Parul's Journal

2010-09-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

I have always tried to remember what my thoughts were – yesterday or the day before. My memory of something – that I had imagined or of my dreams- have always been like- I have been watching from the other side. Fleeting images – like charcoal sketches pass my eyes. A muddled Park Street with yellow taxis, rain drenched CP, the long walk with Asha in JNU to Poorvanchal, standing outside Koshy’s in the rain, walking along the pukur behind the Centre after classes, lighting a fag outside Tamarind at Garia Haat (with Anjan Da beside me), watching N as she walked past the basketball court in Jaya Nagar, driving back to Thiruvalla, a windy late night at Meer Ghat (in B/W grainy particles), when Sara (Kate Beckinsale) attempts to light a crumbled cigarette as she hides from the rain(in Serendipity). . Faces- the ones looking at me, the ones that I look at from the corner of my eye. These figures- they move, they stand still, they fall on the ground and vanish in a water-splash—they are never clear, very hazy and dim. I am trying to represent a part- where my memories and dreams collide – the unfinished sketches—a visual representation. Of people, of spaces, those split-second moments, those thoughts (that just appeared, when you read some line in some book), those never-really happened flashes- where everyone/everything gathers and creates an air of mystery and romance(somewhat like a mehfil).

Yeh Shehar Nai Mehfil Hai

2010-02-10T21:37:00.000-08:00

"And you spoke so I could understand
And I drew a treasure map on your hand.
And you were no picnic.
And you were no prize.
But you had just enough pathos,
To keep me hypnotized"

2010-02-09T04:12:00.000-08:00

REMEMBRANCE

2009-12-22T21:03:00.000-08:00

The Nigah Queer Festival 2009 at New Delhi
The Color Series- PINK (Sexuality)

2009-08-05T05:13:00.000-07:00

2009-08-03T00:46:00.000-07:00

In the Sundar bans, when the cyclone came un-announced-- nothing much was left in the fields and nothing was left of their home in North 24 Parganas. Trying to survive by catching fish and crabs, many families have lost their shelters and are falling prey to diseases due to saline water.

2009-04-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

Drifting Life

Almost suddenly, it slowly gathers speed.
It aligns itself, the heaviness in the head.
Have you ever let the string of a balloon go?
When it leaps out of your palm when you hold it too tight
Or when it slips from your fingers when you thought it was all right.

When everything you see
Becomes blurred by the haze
Just above the clouds
A paper trips through my fingers
Unfolding it
I learn about a legend
---The best being brought by great pain.
Inside me, I can vaguely feel the cardio-muscles thump.

I have the right to be an escapist
I feel a burning ‘need’-
To jump off
To have no sense of responsibility for this or that
To be starved of consciousness for most of my life.
I suffer a fiery ‘desire’
For the fragrance that burns in the air,
A bit of beauty that I want to spot everywhere.
A touch that I want to remember, a smell that’s fresh in me.

Visions of her drawing near
Begin, abide, and disappear
you try to slow it down
It doesn't work.

So how was it, when it leapt out of your palm because you held it too tight?
How did you feel when it slipped through your fingers, when you thought it was just right?

Is this all written in blood?
No.
It is tears too.

2009-02-28T13:05:00.000-08:00

“How happy is the blameless vessel’s life,

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

Each prayer accepted,

Each prayer resigned..”

-- Alexander Pope

A quiet early summer night in the city

As the gentle breeze sweeps silently from the window

With mellow Punjabi folk music for company

...........Saanson mein sargam gaye, hawle hawle kuch keh jaye....

There is no rhyme, reason, poetry or meaning in all this.

It is again the lyrical madness

Amidst the agonizing future

The anatomy of excess and of course,

The colonization of the mind…

Even through the solitude of my bare essentials

I crave for something.

With so much unrest in this calm.

The silence breaks up.

Is it the romantic depression?

Or is it this strange sense of something coming to you when you don’t know it is?

The blameless vessel, why am I not the blameless vessel?

2009-02-04T02:34:00.000-08:00

Old China Bazaar

Truly Kolkata

2009-02-03T11:24:00.000-08:00

Walking Through Kolkata......

2008-11-25T04:41:00.000-08:00

The Joy of Staying in the 'City of Joy':The invisibles of my everyday. .

Between Development theory and feminism,
Babu ghat and Howrah Station,
The E.M. By-Pass, Patuli and Spencer’s outlets,
Fight with rickshaw drivers and walks along the ‘pukurs’,
Piercing sound of the dhak from somewhere not too far,
Oly Pub’s yummy beef to Flury’s chocolate brownie,
Watching idols on the roadside to yellow cabs zipping past SRFTI,
Amruta Patil’s bored urban life graphic pages on my wall,
Zeeshan’s biryani to roadside phucha to egg-chicken rolls,
Rinsing my mouth with the tap’s salty water every morning,
The posh South city Mall to fish selling shacks in front of Ambuja,
Kumartuli in the rains,
A curious two year old neighbor walking inside my house,
Lectures by a historian on photography,
Enjoying the Clown Prince at G.D Birla Sadan,
A post-midnight drive to Khiddipore for some more booze,
Posters on my bathroom walls to sleeping in a moshari,
A sip of lebucha between the ringlets of smoke and mutton chop at the canteen,
The screaching crowd of the bhadraloks at the film festival at Nandan,
Newspaper news about JNU’s democratic struggle to cricket match reviews,
The water boiling in the kitchen right now,

Remembering to chase shadows,

As things familiar become strange,
Back to the History of Sexuality and then The Symposium,

Queer Rights and Protection at Esplanade,
Reaching out to the ice cream in the freezer,

Turning away from the dominant,
Reading e-mails of photography events at Delhi and Protests in Bangalore,
Thinking about someone,

Bruises under the skin,
More black coffee and cigarette smoke in class,

Analysing the meaningless-ness of the landscape,
The sound of my neighbor turning his key inside the lock,
Getting surprised by life and its events,
Over-cooked burnt paneer to under-cooked beans,
The smell of fish fry from someone’s kitchen,

Missing the nights of full moon,
Chatting with friends on gtalk,
Napping between the hours,
‘Dostana’ at Fame,
Still getting late for everywhere,

Multiplying abstractions,
Staring at the Xeroxed copies of Xeroxed ones,
Wondering if I can nap right now…..

Thinking that I am here, but surely somewhere else,
In the middle of the normal pace of my world and its bizarre angles,
Being caught between the my silence and the loud laughter,
Hoping to rewind a certain part of life, still wishing for a spotless mind.

Remembering the presence of mind--still trying to read the context as things strange become stranger than ever.

2008-07-21T00:58:00.000-07:00

It was a plan, an unfamiliar one. I was accompanying a friend to a visit to her Grandparent’s home after years. To reach Thiruvalla, we had no train reservations. We knew the train number, its name and the time it would leave Bangalore City Station. So we found in on a platform and hopped on to the last compartment- the unreserved one, for women only. It was already full as we hesitantly got in to it. We were possibly very lucky to find a little space next to the door. So we kept our bags and sat on them as I refused to put my ‘Bob Marley- One Love’ spreadsheet on the floor and we had conveniently forgotten to carry newspapers. For a compartment that has a capacity of max 60 people, under normal circumstances, this one had more than double the number of people in it. An old woman sat next to us, embarking a 15 hour plus journey to Kanyakumari sitting next to the wash basin. As the journey progressed, our irritation grew. It was a fight for space. Every inch counted. You find it, you stretch yourself on it. It did not take long for Asha and me to realize that we were losers. We were clueless about the mechanisms and tactics one had to practice in these situations to succeed. So we were gradually pushed in a corner as everyone else stretched and found enough place to lie down to have their sleep. At every station, we refused to open the door so as to avoid loss of space. For it, we obviously faced verbal insults in Malyalam, an alien language to me.
Asha was counting the worst nights of her life and we were hoping that this would add to it. Other women saw our miserable state and made a little space for me to sit, which actually was more uncomfortable as everyone kept stretching themselves on me. I hoped that these would be the fastest 12 hours of my life. Everyone had a little space and almost everyone slept leaning onto each other. Against hope, I hoped that at dawn we would arrive at Ernakulam and everyone would move off. Phew! So much for hope! I sat near the door and had to move every now and then for our fellow passengers to use the toilet and wash basin. Bugged to the core, I just moved from there and pushed a Nun sitting at the corner seat to find some place for myself. We finally got a place on the upper birth to share with young girls from a Nursing College who were probably going home for a weekend visit. The view changed as we reached Pallakad, I could see only green fields and small water bodies around us.

At Thiruvalla, Central Travancore, Lalji waited for us anxiously. It was a small station with only two rail tracks. When we opened the car’s door to throw our bags two smiling faces greeted us. Asha’s cousins. Melvin and Merlin seemed delighted to have us and chatted me up on the way to ‘Lovely Cottage’. The ride home reminded me of a hill station with small roads that curved sharply and greenery that smiled on our faces. At home, Appachan welcomed us and Ammachi was ready with hot Mallu meal. We washed our hands with a soft smelling home made soap made by Lalji. Everyone sat down on the table for lunch that was bliss. Rice, fried fish, chicken, beans and a whole-mango pickle- simbly Mallu, simbly awesome. We were fed, really well. Melvin showed me the house cat, two dogs, the cow and its calf and the kittens in the backyard. I peeped in the well that was ‘well’ covered. Trees, plants, flowers and jackfruits were around in plenty. Ammachi was a teacher who traveled on a boat everyday to reach the Government school she taught at. She explained how one flower blooms only at night as Asha talked fondly of her growing up days around the house. It was a lovely house with so much around it. Appachan served in the army for years and after his retirement bought a piece of land and built a house on it with trees and many kinds of plants around it. The flowers smiled at the windows and trees surrounded our room’s pane.

After a much needed bath we were on the road to Kumarakkam, to see the much celebrated ‘Backwaters’. Lalji drove us through small towns, small water bodies, Asha’s school, paddy fields, Anne’s Bakery, big houses on the road sides of Gulf returns and even an elephant. The ‘sighs’ were well in place. The backwaters were serene and enthralling. The boat cruised along the silent waters only to be disturbed now and then by the passing boats that played television or music for tourists. As we left the small settlement behind and entered the open area, the water became clearer, coconut trees lined up on the ends and a feeling of respite occurred from deep down. All that life could ever hold comes to still when one is surrounded by nature and its beautyin such close proximity. Different kinds of Birds came into view and the children excitedly kept telling me their names in Malyalam. The sky was calm with a few rays peeping from the clouds. Far away, we could see fisher men casting their nets. Life and people around it was more out of the ordinary. Life on the edges of the backwaters was divided between washing clothes, playing cricket, building boats, chatting with neighbors, waving at the passers by, catching fish and traveling on water. Usual, yet fascinating. I wondered how much the small town’s life was attached and governed by the backwaters alone.
Every time we would get home, there was a meal ready for us at the table and Ammachi and Appachan waiting eagerly for us. After stuffing myself with soft chapattis I was ready to crash. Lalji showed us videos of his wife who was working in the Gulf as a nurse. The children told me that she visited them about three months back. I remembered my mother’s friends from her office who were working in Muscat and foreign land, remembering my promise to visit Anice aunty in New Zealand. While I was growing up in Delhi and Mother would come home, we would often visit her friends who cooked fried fish and gave us banana chips and jackfruit halwa. How I crave for them now! I remembered the cakes and achappam sent to us at Christmas. Merlin was the perfect image of her beautiful mother.

Sunday saw us drive to PARRA. It is an independent church Asha used to go to when she was in Thiruvalla 5 years back. Even though I studied in a Protestant school all my life, grew up next to a Cathedral of North India, was regular at St. Stephen’s Chapel in my undergrad days, this was my first time at a worship. I was told that this was a different type of church and followed customs due to which they were thrown out. As we entered, I saw a curly long haired guy setting up the drums and others around him were tuning in their guitars. It looked like a band ready to perform. We hurriedly looked for seats as they were few and filled up fast as the Church was located at a small terrace at the Pastor’s house. The band stated jamming and everyone around gathered for ‘quieting of the hearts’. It was followed by heavy metal rock hymn singing. Even though I did not know many hymns, the beats kept me grooving. With mild head banging and closed eyes, the people around me, i realised, were in trance. This continued for a while as I looked around, unable to comprehend if this was a rock show warm up session or worship in progress. Asha had mentioned how her church was a 'different' one and the followers were ‘believers’. They were mostly Gulf returns or the more comfortable in English language for communication- mostly very young. The testimonies followed where a young man mentioned how his family treats him as the Black sheep for following a different path to reach God and how he thought that what he was doing was what he would always follow. Sudden, the pastor was a chubby smart looking fellow, dressed up casually in jeans and shirt. He did not take the podium but moved around and talked of young couples who were expecting new borns. The atmosphere was totally casual and participant. Almost everybody was responding and interacting, individually or together. I just watched in wonder and surprise. All through the emphasis was on ‘being born again’ and reaching Him through believing in Him. A very animated reading session by Vinod, one of Asha’s old friend, followed just after the prayers and bread and wine practice. As the session came to a close everyone moved to the small area outside for a simple Mallu lunch of 'kanji-payar'. As I got introduced to others and interacted with them, I realized that they were very simple and forthcoming. The straightforwardness and the ease that the people practiced for communication with Him and others around them was what stood out at Parra, that also means ‘rock’.

We hurried from the Parra to reach Asha’s family house. Lalji gave us some fresh coconut water from the tree in the compound and leechi. In a few moments we drove to Lovely Cottage and Ammachi packed some banana fry and tapioca chips for us. Soon after we were on a red colored KSRT Super Fast bus to Ernakulam (Kochi). The ride took us through beautiful curves and small towns. We swiftly crossed small and big churches, rubber trees with plastic bags around them, colorful houses, beautiful ancient temples and curious onlookers. At Kochi tasting beef cutlets is a supreme mission. The ones on a road side bakery are delightful. As the Sun was departing, it seemed like perfect time to be on ferry that took us to Fort Kochi. Princess Road looked like a smaller but cleaner version of Pahar Ganj at Delhi. After dinner, we crashed. Early next morning we walked around with a map to visit a Syrian church. Another one we saw was highly influenced by Portuguese architecture. We sat next to the sea watching the Chinese fishing nets, boats, crabs and the crashing waves. Even though the Sun was strong and humidity at hand, watching the Sea is like forgetting all that surrounds us. Peace.
At the fag end of the road in the Jewish town lies the Synagogue, one of the prettiest sights Kochi can offer. Carefully protected and extremely strict, the place takes you through the history of the Jews in India a la visual style through paintings. One should avoid some of the shops around as most of the artifacts and fabrics are said and seen to be fake. Some shops and the walls have their names written in Hebrew also.

The bus ride back was long and tiring as it was not a 'Super Fast Bus'. But hang on, we both slept and got up every ten minutes due to screeching brakes or bumps on the road. As I had read earlier, that a close kept secret of God’s Own Country is that everyone drives madly at alarming speeds, I found it entirely accurate. At every small town on road sides I noticed that the game of ‘lottery’ was hugely popular. A handicapped fellow came to sell the tickets in our bus and there wee many who eagerly try their luck and kept the change in his pocket. Back at Changnacherri , we were picked up by Lalji and we drove to the Anne’s bakery to stuff some chicken patties, marble cake, banana chips and of course my favorite achapams. Asha eagerly talked of the newly sprung up malls, the one sky scraper and the newly expanded commercial side of Central Travancore. Bakeries and shops selling gold seemed hugely popular.

And then it was time to leave. Before that Ammachi made sure and made up eat up lunch with more chicken and fried fish followed by jackfruit and coconut water. We picked up the children from their school, a Syrian Christian one, as they wanted to see us before we left. With quick tatas we left Thiruvalla to pass through the beautiful Nilgiri ranges. Later we munched on the snacks and as I planned of returning to God’s Own Country to see much that was left. This journey was filled with so many ‘sighs’ and the remembrance of Mallu hospitality and generosity will always remain in me heart. As I had contemplated earlier, this would be a unusual experience, unfamiliar to me and it truly was.

2008-07-15T13:56:00.000-07:00

Take a walk by the side by lanes without remembering why you have to remain outdoors for some time. And it will not disappoint you. The first thing that anyone visiting Pondicherry should do is to walk down to the beach. If you are coming from the bus stand, head absolutely straight down to the beach road that ends in clear blue skies flanked by clear blue water. There are a few reasons for it. Firstly, the tourism office is housed in a small building there and they provide you not just with cold water and fan, a much needed updated map of the city and the best free guidance regarding anything you might need for your stay. Second, when one takes that walk, from say the State bus stand towards the beach, the architecture and roads change swiftly and make you feel like you have left behind a typical Indian small town and entered a villa in South France. On the by lanes you can catch people lazily sitting around or playing a game of marbles or a traditional game, that gives you a feel of a undisturbed and tranquil place. Thirdly, the beach is simply the best place to hang out in the small city. It has rocks lined up right next to the sea and they provide a calm site as the wave’s crash on the rocks.

The sea, the sand, the shore and of course the crashing waves. Welcome to Pondicherry. There is nothing much to do here except wander on the streets and admire the architecture. The place has its own identity, carefully protected by its past. It is possibly the only place in India where you will find a political or spiritual message written in Tamil, Telagu and French right next to each other. If you are the adventurous type then just walk into a guesthouse to take a peek and its guaranteed that you will stumble on some very beautiful colonial set ups and artifacts. There isn’t much to see in the city, but much to absorb and take in, and sense and feel.

The best way to get around the city is by foot, but it is advisable only if you can as it can get demanding. Otherwise the best way is to hire a bike/scooty as they are priced suitably on a daily basis. Be sure to check the condition of it before you take it though. Most of them ask for an identity proof to keep with them in place of a deposit. These are generally easily available if you ask and look around. Fill it up with enough gas/petrol from the city cause once you are on the road you might just forget about it as you get busy in sosking up the place. There are shops in Auroville who sell petrol in bottles, for a higher rate of course, however they are very helpful. Mechanics and gas sellers are easy to locate on road sides else one can ask the ever friendly natives of the place. And then its time to go vrrrrrooommmm…..

Drive down the East Coast Road that connects the Eastern Ghats from West Bengal to the tip of Kanyakumari across four states. It has one of India’s finest virgin beaches with clear blue waters. Just turn your bike to the right side of the road and cross any small fishing hamlet to get to the sand. Park your vehicle and walk down the beach. Chances are that you will encounter a beautiful small fishing settlement where a few men and women would be taking out the fish from their nets and small fishes would be kept to out to dry everywhere you walk. This is truly one of the best experiences the place can offer. Truly rustic and gorgeous to the core.When in Pondicherry make sure to buy some absolutely chilled beer or soft drinks which are much cheaper (the taxes are levied off as it is a Union Territory!!) and find a small shade of an abandoned boat on the shore. Enjoy the cool shade and the cool drink.

Anyone will easily point out the cut on the left side of the road that leads to Auroville. It is a small place that offers surprises and co existence of people and elements at every go. The drive down the small roads that curves beautifully is actually awesome. Just follow the built road that goes to the auditorium where the ‘tourists’ come for a scrutiny. Then follow the red earth roads that for a moment will make you feel do not lead anywhere. Trust your instincts, if you want to, then go ahead and explore the jungle. It would be immensely helpful if you know anyone who is there for a longer stay to guide you through the huge beautiful jungle. Else, read on. There are small places where you can stop and look at the playground or the School, auditoriums or even the huge ball at the Matri Mandir. They suddenly spring up from nowhere. And of course you will come across a number of firangs on their bikes with an OM t shirt or Bob Marley style long tresses.

If you keep your eyes open for accommodation, you will find a number of guest houses suit your pocket. If you want a true experience of living next to Mother Nature, then find a board on the roadside and follow the smaller road trail and end up to guest houses that are off from the main road. They are priced according to the season, winters bring in the rush and monsoons being the relaxed time. Monsoons, I would say is the best time to get that green and chilly experience of a sea-side. The guest houses are generally very modestly done in a post modern rural structure that provides everything modern. Some have bathrooms with open roofs and showers. Huge jack fruits, from the trees, also known as kathal, peep in when you start scrubbing yourself. The unmatched part about the food is that it is fresh and warm; it is cooked right after you place your order. That brings us to the most awful part also, if you are really hungry, it-takes-time.

Chill out in Auroville as you bike around. Enjoy the cool wind, the smiling locals, the warm food, the revelation at every turn and the dirt-bike type racing/driving around in the jungle. It is a calm place, be careful to not disturb that truth. Have lunch in the small shack restaurant that unexpectedly appears from nowhere. And then, hit the beach. Right out side the turn to Auroville, on ECR there is the hidden-but famous Cubbon beach, the road to it is veiled by the presence of small houses that make you feel you have entered a housing area. Ask and you shall be provided with directions. It ends at a guest-house and then a beach. The guest house has a nice welcoming restaurant that offers one of the better breakfasts around. You will be spoilt for choice as you find Indian and French food at your service. On Sundays, the place even has a self service style. Enjoy the meal and hit the beach. Take a swim or just lie down for sunbath. If you are in the mood for some adventure again, then just walk down to the fishing village and if you are lucky you will find a fresh catch back from the sea. You can request the fishermen to take you to the sea, to catch the nuances of fishing or to just explore the sea. The space and time here spread themselves enchantingly and generously without measure.

The quality of moments is not to be measured by pages written or by the incandescent journey but by the ‘sighs’ and vendettas of memory.

2008-06-09T03:04:00.000-07:00

Mr.Takafumi....Bangalore roads.

2008-06-09T02:00:00.000-07:00

Crisp blue skies with small white clouds. Pleasant sunshine. And cool breeze on your face. Welcome to Bangalore, (oops!) or Bengaluru.

The Indian Airlines flight did not disappoint me the moment I saw our ‘delayed’ right next to our flight number. Thanks to one of our team-member’s anxiety, we checked in ‘much’ ahead of time. So then, with a lot of time in hand I walked the place up n down, read the newspaper, walked up and down again and then got chatty with my team mates. Interesting, one of them has a two year old kid, other was originally from Maharashtra but settled in Bengaluru, other was a Japanese Diplomat and another was standing in the Mc Donald’s food line. Our supervisor, a young enthusiast, super planner was also really pleasant and chatty. In the two hour flight we were served small kachoris with spicy curry and my American-Chinese friend refused to even try it!! Small hitch at the airport, she lost her luggage. It was strange that she had kept her backpack as her handbag and her handbag as her luggage! (Anyway, so later we got to know that it travel to Hyderabad and came back to her a few days later) We spotted a ‘duty free’ shopping space and I obviously excited rushed into it with another friend. It took us a while to get in there, because we did not have an International boarding pass. They could not sell us anything for the same reason. Broke my heart :(
So, after another over an hour long drive, we got to the city. Saw the PG accommodation set for us and decided to check into a hotel. It pissed our supervisor off big time. In the evening, just when I decided to walk out to get a city map, it rained. I know that you probably can not imagine the expression that I would like to convey through the earlier mentioned ‘it rained’, so let me just say ‘IT RAINED’ (in capital and bold letters!!) and then it got chilly. Word of advice 1: when you come to the city, irrespective of the time of the year, carry at least a sweatshirt or a stole. And then it did not stop. And then day two, when we just stepped out to visit Lal Bagh, there it was. It was like the sky had opened up to welcome us to the city.
Bangalore can surprise you. The city has beautiful houses- no one of them looks similar to another in certain areas, high rise apartments, a local vegetable market that is bang next to a big mall, flyovers at every turn, temples on every roadside, café coffee day at every major turn and crazy traffic that follows no rules and comes from any given direction – and in speed. Word of advice 2: when you come to the city, never-ever make any temple or CCD your landmark. So anyway, our room is on the terrace. In the mornings I open the door to coconut trees swinging, sounding like its raining most of the time.
So a few days later, we are trying to get into the skin of our work, adjusting that the cockroaches at our PG are also staying there with us and that the city has awesome weather to top it all. We have been walking on the roads, running behind buses – thanks to Taka and Shaughn, who like to walk around, I should mention here that their flat is about 3 kms away from our office and they still get to office before us and always walk. We have been exploring chai and coffee places, bars and food joints, going to temples (that are everywhere) besides planning ahead for things. MG Road and Bridget Road look like NY Times Square, with youngsters and their gangs walking around. City Market is full of whatever you could think of getting in your head. And the market, around the corner of my locality has a non vegetarian fast food joint. Waaweeee!!
So it is all going fine and one week down I already miss JNU and my friends. Yesterday I went to the ISKON temple that was somewhere faaaar away and took us forever to get there in the bus. My first brush with the commercial side of maybe what one can call religion. And then today I climbed up a hill that was behind a temple near the boy’s flat to have the city’s view and see the sun set. Then I walked about 4kms back home.

In between our plans to travel around south India, going to National Law School (finally), hoping to catch a glimpse of Rahul Dravid, eating rava idli for lunch on a awesome stone carved table at the lovely backyard of our office, picking up food discount coupons form the road (!!), trying to figure out the swimming pool’s entrance that I pass everyday, staring into roadside temples, having filter coffee and goldflake, missing a few people, eating and smelling the delicious mangoes, trying to survive the road traffic, gazing at houses, doing our actual work of the case study at CSCS, drinking beer and walking back from office while biting into spicy pakodas, every evening I like to make brief stops to watch kids skate or play basketball at the stadium. Life pretty much is going on in Bengaluru.

Bangalore aint giving me blues right now, though I am looking forward to friends coming down to visit me and me visiting others.

2008-05-20T03:21:00.000-07:00

Of Graphic Novels and Novelties

Another semester ends and the craving for a fiction work sets in motion. I came across a review of a graphic novel in an impressive review magazine. And then, chanced upon it. Novel idea. On the whole, that is. The story, not very novel maybe.

Kari is about survival. Of the heart and the mind. In a crowded alienated train, on her bed next to the dam bookshelf, on the water tank of the building, in discovering new roads on the same path, in fornicating with a stranger to even the 2 or 3mm buzz cut.

It was a disappointment when the pages finished actually. I was hoping for more. The discontinued continuities and the condensed moments made up for intense and unrelenting impression. The graphics, some were very impressive, a few were thoroughly disappointing. Nevertheless, the description of the city, the urban life and the alienation, I assume are very effortless. And that is why they flow so effortlessly. The pain, separation, attraction and the wish to lose oneself flowed through the pages. And flowed the struggle that made all that difference.

Anyway, this will end here as abruptly the book ended. Wonder what happens to Ruth’s story though. . hope to keep a watch at that.

2008-04-28T00:19:00.000-07:00

"WATER HARVESTORS OF RAJASTHAN"
Protecting an increasingly scarce resource

There are no substitutes for water, unlike any other resource. Fresh water resources are thinning rapidly today. In our times water is a resource without which imagining life would be immensely problematic. In the media these days- radio channels and newspapers in Delhi- there has been a rise in the advertisements that emphasize on the importance and need of harvesting water.

Owing to the presence of Aravallis, the state of Rajasthan falls in the rain-shadow area. The Thar Desert is one of the densely populated deserts among the world. The state is one of the driest regions in the country and the total surface water resources in the state in only about 1% of the total surface water of the country. The water resources are not just scarce but also highly uneven both in time and space. Groundwater also plays an important role especially in agriculture and drinking water supply. It was being over exploited and the water table in some areas has been going down at an alarming rate of 1 metre per year. Such a situation existed in four blocks of Alwar until 1985-86. In a place where the main source of livelihood ix forest based product, subsistence agriculture and live stock rearing, water becomes the key source of livelihood. Johad fitted well in accounting for optimum harvest of these sources. Over the years, these have been systematically destroyed at the altar of development. Industrial process initiated by the state and the government owing to the rich mineral and forest resourced in the region, resulted in leasing of the terrain for mining of quartz and pink marble. These were fed to the ever growing material industry of towns like Jaipur and Delhi. Excessive mining and large scale deforestation for timber resulted in severe land degradation which increased the frequency of floods and un natural droughts. Migration became the natural end result. The cycle of eco-degeneration had to be set in motion.

The semi arid landscape of Alwar in Rajasthan has undergone a major transformation in nearly the past two decades. Although rainfall averages at a scanty 620mm in a year, several wells in the area have been recharged to capacity. Hand pumps are back to life and water gushed out of them, several seasonal rivers have been converted into perennial source of water. The Government has neither pumped in money to bring the transformation nor have large scale engineering structures been built to turn the fortunes to Alwar around. Prompted by a well meaning voluntary organization and inspired by a tradition that was beginning to fade away, the people of eight blocks of Alwar have transformed their misfortunes by erecting water tanks in the district. Over 2500 Johads, dot the landscape of Alwar. In 1984, Tarun Bharat Sangh, TBS, a voluntary organization based in the village of Bhikampura of Alwar was struggling to gain roots in the impoverished villages of Alwar. In 1985-86, it was hit by the worst drought. Due to it, migration peaked. It was here that the organization and its workers spotted the neglect of a tradition. Working on Johads not only gave a sense of purpose but also a clue to address a wide range of issues including migration. They have transformed the ecology, agriculture, economics and a general well-being of the population in several villages of the district.

As a ecology student, my interests rest heavily on the water condition of India. Exposure to TBS and their work was not only enriching but also inspiring. When we reached at the location of our stay at night, the presence of a jungle around me and the simplistic set up of the place, both bringing us close to nature was extremely exciting. Our day at the place started with a drive down to a village where we saw anitcuts and johads. We also came across the traditional structure of a ‘baoli’ which was being used by the people at that time. We walked through towards another big johad and under the shade of a tree; Kanhaiya Lal jee explained to us the history of the johad in front of us and the issues they faced after it was built by the government. Opening a big map, on a piece of cloth, he helped us locate the different johads in the district built by TBS. Atop a hill, we found the small temple of the village deity. Following that, we visited the village where we saw the local school and met people of the Gram Sabha. It was a school with about 240 students and three teachers, only one of them present there at that moment, something straight out of P.Sainath’s writings on development policies in India. In the afternoon we interacted with the people at the ashram. It was significant to see and understand that the postman, the treasurer, the accountant etc double up as volunteers and work without any clear cut hierarchies. The people who worked there were locals who had made the change and mobilized the others to aid them, to aid themselves for their futures. The second day took us to a far away village around which the dead river ‘Arvari’ was revived. Although we could not see the river, we saw another important aspect of the activity. The johad of the village was claimed by another man, who claimed to have bought the place from a ex service man who had in turn received it from the Government. However, there were certain issues questioning this, as the area actually falls into a buffer zone of Sariska Reserve. The villagers were all together in a protest, a la Gandhian way, the practice followed by TBS workers. The methodology was simple-of placards and ‘nara-bazi’. The village elders gathered and told us about their issues and problems faced by them.

TBS works through the channel of people. They build structure like anicuts, check dams and johads to harvest water. The effort is to tap the rain water through these ways. Johad is not a new concept, but simply something that was practiced in the past by those people. It is a traditional water shed practice that comes from Rajasthan. It has some significant direct and indirect benefits. While it provides water for irrigation, drinking and other domestic purposes on a immediate effect, it also increases bio mass productivity, fodder availability, giving women more time to children, even increase micro entrepreneur ships like surplus food grain, milk and its products, better impact on health and hygiene due to increased water availability. Besides this there is also a cultural-social bond that takes place between with the Johad and the people. They are more than mere water harvesting structures for the community. For example, the presence of a small temple is constructed around the johad. It serves a practical purpose. According to the villagers, while visiting the temple everyday, people take note of any breakage in the bund and also any other maintenance required.

Considering the spread of TBS work in the area, a number of examples demonstrate that the villagers are taking up Johad construction with maximum contribution and with marginal support of TBS. With the visible gains in agricultural output and increase in groundwater table, the message is spreading from village to village. TBS has been an international success story. The Magsaysay Award validates that easily. The real success of the movement and the effort has been largely due to the local people’s participation. The fact that TBS was able to combine them, not just economically in the venture but also convinced them that such an effort would be worth trying was the real success. To understand the issues faced by people and take steps in the right direction to curb them is the ideal idea of development. TBS utilized that and transformed the lives of the people of Alwar.

2008-02-16T07:32:00.000-08:00

throw the spotlight right on her face, hidden like this in the dark; lets see her; make her glow....
she smiles, with a bright small moon up on the bombed out hill,
with the innocence of the snow down by the river.

2008-01-07T02:29:00.000-08:00

from the MATRIX
"There is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path".

2007-12-14T05:25:00.000-08:00

On 'Sumthing of a Mocktale' by Soma Das
--where Kurta fell in love with Jeans

after the semester ended, i was keen on getting back to lay my hands on some fiction.

chanced upon..this new work by a first time writer-PH.Dstudent of Geography -on our very own JNU. somebody made an effort..and alot was left unsaid.

its not a big book, a light read actually. the descriptions of PSR,ganga dhaba..tapti..the Centre..most important-the people and their lives...i realised that the places and their purposes change, the people and their lives do not in JNU. true, that there are professors who are the way they are described in the chapters...the friends and their ambitions are also like that. but what kaya and her friends go through is the average story of all the kayas and their friends across the campus.

altho i would say that she missed out on alot too. the halla bol, the strikes, the politics and much more. the place is magical as it provides inspiration and depression both, depending on what you take with you in the end. the place is alot more that just aspiring civil servants and more civil servants.

what i liked was the post mod character of the book.i under estimated the writer in the beginning..some chapters seem useless when read, but they can be understood so well as a person's own journey. the diary narratives were quick but definately the best.

as said before..alot remains unsaid and untold to the world about JNU.

2007-07-07T01:14:00.000-07:00

NB: are u trying to test the balance of reality..?

TB: maybe..all that is there..the patterns in time..the twisted perceptions..when the darkness blinks, the silent dance of the shadows..and the distance between our souls. . all of them.

2007-07-03T01:43:00.000-07:00

Boondon se baatein.....

On the Marina Beach last week..i hated the rain drops that came phat-phat-phat(as Sam said) on us..there was no shelter n no place to hide..so we ran..and the chilly wind(read 'chilly') caught us..with sand on our feet..water everywhere on us...n ppl singing around us(!!)...i realised i am not much of a rain fan..

Sitting at home now..i can hear the rain drops..i can see from the window..as they fall on the green grass in our lawn..i can see a cat shaking itself..
somehow..sitting inside and looking at the rain seems better..!!!

its the monsoons again..
everything around is green..though it aint raining cats n dogs in the capital..its much better than the dry loo...

wet roads..chilly winds..froggies coming out..snails also...clothes don't dry..!!!

ok ok...

lets take a walk..in the rain...if u arent too fussy like i am..u will love it.
don't forget a chai..with a drop of rain falling in the glass..n pakoras..from sabarmati hostel..
yummy..!!!

2007-06-23T10:06:00.000-07:00

"Broken Wings"

I desire to hope for nothing.

I desire to believe in nothing.

I desire the fear of nothing.

"I desire to be free..."

2007-06-20T04:22:00.000-07:00

...the unsettlement of the mind,

i dare,

to survive.

Of the heart,

i dare,

to dream...

2007-06-10T10:15:00.000-07:00

"Be still when you have nothing to say;
when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say,
and say it hot"

D.H Lawrence