Moving on, only to move again

It was her idea, of course! A nudge to spark the seemingly dormant creativity in me.

Recently, my cynical, nihilist friend decided to call it time on her spacious South Delhi apartment where she spent barely six months, as she didn’t ‘feel it’ there anymore; and, she wanted me to document her moves among the brown cartons while she packed her priced possessions.

It’s probably a reflection on our generation, which craves for constant change. We don’t prefer to own much, we’d simply like to pass through them moments, and perhaps, just perhaps, hold on to a few. One could argue that it’s a luxury our parents couldn’t afford. But does that mean our perspective is invalid?

This is just my cold brain on a Saturday afternoon when hailstones are lashing Delhi in the time of Covid 19.

Let the packing begin.

Who''s afraid of Travis Bickle?

The oven that never baked a cake. 

To them, loners.

A gift from argentum ad infinitum.

Voted.

If only. 

The reader. 

The readings.

And magical realism.

Her life, literally.

'That box to be never opened'.

Add caption - got one?

Almost done.

She's got the moves. 

Oh! Kubrick's still on the wall.

Coming for you, Vendetta.

Yeah, I've probably never got my hands so dirty.

Where it ends, it begins. 

And it goes on, in loops.

Ella's certainly adding to the ambiance.

"Didn't know I had these".

And then, the one and only, Mr. Tambourine Man.

Way too much talent in those frames.

So long. 

Pale but alluring January mountains

Until that Thursday morning in the second week of January 2019, I was only looking ahead at a possibly dull weekend in the crowded, polluted, chilly Delhi. I love the city, nonetheless. Come Saturday, I was in a sub-zero environment, in the Himalayas, surrounded by less of man-made and more of the natural world, thanks to a wandering wordsmith. I was hoping to borrow a few of those words too, but not yet. So, I leave it at the images minus the imagery. 

A lazy (every)day in Calcutta

(Disclaimer: I don't mean to call the people of the city slothful, it's just the city.)
It didn't take me long to fall in love with Cal! Let me make a confession, I'm weirdly attracted to chaos. I developed an instant liking for the mess that it was. You'd be thinking I would love Patna too, but that's a repulsive mess (no offense to friends from Bihar). Kolkata with its Victorian touch, photogenic streets, history, culture and food, quaffs you. The weary old city epitomizes 'laze' as my Bengali friend puts it. Kolkata and its Park Street has been the same even three decades ago. They just chose to let it be when Delhi and Mumbai decided on a makeover, he says. But that's why Kolkata offers a time travel into the past - bright yellow Ambassador taxis (they run just fine), trams and rickshaw pullers - details missing from other Indian cities today.

The legendary yellow Ambassadors with a splash of red.

Quoting a friend who lives in the city, "If you're in no particular hurry to reach home after work, take the tram; that's the only thing slower than a walk".

A spread of Kachori, jalebi and kulhad chai for breakfast.

Taking a break over Hooghly.

Goods move from Kolkata to Howrah across the Hooghly.

Labourers carrying goods across the river was one of the most common sights on the Howrah bridge.

Streets of Kolkata dotted with nearly century-old houses.

Bookstores on College Street.

The College Street Coffee House opposite Presidency College where Satyajit Ray and Amartya Sen were regulars.

Kolkata tries an Abbey Road but it has to be in disarray when it's in Cal.

Taking a ferry across the Hooghly in 1985. I bet it would look the same in 2030.