cap on, holding a writing pad, recording measurements being called out, and simultaneously sketching any detail that catches the eye. I take photos of every speck and corner of the house - its doors, windows, its roof, trying not to miss anything important. And if I make some time, I take some photos of the building's inhabitants as well - both the people and their cattle.

         

This routine ran for four days. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow; the speed varying on our mood, energy or urgency of finishing the task. The first day was the slowest, where most of the time got eaten up on figuring out where I was and where I ought to be. It was like after getting lost in an amusement park you look for that star on the map which says, 'YOU ARE HERE.' but on my map, there were only squares and lines indicating the houses and the roads running through the village. The village vaguely seemed to resemble my grandfather's place in Bowenpalli, (that is before tall apartments started invading the empty patches of land). I would sit on the verandah wall and witness ladies fighting for water in their nightgowns when the water tank arrived every morning, or cows grazing a small grassy patch right next to our house.

After an hour of fumbling through various zoomed in maps of my allocated zones, and matching it with the place in front of my eyes, I concluded (with a large amount of uncertainty) that a L-shaped stretch with forty to fifty houses is my zone. This is the area I have to live and breath for, four days.

I then walk around my zone, observing and making mental notes, while the residents stare at me with curiosity at my t-shirt and jeans attire, while I take photos of hand pumps, water tanks, electric poles and drainage lines. Someone shouts a question out in Kannada, and I politely reply, 'I'm sorry, I don't know Kannada', in Kannada itself.
The second day flew by a little quicker. The villagers became more comfortable with me invading their privacy and I with their never ending questions. They tell me about their problems at home, their children never returning from the cities and I patiently listen and nod at intervals.

The third and fourth day flew past me before I could even blink. We had to document six houses in thorough detail, and one house took half the day itself. So when we all looked up and discovered the sword of submission and deadlines hanging right above or heads, our hands and legs naturally started moving faster.

From stares to whole hearted conversations, by the fourth day, the whole village had warmed up to the presence of college kids walking around their home, and even I felt a sudden heaviness in my heart when leaving the place. And as if the skies were listening to me, right on cue, the clouds poured and poured; instead of tears on my cheeks, it was rain on the ground.

*This work was part of my semester's design project, where we had to gather information on one village (in our case, we were given Mudukuthore) in detail. The village was divided into zones, each one consisting of a set number of residential, and/or commercial buildings. We had to measure them physically, conduct surveys, and record any interesting details found in the buildings or in the lifestyle of the people.

I wrote this post from my perspective in a story format, but in reality this whole document was the hard work of the fifty of us and the patience of the many.

(a) = Haridwar, (x) = You

Haridwar is engulfed within its own bubble of time, stuck in a time period where no changes occur, no progressions but no regressions either. The same shops with the same shopkeepers will be exactly where you found them ten years back. The hotel that we stayed in has been running for close to 25 to 30 years by the same set of people who started it, and the tea stall bang opposite the hotel has stood alongside the hotel for the same amount time as well. The narrow lanes are adorned with large mansions turned guest houses, dating back to British Raj, with their wall plasters peeling off and water seeping through them; yet they stand tall and proud, displaying the remaining of the elaborate wood craving on their columns, balconies, and doors, as a reminder of a bygone era.

That is why my mom and her side of the family love visiting Haridwar. They have visited many times before, and another visit is no different from the previous one. For me, Haridwar helped in reflecting upon myself and my progress, dwell upon my mistakes and what caused them. The main issue is when you reside in a large cities like Delhi or Mumbai, your personality is reflected on the city and the city's personality on you. You grow, the city grows, you pause, the city pauses a while as well. When everything around you is the same, you notice the transformation in you and feel the passage of time flown by as well.

Haridwar's heart rate and pulse is constant, it is you that is the variable.

Like always we took a dip in the river, its icy cold waters unwelcoming at first, piercing your lungs like needles as you hold your breath! And unlike the previous visits, I finally got to witness the famous Har ki Pauri Ghat and its famous aarti*! I stood amongst a huge crowd, in which some stood with their hands folded and a face filled with devotion and awe in watching all the aartis alongside the bank of the river, while some where busy clicking away selfies. Where once a souvenir or a plastic bottle filled with Ganga Jal* was enough for proof of visiting Haridwar, now a days, a selfie and a geotag with the photo seems to do it.

We also visited Rishikesh, another small town, just an hour away from Haridwar. While the former city expressed spirituality and devotion towards the Gods, the latter one expressed the same along with promoting different forms of artwork. I spotted a lot of graffiti work all along the city, some hidden on the walls between two shops while some huge and out in the open.

Some people themselves became a work of art! Check these two out!

We waddled through lanes which carried us from shops selling baskets filled with items essential for prayer at the temples to cafes and restaurants with hippie style decorations and clichéd names like 'Nirvana' and 'Buddha', and then onto a path with cottages built on one side of the road, nestled between the tall trees with no signs of habitation except for the saffron clothes hanging on the washing line.

This trip helped me in clearing my mind and created a black, clean slate for the upcoming semester. I walked a lot, ate lots of simple vegetation food, (especially potatoes, I gorged on aloo** parathas, aloo puri, aloo tikki!), and finally had three nights of good, dreamless sleep!

* aarti = click here

** aloo = potatoes in hindi