I am back........................



:-)














..........................soon relasing at your nearby blog...

the return of anamika..........

The Whistle

Words often have magic. They, sometimes unknown to us leave and impression in our minds so real that every setting reflecting a similar condition take us to wolrd of the words themselves.

Recently , I have heard a number of times a faint yet shrill whistle somewhere out in the dark. A definite single whistle .....always in the dead of the night but never at the same time. It lasts for a second and half at the most. The whistler must be very used to it since it is always the same tone scale and pitch. I wonder if it is a call for someone, discrete and in code or a signal of assurance or danger, a part of a game or serious work....who knows.

Yesterday as I walked back to my room from the water cooler at the other end of the corridor, while crossing the terrace I looked at the sky. The moon hung above the trees in dim blue glow, gradually being covered in thick wisps of clouds. The edges of the clouds gleamed in silver and scattered eerie beams of moonlight across the sky. The night was lightly breezy and cool. And amidst this setting I hear from nowhere the familiar sound.

It instantly reminded me of the one story that I have read and that send a chill down my spine when I first read it. The Speckeld Band by Arthur Conan Doyle....an adventure of the ace Sherlock Holmes. The thrill and tension woven in the words of the Conan Doyle is very graphic, very real. I shall recount the story only as much, as would not tell too much. The plot of the story is macabre and yet is presented so realistically. The words describing the night build the night itslef in the readers mind. The way time passes in the words is almost like a real wait for the kill. The wistle in the story was a key to unravel the mystery of a death, and also a hideous murderer. The murderer and his deadly weapon....a sinister combination that imprinted itself on my mind.

So once back in my room I waited .......quietly. I was chiding myself for being scared, yet I waited with bated breath, for a hissing sound of a slithering reptile............

Of Butter Sheets And Malai Puris

I have been working on my design scheme now for very long. The tracing sheet is scribbled upon and a new layer added with changes.....more and more layers slowly accumulating and filling up the white of the sheet. It is through this that my wandering mind retreived a seemingly forgotten memory from the backlanes of my mind. Long back I remember watching a program on television on Mathura and its legacy of pedas and mithais.

At one halwai's shop I remeber seeing a huge cauldron...characteristic of mithaiwalas. The huge vessle of black with ivory milk boiling in soft hemispheres. Small mounds of creamy silk rising and dissapearing into the large sea of the sweetened frothy fluid. The center was boiling softly and sending small translucent bubbles tothe edges of the vessle. The egde gradually was accumulating a delicate looking lace of milk cream froth. The lean man stirring the pot intermittently flattened the mass of the froth against the edge of the cauldron. Gradually as the milk thickened and reduced the accumulation of the cream at the edges grew to coat the inner edge in a pale yellow layered satin of milk cream. It looked like the most heavenly sweet on earth.

Once the milk was all on the edge of the cauldron in the form of malai, by the evening, the lean man took the cauldron off the flame and rested it inclined against an old empty oil tin. The shop was now twinkling with small bare bulbs and the air was heavy with smoke from heavy inscence burning in almost every shop. The halwai then took am old lid of some can, about the size of a CD, and began cutting circles in the malai. This, he deftly scraped off the inner edge and served it to eager customers with a generous sprinkling of kesar and pista.

A disc of mellow sweet ivory and riotous streaks of saffron with pecks of green pista......a treat for the eyes and the palate.



A treat at the end of the day long wait ....a slow ardous process yeilding the very best.............

Strings Of Life

Sometimes it is strange to think that some wheels of you life were set in motion when you were not even aware of them. Small and seemingly insignificant events that all secretly tie up together to form a network of life ......a web that gets tugged as you tread on them and realise how far and ow deep it has spread.

I remember watching the Berlin Wall fall on television when I was a small girl. I really dont remember it in very much detail...just that my parents explained to me how nice it was that two countries got united. I faintly remeber the wall crumbling, people rejoicing and waving banners....

For the time being that was all to Berlin and Germany in my life. But there things were moving on slowly...and within a few years of the fall Sony Corp. and Daimler Chrysler...(Benz at that time) bought two huge chunks of land near a divided and derelict plaza called Potsdammer Platz. When I was far away from architecture busy doing high school mathematics an architect called Richard Rogers prepared a master plan for the new Potsdammer Platz...a revival of public space and image of Berlin. The site was for very long the largest construction site in the world. It stands as an excellent example of urban design and creation of public place through private agency....a mark of German unification and a symbol for the democratic capitalist state.

And today this mega site is so important to me ....I am banking my post graduate thesis design on what I have learnt from the masters work. About a decade ago Renzo Piano and Helmut Jahn wove a story with form and today I have to weave a new story on my site based on how they essayed architecture and urban space.

Life keeps gathering strings as we move on and when we search for new things in life these strings lead us onto the small little lanes of the past where clues to our futures are hidden.

Mid Summer Night Wars

Evening power cut time is perhaps the liveliest time in my corridor. Immediatey after the shouts of protests and despair the chairs are pulled out. Everyone settles with their phones and water. Then begins mosquito madness.

The quiet of the night is pierced by the faint yet shrill drone of the tiny wings. The peaceful mind is disturbed by the slight itch here and there. No amount of repellents help, the cream wears off in some time. Neither does flapping clothes or waving ones arms. The

There is feeling of vengeance and hopelessness at the same time. Part sleepy and part overworked souls versus the miniscule blood sucking creatures, is a fantastic war to watch, at a distance of course. Some like to just keep them away and some retaliate with the vigour of a patriotic soldier….fight till death…err sleep. However all in vain, the mosquitoes prevail and bite to their insignificant-micro-hearts content.

The hours are endured with the hope that the battle would end in victory. There would be electricity and small red/orange/green lights would begin glowing at the sockets. The faint fragrance of repellants would fill the room and spread to each corner like shown in the ads. Spreading like a mist and taking mosquito's on the way.

Aaah……triumph against the torture of the arthropods………


Till then swat away like a valiant soldier……..

Little Boy Blue

Today evening tea time had its new story. Chai, rusk, brad-aumlate and Maggi at Dhyani’s in the evenings have become the only time when in am not burdened with mtext, osnap and tedious-entangled thought processes.

The small sparse cove became a stadium gallery today, with some boys from god-knows-where were playing a cricket cum catch match. The half basket ball court size is hardly enough space for four teenage boys to play cricket. Nevertheless the enthusiasm was not marred by lack of space. They were enjoying the two pace length run ups and oddly placed sweeps with their bruised bat and ball. The amateur spin deliveries sometimes resulted in some nearly window pane shattering trajectories.

So essentially Striped T-shirt, Lemon T-shirt, Green Shirt and Faded Patchwork Jeans were having a good time. Along came Little Boy Blue cycling like mad, jumped off after resting the cycle against the parapet of the sunken court ….his eagerness to join the quartet obvious. I was expecting an Anita Desai kind of storyline to unfold…the kid would hang around wait eagerly, the teens would ignore him and the kid would become sad and leave.

Well I was in for surprise…Little Boy Blue was not interested in batting or bowling, he was just eager to catch attention. For a special reason though. He took two steps down to the sunken court and absentmindedly fidgeted with something on his neck. A faint glimmer of a gold chain. He jumped down the rest of the steps and landed on the court, sprinted to the disused basketball hoop stand and slid to the other side. Stripes noticed but played on. Faded Jeans faltered at the next ball and the ball rolled in Little Boy Blue’s direction. He grabbed it …actually seized it and the opportunity to catch attention as well. As he threw the ball back to Stripes he flashed a smile and discretely pulled out a chain with a small flat gold locket. Very very discretely. Stripes gave him an ‘ohh’ look and raised his brows as if to say ‘very nice, very nice…’He then shot the ball at Green Shirt and they all resumed playing.

Clutching onto his blue collar as if, would he let it open the chain would fall, Little Boy Blue ran to the steps. He sat for a while grinning and then ran up to his cycle and pedaled away furiously……to show his new gift to someone else.

Birds and Childhood Memories

Today I spotted a hoopoe birdie on campus. After years of having seen the bright black and white striped – orange headed bird the psychedelic patterns created by the flutter of its wings reminded me of my childhood days.

My Dad’s office has a really large lawn with lovely flower beds, that bloom into a riot of colours in spring. Purple yellow and pink pansies, hollyhocks, white and pink flocks, zinnias….oh and yes…Californian poppies my favorite!! I learnt all my flower names in this very lawn. In fact I learnt a lot on these lawns.

I learnt how to cycle, on my electric blue two wheeler with training wheels. When Dad used to get back from office at six, I used to shower and get nicely dressed and powdered tog o for my daily cycle rounds on the road around the lawn. It used to be grey tar, green grass and a spray of other colours on the flower beds.

I learnt that they are called flower beds, and that when the flowers dry the mali will preserve the seeds so sow them next year so that lovely flowers bloom again. I also learnt about flower buds, leaves and stems. And about myriad other words related to flowers….bouquets, garlands…

I also learnt the names of different birds including the hoopoe, while these feathered ones settled for a splash on the puddles of water in the lawn. I learnt the scent of freshly cut grass… and of wet earth.

Unlike many kids nowadays I never had bird or flower picture books. I had them performing live for me. I could see a bunch of flowers budding and blooming, the bees and grasshoppers flitting over the flower beds and the grass greening with the splashes of water from the fat hose pipe.

I wonder if my children will ever know what freshly cut grass smells like….if they’ll ever have the patience and opportunity to monitor the growth of a hollyhocks stalk and wait for it to flower……..

Roasted Coffee Brains

Barristaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!!

Grande Mug........ Dimaag Ki Batti Jalade.........

This is for the hundredth visitor to my site......................:-P

http://www.teamwlp.com/mf/congratulations.gif

really loooooooooooooooooooong shot!! 

Walk, Park and Life

Yesterday I went for a walk in the park near the hostel. It’s a nice place and quiet contrary to the common urban design lamentation of lack of active inclusive public space, this park is teeming with joggers-walkers in the morning. People from all walks of life (pun intended) are here, to walk and jog their life’s unwanted accretions away.

There were the old auntyji’s and uncleji’s with genuine concern of health written large on their perspiring and receding hairlines, there the younger corporate type Nike sneakers-tee-shorts-with-hands-free ones and then the very humble salwar-kameezed ladies with most unlikely footwear for walking. Some serious health freaks, some intiall enthusiasts and then there are also some who prefer to select a strategic location and practice an odd combination of taekwondo and karate moves; without a proper dress and with evident lack of interest. I place them as chance taking voyeurs. Basically there to catch glimpses of females but may not be getting much delight in ogling at middle aged overweight women. Overall, lots of people.

It seems so easy to stereotype them in typical images. Appearance and attire allowing me to draw conclusions as to what bracket the person belongs to……..the rich old, the young rich, the poor old or old poor, even poor young rich…..multitude of types. But then maybe the aunty in salwar kameez and chappals is actually very rich and snob while the snooty looking middle aged couple in grey are really amiable and down to earth. People I peg in slots may belong somewhere else and be someone else. The calm face may hide macabre cunningess behind it and the glint of wealth may conceal the pain of loneliness.

Faces and their stories may never match. What I see may be just what I look at, pieces of life of the people. The truth within these may lie beneath the layer of this jigsaw. A jigsaw of images of life and a roulette of life itself.

Okay i must apologise to saurabh and sandeep....you gyus were right i had not chosen the option of 'anyone' in the commenting section.

:-P...............sorrreeee!! now please go ahead and pur out your hearts content on my posts. Thanks!!!

my flower pot

This is my new, week old, pretty room mate!

pretty petunias 

Rainbow!!

If rainbows have a pot of gold at their springing point then this one would have it somewhere in Khijrabad. It could well be possible considering the fact that Khijrabad was the capital, or ruling seat of power for a short while. Its thrilling to think tresure buried below an urban village!!

I just realised a beautiful thing about blogs, posts and comments.....people can have parallel streams of conversation at a slower pace, something that is so rare in today's fast-tracked-high-tech-communications world.

Enjoyable!

Golu the cute pup and his kid owner

This pup is a darling. When he was brought to the hostel he was barely few weeks old...tiny ...actually miniscule animal with the softest paws I have ever felt. He has grown quiet larger now. And much more active........it is almost impossible to pat him and leave instantly. Golu has a swift front paw maneuver by which he clings onto your ankle and rests himself on your foot so that you cant move. Damn cute.

I can almost see Sorabh's "i knew this would come some time or the other look"..................:-D

suicide billi step 3 !!!! 

suicide billi step 2!! 

suicide billi!! 

auto ride to college

Its nice to start the day in a good auto...like the one yesterday with red velvet seats and a radio too. Even nicer to start the auto ride with nice songs playing.

Zaraa zaraa...mehekta hai...behekta hai... melodious song filling the already stuffed auto. I mean stuffed with me, Ruchi, Gayatri, Minal and Vinu. And driver too. (that rhymes) But while you begin to feel like singing with the song the auto has neared the T-junction and lots of mad people on an equally maddening array of different vehicles want to cross at the same time. That is irrespective of whether the vehicle before them has moved or not , and also obviously irrespective of whether the signal is green or not. So while you want to hum the interlude you are jerked out of the melodious reverie by a highly off note sound...followed by another and yet another..... as long as you are not completely back on the road and the music drowns out totally.

However once the auto is able to proceed after disentangling itself from the from tyres of cycle rickshaws and fenders of phat phat sewas wanting to cut corners, one can hear the end of the song once again. And if the song has already ended you can sing it yourself.

Honks...Bee Beeps..Preep preeps...Paaaaa paas....and some Trrring trrings also besides the primordial sound emanating from the big cars that happens, actually to be the bass of a punjabi pop number. Burnt fuel.....vacant and overflowing MCD trash trucks(since they smell equally awfull even if empty) and the brown of the landfill, grey of the flyover, green of the IP Park and the dirty white of the dome of Humayuns Tomb..and oh not to mention the sky blue of WHO building.....lots of sensual overdose.

My heart and mind get jammed with so much to smell hear and see right away in the morning. It is like a choking feeling when a gush of water is poured down ones throat. The heart starts to thump to a different faster rhythm and the mind becomes blind and deaf to any stimuli.....no colours shapes or sizes....it feels like just a film playing before your eyes which you cant shut off.

city of walls

A city with a wall around it….

Stone and mortar…high and mighty.

Cradling, nurturing life within it

Kites, guavas, bangles aplenty.

Protecting the city day and night

The steadfast wall, all breadth and height.

The city had a wall around it….

The same stoic face for both sides

The traveler sees it from afar

The bazaar is right beside.

Impervious but for the city gates alone

The long stretch of grey and hard stone.

The wall breaks and the city flows….

Seeps out of its cracks

Oozes out of its pores….

The wall breaks and the city grows…

To prosper in trade

To rise in luxury….

One step forward

Two in a hurry….

Meters of black tar glistening in the sun…

The city has mettalled roads now

Fleeting glimpses of the other side through the traffic

The city has a new wall now.

Locked shutters, vacant parking lots….

Sinister sodium vapor at night

Desolate by seven, unsafe after eight

But there is no stone wall in sight?.....

Beyond the rows of cars the glass door is open

Expensive, loud, sleek new mall….

But the lady waiting for her bus will not venture in.

Invisible but stronger wall.

The high wall and ramparts had fallen apart…

The hard stone had crumbled years before….

But now the city has built new walls

Flashy transparent glass and more..

The city had a wall around it…

A high and mighty grey stone wall

And now city has walls within it…

Invisible and thin …yet will they ever fall??