चाय जवान

tea and wonderfully random conversation maker. savera tea stall, shivajinagar.

polka paati

chikka-nagamma. dodda-heart.

late morning greys

bismillah khan's hands. from another equally languid morning.

children of the photo frame

ermmm.

slight return

the camera makes a reappearance. please note the eager lads waiting for khatna on the billboard. 

that theyyam time again

malu neolithic and chalcolithic expression is ready to rear its painted head once again. the costumes are being dusted. the chickens are being fattened. theyyam is around the corner.

the wedding camera fiend

it's the downturn. but people will always want to marry. and people always want to remember. and that's why a wedding photographer will always find gainful employment. my services, for a price. hazy pictures for those who want hazy memories.

thimakka of the trees

the dreams are lucid these days. i put it down to the weather. last night thimakka of the trees made an appearance. i wish her well. and the 400 odd banyan trees, she calls her children.

bellis bhavan

at the very pretty foot of a monster rock where tigers, elephants and minor earthquakes roam, lives the bellis. under attack from tea bushes on all sides, 'chinna dorai' hurries his manservants about the place, pauses to pluck a weed from his sprawling lawns and contemplates on which bathroom he will use today.

memories of wrinked dostoevskys and fierce football battles mingle with the smells of a coming harvest as the bellis sits bewildered at his somewhat erratic computer. meanwhile a lone nilgiri thar stares on curiously.

super das and the invader

super das - little known off-road driver. loves bananas and bad roads. invader - bolero, mahindra. i want one.

tri colour tramp

subhash chandra bose from davangere makes his annual pilgrimage to bangalore every august. as he marches down m.g. road, proudly waving the tricolour, with a legion of flags and bharat mata merchandise all over him and in his bag, he quickly picks up a tail of curious onlookers.

"they won't let me anywhere near the high court or the legislative assembly," he complains. and in bucolic disbelief he asks you pointing at his half-a-football-field sized flag, "how can they not let her in anywhere in this country". he wants to meet the chief minister. he has a bone to pick.

he insists he isn't a clever sales pitch. the money he makes selling flags, badges and other tokens of allegiance barely covers his costs. it's more about a small town fella telling the big city boys about all the people who fought tooth and nail for the freedom we all take for granted. choke. choke. "tomorrow," he tells the gathering. "i will be bhagat singh".

"the king of mysore pak"

tucked away in the bustle of balepet is sri venkateshwara sweetmeat stall - no branches. the gentleman who set up this landmark destination for the sweet toothed also holds the distinction of introducing to the world, mysore pak as we know it. while the harder and porous version was the find of an ingenious cook in the erstwhile maharaja of mysore's kitchen, the more refined mysore pak that dissolves as soon as it makes contact with your tongue was entirely this establishment's improvement.

and for the last 70 years, sri venkateshwara sweetmeat stall - no branches, has held fort as the foremost makers of special mysore pak. imitations abound and the tamil folks true to their DNA, even tried making this very kannada sweet their own. they call it mysure pa. and even throw in fancy packaging. needless to say, they're not even a patch on what the tiny grimy 8x8 balepet hole in the wall offers.

orders pour in, expectedly from our techie expat brothers in the US and the UK. but sri venkateshwara sweetmeat stall - no branches also counts abdul kalam, jaffer sharrief (who shouldn't be going anywhere near anything with so much ghee), the late dr. raj and chiranjeevi among its patrons. the otherwise non-descript corner chokes on a wide array of automobiles from rickshaws to the swankiest sedans as the faithful queue up for thier manna at rs 280 a kilo.

occasionally a peasant from north of the vindhyas turns up having heard so many compliments about the condiments and is shocked to find the place so small and unassuming. he then typically proceeds to further display his complete ignorance of the exquisite by enquiring if by meat in sweetmeat they actually mean meat? just for these folks, tucked away behind the legions of mysore pak trays is a little dictionary that elucidates. sweetmeat - Noun. A sweetened delicacy (as a preserve or pastry)

macabro

execution by python. tattooed virgins. african love school. jungle manhood rites. male geisha girls. russian roulette with diesel trains. macabro - see the world in the raw. stripped bare before your startled eyes.

rub-a-dub sky

tea bushes tearing through my track pants. an out of bounds wildlife sanctuary tantalizingly close. the vague musty smell of an elephant. good company and a blue sky. i hate my cubicle.

shola stich

i've broken a forest dept. law as well. sneaked into eravikulam national park this last week for the view of a lifetime. shola stretching as far as the eye could see. and niligiri thars roaming the horizons. staring nervously at us trespassers. as we stared back in awe at a sight seldom seen by human eyes.

click pic for bigger pic

lionfish redux

haha. lionfish had to make a reappearance. turns out, local watering hole, maya - was a little in the dark and caught on the wrong side of the law. living corals and all that exotic fish in a smallish glass box is a no-no as far as the forest dept. is concerned. i would have appreciated some amount of thought on the effects of erratic neon lighting, all that bad muzak and all kinds of blotto folk staring, tapping, etc at those poor things as well. run lionfish run. you're free.

my name is ozymandias, king of kings...

...look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!

phantom rock

tucked away in a corner of kerala is the erstwhile home of the ghost who walks.

to bug...

... or not to bug.

can jump will jump

roheenda pulls a kneivel