Marine Drive in Bombay
Marine Drive in Bombay
In Khotachiwadi, Bombay
In Khotachiwadi, Bombay
(Love the art deco font)
Khotachiwadi, Bombay. Apt given the city.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The Last Smoke
He slid the door back and the sound, while dull, hit him with its unfamiliarity. He looked out and as his eyes moved down the sky, past the clear blues, he saw its white crest hurtling toward his. Furious white furrows skimmed over the surface, like horses branching out from the main tidal wave, rearing their head forward, falling down as new ones took their place. The water was an angry white.
He heard the screams of the people on the beach as they ran from wave, Hokusai almost had it right. The ocean wasn't undulating across its length and breath. It was as though the horizon had been lined with white and was moving closer and close, bigger and faster. It was this line of white that was so massive it seemed almost still. It was only when he saw its crest getting taller and the horse heads getting sharper did his senses tell him it was moving closer. That and the sound.
"I am going to die", he thought to himself.
"You can either panic or you can dissolve into acceptance and realize nothing can ever change this moment"
"You will die"
"Right". For the first time, things seemed clear. There was no place to go with this realization. It was in it self. It was. There was no A to B. A was A. It was an immutable fact, one moving closer by the second with the power to rips, shred, destroy and obliterate everything around him. Everything around him would cease to be. Everything around him was transient.
He rested his hand on the wooden railing of the balcony. He felt the smooth, beveled edges and realized that some factory some where had set its machines on a tree cut and brought from somewhere else. The tree had grown from a seed. But in under a minute, it would cease to be. It would remain wood, but it would cease to be a railing. Would it cease to exist if it lost its form and function? No, it would still be wood. That was immutable. Bigger, smaller, functional, drift wood, wood was wood. A was A.
A was always A.
He looked up and his eyes gave the slightest of starts, they understood the passage of time, they saw the crest, bigger, taller, nearer. And it wasn't a happy realization of the passage of the time, not the kind when you see a child all grown up and realize the years have gone by. No, no that kind, more so a man who hasn't been near a mirror in years and realizes that his time is up.
But that thought lasted a fraction of a second. After all, thoughts too are transient and rise and fall like waves on the ocean. But then there was this thought, as unflinching and as immutable as the concrete wall of water.
A is A?
Water that wraps itself around you can shred every bit of flesh and rip you in half. Water is always water. And you will die.
He was fine with that. In the span of a few seconds, he made peace with it. There was no point dwelling on the unspoken conversations, the missed connections. They would continue to be, just, without him. As the water and the world would continue to be, just, without him
You are going to die.
All he wanted now was one last cigarette. Now, not the kind the man in front of the execution squad wants. Just the one who has the best seats in the house to the biggest show in his life, the closest he will get to the stage. he has always had an immaculate sense of timing, of finishing the last bite as the TV show ends, of the right amount of juice to compliment his last bite, an exact sense of work to be accomplished in time to go out.
He wants to finish his cigarette. It's not the most important thing in the world. But he wants to. At this moment, nothing matters to him but the time before he dies and the time before the cigarette is stubbed out. By him.
It is in this moment that all sense of control is stripped away from him. Control is an illusion, the sense of calm and making peace? an illusion. A way of reigning in emotions, the panic and the flight instinct. It is the last bastion of humanity in his head, the illusory sense of control. He wants to finish that cigarette. *HE* wants to finish it.
He looks at the ocean and notices how it seems to plough through it self. He looks at this fingers, holding the cigarette and takes another tentative puff. He can't hurry himself. No. He decides. The wave looms over him. It is in that very moment that he realizes he can not finish it and panic sets in. There was no control.
The roar is deafening. A is A. Even if it is drift wood. Even if he is no more.
With clenched fists and white knuckles, he looks at the cigarette. "I got it wrong"
He heard the screams of the people on the beach as they ran from wave, Hokusai almost had it right. The ocean wasn't undulating across its length and breath. It was as though the horizon had been lined with white and was moving closer and close, bigger and faster. It was this line of white that was so massive it seemed almost still. It was only when he saw its crest getting taller and the horse heads getting sharper did his senses tell him it was moving closer. That and the sound.
"I am going to die", he thought to himself.
"You can either panic or you can dissolve into acceptance and realize nothing can ever change this moment"
"You will die"
"Right". For the first time, things seemed clear. There was no place to go with this realization. It was in it self. It was. There was no A to B. A was A. It was an immutable fact, one moving closer by the second with the power to rips, shred, destroy and obliterate everything around him. Everything around him would cease to be. Everything around him was transient.
He rested his hand on the wooden railing of the balcony. He felt the smooth, beveled edges and realized that some factory some where had set its machines on a tree cut and brought from somewhere else. The tree had grown from a seed. But in under a minute, it would cease to be. It would remain wood, but it would cease to be a railing. Would it cease to exist if it lost its form and function? No, it would still be wood. That was immutable. Bigger, smaller, functional, drift wood, wood was wood. A was A.
A was always A.
He looked up and his eyes gave the slightest of starts, they understood the passage of time, they saw the crest, bigger, taller, nearer. And it wasn't a happy realization of the passage of the time, not the kind when you see a child all grown up and realize the years have gone by. No, no that kind, more so a man who hasn't been near a mirror in years and realizes that his time is up.
But that thought lasted a fraction of a second. After all, thoughts too are transient and rise and fall like waves on the ocean. But then there was this thought, as unflinching and as immutable as the concrete wall of water.
A is A?
Water that wraps itself around you can shred every bit of flesh and rip you in half. Water is always water. And you will die.
He was fine with that. In the span of a few seconds, he made peace with it. There was no point dwelling on the unspoken conversations, the missed connections. They would continue to be, just, without him. As the water and the world would continue to be, just, without him
You are going to die.
All he wanted now was one last cigarette. Now, not the kind the man in front of the execution squad wants. Just the one who has the best seats in the house to the biggest show in his life, the closest he will get to the stage. he has always had an immaculate sense of timing, of finishing the last bite as the TV show ends, of the right amount of juice to compliment his last bite, an exact sense of work to be accomplished in time to go out.
He wants to finish his cigarette. It's not the most important thing in the world. But he wants to. At this moment, nothing matters to him but the time before he dies and the time before the cigarette is stubbed out. By him.
It is in this moment that all sense of control is stripped away from him. Control is an illusion, the sense of calm and making peace? an illusion. A way of reigning in emotions, the panic and the flight instinct. It is the last bastion of humanity in his head, the illusory sense of control. He wants to finish that cigarette. *HE* wants to finish it.
He looks at the ocean and notices how it seems to plough through it self. He looks at this fingers, holding the cigarette and takes another tentative puff. He can't hurry himself. No. He decides. The wave looms over him. It is in that very moment that he realizes he can not finish it and panic sets in. There was no control.
The roar is deafening. A is A. Even if it is drift wood. Even if he is no more.
With clenched fists and white knuckles, he looks at the cigarette. "I got it wrong"
The Last Smoke
He slid the door back and the sound, while dull, hit him with its unfamiliarity. He looked out and as his eyes moved down the sky, past the clear blues, he saw its white crest hurtling toward his. Furious white furrows skimmed over the surface, like horses branching out from the main tidal wave, rearing their head forward, falling down as new ones took their place. The water was an angry white.
He heard the screams of the people on the beach as they ran from wave, Hokusai almost had it right. The ocean wasn't undulating across its length and breath. It was as though the horizon had been lined with white and was moving closer and close, bigger and faster. It was this line of white that was so massive it seemed almost still. It was only when he saw its crest getting taller and the horse heads getting sharper did his senses tell him it was moving closer. That and the sound.
"I am going to die", he thought to himself.
"You can either panic or you can dissolve into acceptance and realize nothing can ever change this moment"
"You will die"
"Right". For the first time, things seemed clear. There was no place to go with this realization. It was in it self. It was. There was no A to B. A was A. It was an immutable fact, one moving closer by the second with the power to rips, shred, destroy and obliterate everything around him. Everything around him would cease to be. Everything around him was transient.
He rested his hand on the wooden railing of the balcony. He felt the smooth, beveled edges and realized that some factory some where had set its machines on a tree cut and brought from somewhere else. The tree had grown from a seed. But in under a minute, it would cease to be. It would remain wood, but it would cease to be a railing. Would it cease to exist if it lost its form and function? No, it would still be wood. That was immutable. Bigger, smaller, functional, drift wood, wood was wood. A was A.
A was always A.
He looked up and his eyes gave the slightest of starts, they understood the passage of time, they saw the crest, bigger, taller, nearer. And it wasn't a happy realization of the passage of the time, not the kind when you see a child all grown up and realize the years have gone by. No, no that kind, more so a man who hasn't been near a mirror in years and realizes that his time is up.
But that thought lasted a fraction of a second. After all, thoughts too are transient and rise and fall like waves on the ocean. But then there was this thought, as unflinching and as immutable as the concrete wall of water.
A is A?
Water that wraps itself around you can shred every bit of flesh and rip you in half. Water is always water. And you will die.
He was fine with that. In the span of a few seconds, he made peace with it. There was no point dwelling on the unspoken conversations, the missed connections. They would continue to be, just, without him. As the water and the world would continue to be, just, without him
You are going to die.
All he wanted now was one last cigarette. Now, not the kind the man in front of the execution squad wants. Just the one who has the best seats in the house to the biggest show in his life, the closest he will get to the stage. he has always had an immaculate sense of timing, of finishing the last bite as the TV show ends, of the right amount of juice to compliment his last bite, an exact sense of work to be accomplished in time to go out.
He wants to finish his cigarette. It's not the most important thing in the world. But he wants to. At this moment, nothing matters to him but the time before he dies and the time before the cigarette is stubbed out. By him.
It is in this moment that all sense of control is stripped away from him. Control is an illusion, the sense of calm and making peace? an illusion. A way of reigning in emotions, the panic and the flight instinct. It is the last bastion of humanity in his head, the illusory sense of control. He wants to finish that cigarette. *HE* wants to finish it.
He looks at the ocean and notices how it seems to plough through it self. He looks at this fingers, holding the cigarette and takes another tentative puff. He can't hurry himself. No. He decides. The wave looms over him. It is in that very moment that he realizes he can not finish it and panic sets in. There was no control.
The roar is deafening. A is A. Even if it is drift wood. Even if he is no more.
With clenched fists and white knuckles, he looks at the cigarette. "I got it wrong"
He heard the screams of the people on the beach as they ran from wave, Hokusai almost had it right. The ocean wasn't undulating across its length and breath. It was as though the horizon had been lined with white and was moving closer and close, bigger and faster. It was this line of white that was so massive it seemed almost still. It was only when he saw its crest getting taller and the horse heads getting sharper did his senses tell him it was moving closer. That and the sound.
"I am going to die", he thought to himself.
"You can either panic or you can dissolve into acceptance and realize nothing can ever change this moment"
"You will die"
"Right". For the first time, things seemed clear. There was no place to go with this realization. It was in it self. It was. There was no A to B. A was A. It was an immutable fact, one moving closer by the second with the power to rips, shred, destroy and obliterate everything around him. Everything around him would cease to be. Everything around him was transient.
He rested his hand on the wooden railing of the balcony. He felt the smooth, beveled edges and realized that some factory some where had set its machines on a tree cut and brought from somewhere else. The tree had grown from a seed. But in under a minute, it would cease to be. It would remain wood, but it would cease to be a railing. Would it cease to exist if it lost its form and function? No, it would still be wood. That was immutable. Bigger, smaller, functional, drift wood, wood was wood. A was A.
A was always A.
He looked up and his eyes gave the slightest of starts, they understood the passage of time, they saw the crest, bigger, taller, nearer. And it wasn't a happy realization of the passage of the time, not the kind when you see a child all grown up and realize the years have gone by. No, no that kind, more so a man who hasn't been near a mirror in years and realizes that his time is up.
But that thought lasted a fraction of a second. After all, thoughts too are transient and rise and fall like waves on the ocean. But then there was this thought, as unflinching and as immutable as the concrete wall of water.
A is A?
Water that wraps itself around you can shred every bit of flesh and rip you in half. Water is always water. And you will die.
He was fine with that. In the span of a few seconds, he made peace with it. There was no point dwelling on the unspoken conversations, the missed connections. They would continue to be, just, without him. As the water and the world would continue to be, just, without him
You are going to die.
All he wanted now was one last cigarette. Now, not the kind the man in front of the execution squad wants. Just the one who has the best seats in the house to the biggest show in his life, the closest he will get to the stage. he has always had an immaculate sense of timing, of finishing the last bite as the TV show ends, of the right amount of juice to compliment his last bite, an exact sense of work to be accomplished in time to go out.
He wants to finish his cigarette. It's not the most important thing in the world. But he wants to. At this moment, nothing matters to him but the time before he dies and the time before the cigarette is stubbed out. By him.
It is in this moment that all sense of control is stripped away from him. Control is an illusion, the sense of calm and making peace? an illusion. A way of reigning in emotions, the panic and the flight instinct. It is the last bastion of humanity in his head, the illusory sense of control. He wants to finish that cigarette. *HE* wants to finish it.
He looks at the ocean and notices how it seems to plough through it self. He looks at this fingers, holding the cigarette and takes another tentative puff. He can't hurry himself. No. He decides. The wave looms over him. It is in that very moment that he realizes he can not finish it and panic sets in. There was no control.
The roar is deafening. A is A. Even if it is drift wood. Even if he is no more.
With clenched fists and white knuckles, he looks at the cigarette. "I got it wrong"
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Seattle Cats
Katjie has a rather large purring engine, loves to play with the little plastic band that holds the cap on the milk bottle and had nose cancer. Also, she has a face that makes you want to squish her but sadly, she is not a dog.
Ollie is a one eyed yoga master. I'd pun about the Downward Facing Dog posture but then I'd have to smack myself in the face
Me footling around with light. One of the biggest throwaways from the photography class was that contrast isn't a function of color, black color isnt darker than white in a b/w picture, it's a question of the amount of light. I guess it seems obvious now, but hard to see the world in shades of darkness when there's so much color around.
Back in the Other City
I went to Sri Nagar in between. I haven't written because I didnt feel like it and dealt with hmm, KLM canceling my flight, not telling me, rerouting me through Detroit, rebooking me, traveling with two trolleys through JFK, using the new Air India flight non stop, no smoking, reaching Delhi, going to Sri Nagar, getting an infected sinus (snot like the Styx believe it or not), reaching Delhi, installing self.
So far, just trying to reassemble life. Went for golf, dropped Mum to work, went to Nehru Place in 45 C heat, fixed the internet, fixed the TV, fixed Airtel to instal internet, fixed for guy to come fix shower pump.
Good heavens, I'm tired.
But now for one picture a day. Or at least an attempt at. If any one has suggestions re: what I can do with these pictures to get something concrete on my resume, let me know.
Nothing intelligent at the moment. Most sleepy
But. If you are in Delhi, mail, I'd love to meet bloggers!
So far, just trying to reassemble life. Went for golf, dropped Mum to work, went to Nehru Place in 45 C heat, fixed the internet, fixed the TV, fixed Airtel to instal internet, fixed for guy to come fix shower pump.
Good heavens, I'm tired.
But now for one picture a day. Or at least an attempt at. If any one has suggestions re: what I can do with these pictures to get something concrete on my resume, let me know.
Nothing intelligent at the moment. Most sleepy
But. If you are in Delhi, mail, I'd love to meet bloggers!
Monday, April 07, 2008
Oh Dear
10 Irrational Thoughts Rational People Often Think
Irrational thoughts occasionally occur in the minds of all people. Intelligence does not make someone immune to irrational thought. These thoughts typically clutter our minds with feelings of resentment and distaste. Sometimes they are based on internal defense mechanisms we develop to mitigate personal anger in an attempt to avoid facing the truth about ourselves or our immediate circumstances. If someone imposes stringent expectations related to a stressful issue on themselves or their close companions, irrational thought is likely to set in, and all parties involved will probably experience needless emotional grief.
Passionate perceptions of an event made by someone in distress can seem crazy from a third party perspective. This craziness is simply the sum of stress and irrational thought. These thoughts allow the distressed party to remain the victim while avoiding all situational responsibility. One must learn to break this momentary negative thought process in order to achieve continuous stability in their life and in their relationships.
Here are 10 irrational thoughts that rational people often fall victim to at one point or another:
- Mistakes are never acceptable. If I make one, it means that I am incompetent.
- When somebody disagrees with me, it is a personal attack against me.
- To be content in life, I must be liked by all people.
- My true value as an individual depends on what others people think of me.
- If I am not involved in an intimate relationship, I am completely alone.
- There is no grey area. Success is black and failure is white.
- Nothing ever turns out the way you want it to.
- If the outcome was not perfect, it was a complete failure.
- I am in absolute control of my life. If something bad happens, it is my fault.
- The past always repeats itself. If it was true then, it must be true now.
Your life will be more productive if you learn to avoid this type of negative thinking.
Source: http://www.marcandangel.com/2007/06/06/10-irrational-thoughts-that-rational-people-often-think/
Sunday, April 06, 2008
To Read
10 Things We All Must Figure Out for Ourselves
Learning is merely a component of life, like the limbs of the human body. We can learn a lot from others, but some things in life must be experienced to be truly understood. Below you will find a list of 10 such things, the things we all must figure out for ourselves.
If you hold a cat by the tail you learn things
you cannot learn any other way.
- Mark Twain
- Love – There is no official guide for falling in love, falling out of love, or dealing with the emotional intricacies of love. Love cannot be taught and it certainly cannot be forced. Love is an instinctual feeling, a powerful sentiment, one we will all find under different circumstances and must each figure out for ourselves.
- Friendship – Some personalities simply click and others clash. Just like love, friendship is a natural process that cannot be forced. Other people can select our acquaintances for us, but over time we will find true friendship on our own. When the conversations are comfortable and relaxed and a mutual feeling of trust is apparent, true friendship has been found.
- Loss – At some point each one of us will experience a loss in life. It could be the death of a loved one, the devastation of personal belongings, or a vicious rejection in our career. Each of us is going to naturally deal with loss in our own unique manner, some taking more time to reflect on it than others. While suggestions can be made, we must figure it out for ourselves, morn if necessary, and move on when we are ready.
- The Short vs. Long Catch-22 – There is a paradox found in various situations where we must choose between short-term and long-term fulfillment. It governs the path we take concerning our aspirations, desires, and available opportunities. Things that seem positive in the short-term can turn sour in the long-term. Likewise, disciplined efforts to meet long-term objectives can lead to a more dull short-term existence. People can try to advise us in specific situations, but we must ultimately figure out how to manage this catch-22 for ourselves across the broad scope of our lives.
- Self-Forgiveness – We all make mistakes. It is an inevitable element of being alive. Since we are undoubtedly our own toughest critic, we sometimes inflict unnecessary self-guilt on our conscious for certain actions we did or did not take. This typically hinders our productivity and happiness. Many self-help instructors attempt to teach self-forgiveness, but every circumstance and individual is slightly different than the next. Experience is the key. General experience in dealing with the process of trial and error across various life circumstances is really what increases our comfort level with making mistakes.
- Life Balance – Living a healthy, rewarding life involves the simple art of balance. We must balance risk vs. reward, family and friends vs. career goals, quantity vs. quality… the list could continue indefinitely. Over time, and with enough experience, we will be able to evaluate any situation, decipher the boundary extremes and find a happy, healthy medium between these extremes.
- Responsibility and Independence – Responsibility is not a quality instinctually instilled in all human beings. Some of us have to work really hard at leading a responsible life. The key is to realize that it is okay to assist someone, but the full burden of a responsibility should never be taken away from its owner. If it is, the owner will never learn, thus becoming forever dependant on others. Cause and effect is the ultimate guide to responsibility. “If I don’t get a job, I won’t have money to buy food.” Our success with responsibility will eventually lead to complete independence.
- Character Identity – “Who am I?” We all have to figure this out for ourselves. Character identity is incredibly difficult to define. We all have ideas in our minds of who we are, who we want to become, or how we want to live. The single greatest gift a human being possesses is free will… our ability to think, make choices, and take action with the decisions we make. These decisions eventually mold the person we are, our character identity.
- Betrayal – Dealing with betrayal usually sends a person on an emotional rollercoaster ride. There is no practical way of preparing for it because every act of betrayal contains a different set of variables. When it happens, we are usually left asking a series of questions. Why? Is there another side to the story? Can we work through this? These are questions only the people involved can answer and deal with.
- Happiness and Success – As I stated in my last post, happiness is doing what you love, and success is excelling at doing what you love. Nobody else can tell us how to be happy or what to love. As we progress through life we uncover these mysteries on our own. Once we have happiness figured out we can map out a course for achieving our own personalized version of success.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Shiny Shiny Stuff
Why is it the books now days, and I don't mean drivel, yes being judgmental but I don't consider Jeffrey Archer a book, it's a novel. So by books these days, well they seemed more adult versions of what kids read in college. Again, I refer to those who read "for pleasure" as one agog girl put it at BC. Anyway, these books have more of a plasticy patent feel to them than the smell of those old books, the smell I like so much.
I want to read those books which stick.
Same can be said for music. Bands seem to come with a shiny cling wrap feel to them, rather than the grittier feel of Led Zepp at Knebworth
I know I really sound like those guys I used to meet at the steps of the college canteen but to be fair, I did give music its place in scheme of things.
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