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	<title>EverythingElse &#8211; The Flaneurbanite</title>
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	<link>http://shilpabhatnagar.com</link>
	<description>The French term &#039;Flâneur&#039; refers to the &#039;wanderer&#039;, the &#039;stroller&#039; in the City - the &#039;observer&#039;, in one sense and the &#039;voyeur&#039;, in another - one who &#039;walks the City in order to experience it&#039; (Charles Baudelaire). The Flaneurbanite documents the stories by this modern day act of flânerie - curious, covert, yet candid, she walks the City and tells the stories - the many legends, big and small, told and untold, hidden under its many layers.</description>
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		<title>On Photography</title>
		<link>http://shilpabhatnagar.com/everything-else-on-photography/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Shilpa]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sun, 15 Sep 2013 11:52:48 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[EverythingElse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[PhotoStories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[On Photography]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[opinion]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Photography]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shilpabhatnagar.com/?p=2272</guid>

					<description><![CDATA["Your first 10,000 photographs are your worst" - Henri Cartier Bresson.

True, very true.

If you started with a digital camera, make that your first 30,000. Perhaps even 50,000. ]]></description>
		
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			</item>
		<item>
		<title>Everything Else &#124; Would you like some British Irony with that?</title>
		<link>http://shilpabhatnagar.com/everything-else-would-you-like-some-british-irony-with-that/</link>
					<comments>http://shilpabhatnagar.com/everything-else-would-you-like-some-british-irony-with-that/#respond</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Shilpa]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 06 Jun 2012 09:21:29 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[EverythingElse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[british irony]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[flaneurbanite]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Humour]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[irony]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shilpabhatnagar.com/?p=1945</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[This last weekend, trying (and failing) to ignore the rather over-the-top and seemingly endless celebration of Queen Elizabeth&#8217;s reign, I couldn&#8217;t help but think of the words of Sarah Maguire, Director of the Poetry Translation Centre at a Persian Poetry event that I attended at the Asia House a fortnight back. When an audience member familiar with the Persian language commented upon the loss of the sense drama and vivid imagery that is typical to Persian literature, in the English translations, Maguire, rather defensively and quite emphatically, attributed it to the British sense of understatement, and that the &#8220;British do not show off&#8221; &#8211; whether in literature, or in life. I wonder if this is what they call British irony.]]></description>
		
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			</item>
		<item>
		<title>Everything Else &#124; The Crazy Morning Series</title>
		<link>http://shilpabhatnagar.com/1218/</link>
					<comments>http://shilpabhatnagar.com/1218/#respond</comments>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Shilpa]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Tue, 31 Jan 2012 10:00:14 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[EverythingElse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Crazy Morning Series]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Humour]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Murphy's Law]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[my anecdotal archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shilpabhatnagar.com/?p=1218</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[This post was first written and published on an older blog in November 2005. Part of a series I used to call The Crazy Morning Series, because I tended to have them a bit too often. &#160; Recently I have been suffering from an avalanche of work. So I have been forced to do what I steadfastly avoid doing &#8211; bringing work home. So, Thursday night I sat up and worked for hours, until one of the files on my flash drive refused to open. More relieved than flustered about that, for I couldn&#8217;t have tolerated any more of it, I wrapped up work and went to sleep. Woke up a little late the next morning, but not too late to still make it to work on time, as I quickly calculated after waking up. So I got ready in a hurry and left, noting conspicuously to my smug self that I was out of the house ahead of my usual time. Fifteen minutes later, I was at the red signal right next to my office building, waiting to turn right and into the building. That is usually the point where my mind automatically shifts into work-gear and I mentally start making lists of what I have to do during the day. And that is precisely when realization dawned: I had left the laptop and the flash drive, with all my work in it, at home. So much for getting out early. Quick look at watch &#8211; it&#8217;s 9.30AM &#8211; the time I should be entering office. Cursing my absent-mindedness, I quickly make a call to my office, tell them that I am an idiot and why I am an idiot and that I&#8217;ll be a little late. Take an about-turn from the same signal, instead of a right, and head back home. I reach home, enter the house to an ecstatic kitten jumping all around me &#8211; she must have thought I was back for good, poor baby &#8211; give her a quick cuddle, grab the laptop, brush my hair once more, dart out of the house, and head back for office. Twenty minutes later, I enter office with a sheepish grin, with people shaking their heads at me in a &#8216;May-God-grant-you-some-good-sense&#8217; manner. I get down to work at a furious pace, I have a deadline in a couple of hours. An hour later, I call up the client for a few clarifications. The client can&#8217;t make sense of what I am rattling off on the phone, so asks me to fax a copy of the document to him. &#8220;Sure!&#8221;, I say, and hang up, and reach out for the document. Ouch. I had left the document at home. Amidst peals of laughter and more matronly head-shaking, I grab my car keys and run out of the office. I drive back at a speed I shall not reveal, enter the house to an even more ecstatic kitten. Give her another cuddle, hunt for the document, find it under the bed (how did it get there?!), give the now-confused-and-a-little-sad kitten yet another cuddle and dash out of the house. The front gate takes too long a time to lock and cursing the day under my breath, I get into the car, and turn the key in the ignition. Gaaah! The document is sitting on the bonnet of the car. Why is it on the bonnet of the car? Because I had kept it there, in order to have my hands free while I was locking the gate that took too long to lock. If I were another person sitting next to me at the moment, I would have given myself one tight slap. But I tend to be kinder than that to myself. So I get out of the car, grab the document, get back in, drive back to office, enter amidst a lot of grinning and more head-shaking (from people who don&#8217;t have a sense of humour..) and get down to work. I would have told you had there been any other mishaps, but then again, hasn&#8217;t the above done enough to sully my reputation already? &#160;]]></description>
		
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			</item>
		<item>
		<title>Everything Else &#124; Bombay Again</title>
		<link>http://shilpabhatnagar.com/the-kitchen-sink-bombay-again/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Shilpa]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sun, 22 Jan 2012 18:32:53 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[EverythingElse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[conversations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[India]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life of The People]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mumbai]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[my anecdotal archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Travel]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shilpabhatnagar.com/?p=785</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[This post was first written and published on an older blog in October 2005. Another trip to Bombay &#8211; three days of hectic work, traveling, missing meals and some socialising and serendipitous-bumping-into-friends. It was the first time that I didn&#8217;t so much as get to look at the beach or the sea, except a couple of taxi drives near Haji Ali, which incidentally looks absolutely breathtaking, lit up at night. I was informed that they are going to bring the monument down for it has irreparable structural damages. What an awful pity. I tried to capture the beauty while driving past at night through the taxi, but all I could manage was this: At my arrival in the city, I hired one of the yellow-top Fiat taxis instead of a Cool Cab this time &#8211; all because of my disorientation with the new terminal at the airport and some confusion owing to my phone deciding to die on me. A one and a half hour drive was to follow, and I wasn&#8217;t looking forward to the traffic I would encounter &#8211; the obnoxious October heat of Bombay was bad enough. The confusion, my disorientation and the fact that I had been strapped to my seat in the plane for a full extra hour because they wouldn&#8217;t let us take off due to &#8220;VVIP movement&#8221; at the Delhi airport had resulted in me being not at my affable best. Well, nothing could be done, so I loaded my bags and myself into the too-rickety and worn-down cab and we grunted off onto the Western Express Highway. I was sitting there with my dour mood, when the cabbie struck up a conversation. Cabbie (C): Madam, aap dilli se aayi hain? (Madam, have you arrived from Delhi?) Me: (with a suspicious look and curt manner that&#8217;s a default Delhiite reaction to such probing) Haan. (Yes) C: Dilli mein to barsaat zyaada nahin hoti hogi. Aapko pata hai bombay mein 26 July ko baadh aayi thi? (It doesn&#8217;t rain too much in Delhi, does it? Do you know Bombay was flooded on 26 July?) Me: Haan pata hai. (Yes, I know) C: Yeh mera gaadi yehaan tak doob gaya tha, gaadi paani mein chhod kar apna jaan bachaya. chaar din baad gaadi mila, ek hafta garage mein khada raha toh phir chalna shuru kiya&#8230;apni toh rozi hai, bahut nuksaan hua madam. (My car was drowned till this point (pointing towards the top of the steering wheel)&#8230; I left the car in the water in order to save my own life. Found it after four days, had to leave it at the garage for a week, before it started running again. This is my bread and butter. I had to face major losses, Madam). Me: (slowly getting out of typical Delhiite mode): Accha? (Ya?) C: Sab yehaan ke logon ki galti hai madam, dekho kitna kachra hai, sab saala city ko apna ghar toh bana leta hai par ghar jaisa saaf nahin rakhta. Bahut bheedh ho gaya hai bombay mein. Dilli mein toh aisa nahin hai na? Humne TV mein dekha hai&#8230; bahut saaf hai&#8230; bahut kam log hain. (It&#8217;s all the people&#8217;s fault, Madam, look how dirty it is (pointing to the roadside)&#8230; everyone makes the city their home but doesn&#8217;t keep it clean like their homes. Bombay has become really crowded. Delhi is not like this, is it? I have seen on TV, it&#8217;s very clean, very few people&#8230;) Me: Nahin, saara dilli saaf nahin hai, aur log toh wahaan bhi bahut hain&#8230; (No, all of Delhi isn&#8217;t all that clean, and even Delhi is crowded&#8230;) C: Haan, lekin woh country ka capital hai na, sab neta log rehtein hain wahaan, saaf toh hoga hi, saara jamaadar log hi toh politician banta hai (laughing). Madam, dilli bombay jitna bada shehar hai kya? Hum kabhi gaya nahin&#8230;sirf TV pe dekha hai. (Yes, but that&#8217;s the capital of the country, all politicians live there.., it has to be cleaner, after all, it&#8217;s all the uneducated sweepers who become this country&#8217;s politicians (laughing). Madam, is Delhi as big a city as Bombay? I haven&#8217;t been there, have only seen it on TV) Me (now smiling, despite myself): Dilli bombay se teen guna bada hai&#8230; (Delhi is thrice as large as Bombay&#8230;) C (wide eyed): Sacchi?! Par itna traffic toh nahin hai&#8230; News mein dekha hai, bahut chaudi sadke hain, zyaada kich pich nahin hai&#8230; (Really?! But it wouldn&#8217;t have as much traffic&#8230; I have seen it on the news, the roads are very wide there, no chaos there&#8230;) Me: Haan sadke toh acchi hain lekin traffic bhi bahut hai..jitni badi sadak, utni zyaada gaadiya &#8230; (Yes, the roads are wide, but there&#8217;s a lot of traffic there too&#8230; as many cars as the roads are wide..) C: Sab bade sheharon ka same problem hai Madam&#8230; yeh UP-Bihar ka log bade sheharon mein aa kar use ganda karta hai  aap bura nahin maanna&#8230; Aap UP ya Bihar se toh nahin hain na? (All big cities face the same problem Madam&#8230; these people from UP and Bihar come to the big cities and dirty it&#8230; (sudden guilty look in the rear view mirror)&#8230; Oh, please don&#8217;t mind, I hope you aren&#8217;t from UP or Bihar?) Me: (I am a third generation Delhiite with a UP based ancestry, but not wanting to make him uncomfortable): Nahin. (No) C: (evidently relieved): Madam, aapne India Gate dekha hai? Humne TV mein dekha hai&#8230; bahut solid dikhta hai. Gateway se bhi accha. (Madam, have you seen the India Gate? I have seen it on TV, looks really majestic, even better than the Gateway of India) Me: (beginning to get tired of the conversation, despite my amusement at his chattering): Haan dekha hai. (Yes, I have) C: Qutub Minar bhi? (The Qutub Minar too?) Me: Haan (Yes) C: Madam, aapko pata hai Asia&#8230; ya pata nahin&#8230; shayad world ka&#8230; sabse bada slum idhar bombay mein hai? (Madam, do you know that the [&#8230;]]]></description>
		
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