The street seller

I'm the street seller.

I live on the road, and the road is my home.
How sad it is to live, How sad it is to dream...

But that was a long time ago. Bangalore’s streets have turned out to be a huge marketplace with virtually no overheads.
A majority of the population here is a floating lot, and a prosperous floating lot at that.
If I had the money to spare, I’d definitely invest it here on the streets.

Update: Check out my radio station on the side bar. (I'm the RJ there *wink wink*)

Blur intended

A self portrait with half a mind to show it will look something like that.
I’m too busy to write anything, and the picture that I see is as hazy as the one I’m in.

Half of you already know me anyway, so to hell with anonymity.

Have a great week ahead guys.
Party on. Ding dong. :)

Infinity - Of time, and faith.

Reason and faith do not go together.
Just look at the sunset at the end of the road to infinity -
I could spend my life chasing the real, and call life unreal and temporary. And that is what most religions ask me to presume true.

There is the eternal lamp that lights the higher path, they say - walk the path, do not look to your sides, indulgence is a carnal sin.

The sun among the evening clouds at the end of the road is real; But so is the road, and so is infinity.
I seek gratification, and I like to look around - I believe in the drive more than the destination.

I believe in now.
Believer? Atheist?
How about indifferent?

The river between

The river had been flowing undecided for a few months now. The sun was exceptionally hard this year, and the stray patches of land in it’s center this time were larger and more in number than in the past so many years.
The kid liked the river in the boat. He had once seen a boat with so much water in it that it became only an outline on the river’s surface.
But there were his friends on the other side, walking up the path that followed the river’s turns to the next village.
It was summer, there was no school, and he wished the boat would go faster.

Running the wrong way

Now, getting back to where we left off:
It was Seven in the morning, but it was long since the day started in the forest. By the reason of its quietness, the walk seemed longer than it naturally should have. And perhaps adding to it was the disappointment from the lack of any real sightings in the morning.
We had woken before first light, and even as we walked through the slush of the previous night’s rains, the pale light was only setting in, giving the dry river bed a shade of solemn grey.
We had hoped to walk into the elephant herd – which we had a chance encounter with, in the dark of the past night, and I was ready – unlike then - with the right lenses, the camera on, and ready to go.
It was dismal crusade – even the persistent elephant scent this morning was a lot lighter, compared to the sharp musky odor that hung heavy in the air the previous night.
The leeches were feasting on my leg, and many were trying to suck the juice out of my shoes as well. There we were – at the riverbed - risking snake bite and impending rain.

The walk would have been a disappointment, had we not spotted this guy high up in the foliage.

[In the pic: A Malabar Grey Hornbill]

Some damp melodrama

In the evening, it began to rain.

From the other side of the window came the sound of drops on dry stubble, and muted light of a melancholy blue. The noise elaborated silence, as I watched a stray drop roll down the glass.

It was the kind of rain that would have been as good to go out to, as it would have been to come in from.
Yet I chose to stay thus in my lone rocking chair, with the cup of tea still steaming.
It was getting dark.


[That was the mood of the picture, but it is doctored – Clicked on a hot summer afternoon for a friend who needed it. It took me a mirror, a mug of water, some house plants, and a toothbrush.]

Hop. Skip. Jump and SPLASH!

There’s absolutely nothing that can beat a bath in a river on a hot and humid summer day.
Run , tear your cloths off, woooooosh and SPLASH!
Whatta whatta fun! :)

These kids were spotted at the river, and this one appeared to be demonstrating his bowling skills as the other two watch closely.

The fiery colors of passion, and attraction to beautiful women

Beauty is magnetic - and that is the way the universe was designed.
The fiery colors of a flower, the fulgent plumes on a bird and to a man what might seem to be the most physical of attractions - attraction to beautiful women.
Magnetic, and momentary, and functionally so.

[You've got to see the picture at a larger size to really know what i'm talking about. :) ]

Lone clansman pissed.

Agola 27th April:

The abominable clansman Rednow Sselhtoot expressed his annoyance in having been compelled to give in to the tribe’s ways against his own personal conviction.
“I eat, dog fart. I meet girl, dog fart. I do anything, dog fart.” According to Rednow, his dog was capable of performing the feat so effortlessly, and to perfection, ahead of even his wife. What concerns him, however is that he has a ban from the tribe on letting his dog perform in front of an audience.
Rednow had attempted the act once at a friend’s wedding, and was (mercilessly) beaten up and thrown out. The exhaust gases at the dance had made the dancers desert the venue, and village council had imposed an indefinite ban on bringing his dog to a public function. “He big brain. He see he learn” The tribesman is now facing a risk of being evicted from his own house, and the wife is said to have been seen with ex-boyfriend Guimba very often in the recent past. Guimba is believed to have the best bone knife in the tribe.
“Who say no teach old dog new trick? Who say?” A visibly agitated Rednow was heard saying.

[I'm dead the day Spark gets internet-enabled. :) ]

A complex world out there.

The loud silence of disorder

It is funny to think how dramatically the intensity of conceptions can change when one starts noticing contrast. The jungle was perhaps as loud as the cobbled streets of Bangalore, but the noises were strangely silent.
Perhaps it is the collective rage of unspoken disapproval that hangs eternally over the crowded streets of the city, or perhaps it is the hushed personal malice. I can’t say which, but it makes me want to run away.
Because the unsaid is often louder than what’s said.

Picture: Smiles for sale - Street children on M.G. Road

The UFO's a Dragon!

For two weeks he enjoyed the U.F.O status.

But now I know - he's spread his wings, he's resting, and he's a Dragon!

Here's how:

"Dragonflies, the jeweled helicopters of the insect world, are generally stronger and more robust than damselflies. They are also fast and agile fliers. While at rest their wings are held away from their bodies.

Comparitively damselflies have slender bodies and a weak, fluttery, hovering flight. At rest their wings are held close to the body. Also their eyes are well separated unlike dragonflies. "

[Source: www.nerdybirders.com/html/dragonflies/dragonflies.html ]

This was when we were investigating some movement in the bushes down the stream, and then decided the bushes were too thick, and the investigation could prove to be a very risky one.

So clicked him instead.

Think: Can you chew what you're about to bite?

Distance seems to lose meaning in these villages by the forest and the world truly shrinks. On being asked where we could find some breakfast, The old man at the DISCO tea shop and salon pointed to the east and told us that Eappan's store in the next village should be open by the time we reach there.
What was not said, however was that there was a dense jungle between this village and the next, and that the road to there was almost non-existent.
We were asked to write a letter to the range officer at the check post seeking permission to pass, and the air was heavy with the sounds of the jungle ahead.

As the gate went up to let us through, we knew we were being watched.

[In the pic: Lion tailed macaque. More on his kind in the posts to come]

To look, to see, and to know the difference.

I’m back from two consuming days in the jungle. If there is an ultimate getaway, it is this – because out there, you are all by yourself. No phone, no gun and no light – the color of the forest night is pitch black, and the silence of the noises overwhelming. The blindness being one-sided leaves you exposed, and the crackle of a leaf makes you sweat. In its depths where the smallest patch of exposed skin would be swarming with leeches in no time, and your every move is watched by dozens of invisible eyes, your survival depends on how much you listen, and how much you can smell. Here I start a photo blog. (for a while)

Note: The pictures are best viewed at a larger size.

Angamuzhi is the first check post to the jungle while approaching it from west. It is a small town, and the local amenities include a tea shop (with one wooden bench) and a salon.

Finding Lost Time (Part 2)

“Eda kochaney, one coconut falls on your head, and they wont have to look for coconuts for the chammandi anymore.” Vivekanandan seemed to be amused by the idea of Boshi’s brain chutney being served with dosa. After conducting countless tests of accidentally dropping the massive green, brown and sometimes orange fruits on people’s heads, Vivekanandan’s theory of brain chammandi still remained unproven by and large. He considered himself to be in an elevated social being. For a land that was flat, Vivekanandan really was at it’s summit – on top of the coconut palm. When he was not climbing trees, he was high on Mathai’s patta. Either way, he was way higher than the rest of the village.

What brought Boshimon to the first level of consiousness, however was Kuriakose's generous helping of dog saliva on his face. And as had become customary in the past week, he shouted some class-one obscenities at the dog and started his day thus. Now a dog on the run can't complain about bad language. Although born to a nameless mongrel mother, Kuriakose had inherited most of his features from his father - Dingan, the German Shepherd. It had taken his nameless mother a whole month and a half to seduce Dingan, and when Dingan fell for her ways, it was the talk of the town. The litter had three other puppies, but they were such sorry things, that when the legendary Balakrishna Kurup saw them by the road, they didnt get petted or picked, and hence they didnt get names.

That is how the smaller than usual but German Shepherd like pup went home with Valya Kurup to his new home. He remained there in peaceful co-existance with its other inhabitants, until one day the grandmother of the house suddenly stopped running her race, and the whole household got busy with the obsequeis . Kuriakose was forgotten, and he remained hungry, and tied to the little washing stone in the backyard.

Little Velayudhan was as naughty then as he is now (his ways have changed since). Kuriakose wasn’t quite enjoying the boy’s exotic dance – especially not when he was hungry – and so in a moment of weakness he bit the boy on his little fountain - Hard enough to scare the effluents out of the boy, but not hard enough to do any real damage to his boy-hood. Kuriakose fled, as fast as his four legs (German Shepherd like, but shorter) could carry him, with his tail (unusually bent for a German Shepherd) tucked safely between his hind legs.

(to be continued..)

It's my Budday!

Go, go, go, go, go, goGo, shortyIt's your birthday

We gon' party like it's your birthday

We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday

And you know we don't give a bleep

cause it's not your birthday!

But it eees my budday!

It eees my 13 n a halfth budday.

YAY!

Finding lost time (Part 1)

It was a March very much like this one. The sun was beginning to rise (with a little trouble) over the big thatched roof of the toddy shop. A little further from where he lay, the growing light revealed the bottom of a coconut tree, and the sleeping Kuriakose. The dog did not seem to care about day or night. He liked to sleep. And Kuriakose looked happy.
No matter how hard Boshimon tried, he couldn’t recollect the last few hours of the previous night. He was drunk. Magnificently drunk. More drunk – drunker than he had ever been before.

Boshimon was born black and it wasn’t his fault. He was on paper, the first day of his life on this world. His mother was sixty three, and grandmother of four. The world was amused. They laughed, and didn’t bother to turn the other way when they did. They laughed on his face – wet laughs – the ones that spray spittle from corners of paan stained crimson mouths. Boshimon, would wipe blobs of frothy liquid from his face and smile back. He had to live.
His grown-up siblings visited him once on the day he was born – or so he was told – with their children and all. He doesn’t remember seeing them, and he hoped they would come when the mother died. They did not.

He was twenty seven, and yet yesterday qualified as the first of his adult life, the first day when he could call the said life his own – when he could look the village in the face, without fear of them calling him his name. He had walked the fields and the well-trodden paths at a steady gait, greeting the old and the un-known. There was not a great deal he could think of to wish for. In the night, on his way out of the toddy shop, he would have danced down the deserted path if it was not for the fear of falling on his face. And yet he fell.

His blood had always attracted the fattest mosquitoes from far out in the kayal, and he had spent the night chasing them away until the breeze put him to sleep again. He was fanning himself frantically when he saw the big face above his own. “They bite like rabid dogs. So, you had the moolavetti, ey?” Sabu was squatting by his side, and had a toothbrush stuck into a corner of his mouth. The effects elicited by the two packs of illicit liquor were spewn all around him, but his otherwise strong sense of smell didn’t seem to take note.

Sabu too hated his father for his name. The girls in the fifth standard classroom had laughed when he had to introduce himself. And the rest of his academic life, everyone called him by his full name of Shehanshah Shahjahan. Why couldn’t they call him Sabu like everyone in the village? Sabu aimed, and spat in a projectile. The toothpaste foam splattered off the coconut tree base, scaring the chicken into another futile attempt at flight.

(to be continued..)

A reason to say I love you.

Just a little while longer, my love.., originally uploaded by toothleswonder.

A year ago, he would have looked at her with so much passion that she blushed.

He would have said things that made her believe - without as much as a trace of a question - that no one had, and would ever have as much reason to love her as he has.
A year ago, the fact that both of them moved in entirely separate circles, with neither having too much of an interest in the other was okay. (It would have been too boring to be in love with a man who did the same thing as you for a living.)

A year ago, she wouldn’t have heard him tap his feet impatiently while he waited for her to finish ranting out about the tough day at work.It may have been because he was more discreet then, or perhaps it was just that she felt too distrait in his presence - Because a year ago, every time he kissed her, it was as though it was the last time he could.
Now not too much was spoken. They were so used to understanding each other without talking that they habitually believed their looks more than their words. That was the natural thing.

The picture is from a Nescafe coffee bar in the city.
Valentines day, I have always believed is one for he chocolate companies and card makers - too clichéd for my taste. But maybe there is another bearing. Many - like them - may be looking for a reason to say "I love you" again.
Happy Valentines day, everyone!

[The text does not describe the illustration or the people in it. Should the people in the picture consider any of this matter inappropriate, please just let me know, and I will be more than happy to remove it immediately.]

White (after) Christmas

(Click for whole photostream)
Originally uploaded by toothleswonder.

Woof!
Woof woof woof!
:))

Bachelor Boy - Part 1

“When I was young my father said
Son I have something to say
And what he told me Ill never forget
Until my dyin day.
He said son you are a bachelor boy
And thats the way to stay.
Son, you be a bachelor boy until your dyin day”
(Now playing-->)

Presenting to you - The Bachelor boys’ guide to staying that way!
Brother, why would you choose not to be a bachelor any more? Okay, wrong choice of words – what would break you and push you over that cliff – into the point of no return?
If you answer the way I used to, well, all I say is no sweat! It’s not that bad after all. It’s like the do it yourself kit. Get your hot meal done day after day, everyday. Without the shopping and wailing and the jewellery and all that jazz!
And like all superheroes, all you need is a good side-kick, or better still, a bunch of them bananas!

Banana#1: Dal
Now this one here is super hero in the making. Dont be surprised if one day put this one puts all the women folk out of business. What amazes me is this guy’s capability to adapt and the ability to metamorphose into a new look and feel (are we forgeting something .. yeah taste!) practically everyday!
Monday he is dal nospecialname – goes well with rice, and some spicey chutney
Tuesday he’s dal pepperonit – you microwave it with extra fresh ground pepper – great with some boiled vegetables (broiled with chillie flakes cheese and ketchup, ofcource)
Wednesday and Thursday he’s sambar and then Thursday thru Saturday he’s rasam!
Magical cannot but be an understatement! If there’s a promised savior gentlemen, it is dal – your sidekick no.1!

Tips: Fry gently before you pressure cook (translated: yellow, orange – acceptable. Black – game over, try again!)
Pop those seeds – I don’t know what they’re called – The little ones that pop when you put them in oil – they make a lot of difference!

Banana#2: Brocolli, cabbage/any leaf.
This one is a beau monde star – for your lunch pack to office. Can be terribly decieving, and may trick the women into believing youre a healthy eater! And trust me, they don’t taste as bad as we were led to believing they do. And the best part is you don’t have to cook them. A dash of olive oil and a piece of lime can work wonders with this.
For the filling you can use mashed potatoes and chicken/egg/some spicey (dry) vegetable dish left over from the previous night (potato is another wonder vegetable – but more about that later) – the mashing can be done on a weekend and stowed away in the fridge.
With this you can grin back at the pot-bellied manager of yours the next time he opens his box at lunchtime, and does the smell-sigh routine.
Boys, do NOT give in to temptation!

Tip: Get those long breads – not the kind of stuff burgers are made of – more like an oval than a circle. Cut them with a knife (steal that from a restaurant *wink*– you don’t have to buy a cutlery set for that. ) along the length – something like 85% of the total depth. Wrap the filling inside the leaf, keep it inside and you're ready to go!

Accessories required to get started:
A fridge ( considering that all these things will only take up one third of the space, and that you’ll have the rest of it dedicated to beer, and that you’ll always have ice at your disposal, so you can actually buy that decanter set ( Imagine a home bar – it’s heaven!) , it is an investment worth every paisa – you’ll have to buy it either way should you decide to get married. )

A trash can and the bags: With the trash bags , you’ll need to empty them only twice in a week. No stinking kitchen anymore!

(And everything else – the stove and some cookware and all that.)

Emergency readiness:
Like the boss says, it always pays to be proactive than reactive.
So I bought myself more beer! For one, you can invite the guys over and drink to the disaster, but for cooking diasters, beer can be our own neighborhood superhero!
I had realized that I didn’t have enough cooking brain cells in my head, but necessity is the mother of evolution, so exigency made them suddenly appear. But the rest of the brain is still in good shape, so I was watching this game on TV while I was making some chicken.
And the suckers had to score right when I was putting the chilly powder in.
And cela va sans dire, what was intended to be chicken noname instantly evolved into chicken inferno!
But where there is a beer, there is always a way. I broke an egg into the curry, and a pint of Heineken and let it boil, and there it was – not so bad as it was before.

Epilogue: Some one reported having heard screams from the bathroom of apartment 9 the next morning..
Well, what can I say - It could have been worse! :)