Baking Blind...

lonely planet photo competition

2006-06-30T15:51:00.000+08:00

Buffalo Bill?

This picture was taken in a village in Jharkhand, India. I had tagged along with a group of health care professionals who were on a camp, while I went along only to take pictures of the graceful mud houses of the region.
And when I was standing outside one of the doors, this face popped out.
After looking around for a minute, he stepped over the threshold and proceeded down the street.

one last dance.... Just for Aditi actually.

2006-06-28T23:40:00.000+08:00

I was planning on writing an obituary. For my blog. You know along the lines of "May its soul rest in peace... Fondly remembered by.. etc etc."

Then Aditi tags me. So I put in one last post, and do the needful.

I am thinking about...
Food. My alter ego is a gastronome and gourmet cook.

I said...
um.... nothing since 6 in the evening, actually! That's the past 6 hours. Not counting the sorry-s and excuse-me-s in the shopping centre of course....

I want to....
Make a really good film to send to this conference in Tokyo.

I wish...
I could get myself to bake regularly!

I hear...
The whirring of my flatmate's fan.

I wonder....
why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings?
(Sorry.. was I supposed to write something profound... like world peace?)

I regret...
Not having gone to South America on the Rotary Youth Exchange in 1995.

I am...
Bespectacled.
A girl.
An architect.
Owner of a beautiful red bottle.
Owner of a pair of beautiful red shoes.
Overweight.
Sitting on a chair.
Lots of things as you can see...

I dance...
I dont. Cant remember the last time I did except occassionally wiggling my bum.

I sing...
Off tune, loudly, and old hindi film songs

I cry....
When I'm feeling very sad :(
And when I have been punched in the nose.

I am not always....
Entirely truthful. And its unpleasnt being aware of that.

I make with my hands...
lots of things... models, linoleum prints*, crochet pieces, and very rarely sketches

I write...
Research proposals.. at the mo.

I confuse...
Issues, matters, people

I need....
Some tender, loving care? And a neck piece to match a recent, expensive pair of earrings!

And finally...
The tough part. When your blog's been dead for 6 months, its difficult to know other bloggers to tag...
*deep in thought*

*still thinking*

Nope, I give up. No one I can think of to tag. I am reduced to just drooling over recipes from strange food blogs, so I have to unfortunately pass this up. I hope Aditi's other tags have been passing the buck on more succesfully....

(* The artwork in the link is'nt mine. Just to give an idea as to what lino-s look like)

And with these words, this blog breathed its last.
May its soul rest in peace.

the blog that went to sleep (a.k.a. LAST DAYS OF YATRA SUMATRA)

2006-01-23T12:51:00.000+08:00

This blog went to sleep.

I sidetracked into film making for the semester, and the camera and film making dreams have been swallowing up precious hours. And from now on, my blogging is likely to be more intermittent than ever!

However, The blog has now woken up. And in a burst of enthusiasm, you are subjected to the last three days of the Sumatra trip.

I also need to wrap this up since plans for the Chinese New Year to be spent in Malacca are already shaping up!

DAY 10: BUKITTINGGI BECKONS
We had left off where I was getting into the ferry at Teluk Delam, headed for Bukittinggi- a nice little hill town in the middle of the Minangkabau Highlands, almost where we had started our trip from. We got off the ferry, got into a 'turis' bus, and then got off 12 hrs later at our destination. We checked into Hotel Khartini (delux when compared to the beach hut in Nias!) and were joined by a fellow student, who is presently studying the evolution of traditional house form of the region.

bridge in bukittinggi

sianok canyon

woven bamboo and lace

cinnamon leaves in pink

rice field hike

DAY 11: DRIVING DR. EKO, AND SIANOK CANYON
Dr. Eko was in town with a bunch of his students. We had a great drive through the suburbs (for want of a better description) of Bukittinggi, and were a shown a great many examples of graceufll houses. We all shook our heads and tut-tut-ed in unison on the declining popularity and disrepair of the beautiful rumah gadang (as the Minang houses are called) in the region.

For the afternoon, it was suggested that we take a walk through the Sianok Canyon that cuts through the town. A verdant.. ummm... well canyon, with a stream trickling through it, it made for a beautiful walk, and we could see green volcano slopes in any direction. Two hours of climbing, occasionally-wading-barefoot-through-the-water and plucking-cinnamon-coffee-and-patchouli later, we reached Kota Gadang- a rather well to do looking village. The walls were woven bamboo, but every window was curtained with lace!

We left the village and took a hike through some rice fields. It was nearly sunset, and we headed back towards Bukittinggi. Post dinner, we watched a traditional Minang dance and music performance- I anticipated something cliched and touristy, but was pleasantly contradicted. The show was well worth watching. (Should you ever find yourself planning a trip to Indonesia, and then think of skipping the glamour of Bali or Borobudur and venturing to Sumatra, and then decide to stop by Bukittinggi, I would highly recommend this show... It takes place near the Jam Gadand or Clock Tower.)

DAY 11: THE TOURIST CIRCUIT
We hired a car with two other Singaporeans, and drove off the take in all the tourist traps of Bukittinggi. We were shown a banana chip making factory, an embroidery workshop, manual coffee grinding, miscellaneous look out points, and at our request- some traditional houses and mosques. We got back to a tongue torching dinner of tahu goreng (fried tofu) with Padang chilli sauce.

great views...

hand ground coffee

the pagarruyung palace

minang mosques

DAY 12: DANAU MANINJAU
We spent the morning souvenir shopping in Pasar Attas, a popular shopping street in Bukittinggi. Our last afternoon was giving up to visiting a major attraction in the region- a crater lake of reputed beauty.

We just had to see Danau Maninjau before we left Bukittinggi. Some claimed it better than Danau Toba, and we just had to see it to believe it. We again hired the car from the previous day, and set off for another spectacular drive. One of the major selling points for the lake is that being much smaller, it gives a better sense of being a crater lake that Danau Toba does. The other major selling point is 44 hair pin bends along the drive from the hills down to the water. We went for a short cycling trip around the lake. The lake spread to my right, rice fields lay ripe to my left, and hill slopes contained the view. As with everything we had seen before, perfect.

danau maninjau from lawang peak

views from the cycle seat...

and a perfect parting glimpse...

I got back to Singapore with my appetite for travel merely whetted. Malacca and Java will hopefully feature on this blog soon! Till then...

tags: travel, indonesia, sumatra, photography

map that made headlines

2006-01-11T16:41:00.000+08:00

Sorry to break the Sumatra series. But I din't think my limited audience would mind too much!!

I have linked to a Cartography blog in the side bar. And I know that not too many people would be following the link...
But I found another interesting map mentioned in there- the map that makes headlines. Literally.

Take a look.

map that makes headlines

Out of the many, many newspapers that I know exist in India, I find only the Times of India and the Maharashtra Herald mentioned. Hmmm....

DAY 9: Lazy on the Beach

2006-01-10T12:21:00.000+08:00

From this point on, the trip had begun to taper off. (I say this not because my semester has started, and I dont have time for long long posts, but really, it had begun to seem like the end of the trip to me!)

The day was spent doing nothing. It was blistering hot, the beach was shining so that we couldnt look at it straight. The glare of the sand and the white of the waves was simply too much. I suppose all the sunshine was great after the rainy days we had seen in the past, but it also meant that we couldnt step out of the losmen. So, spent the day on the hammock, with Jeeves and a bottle of strawberry Fanta. We consumed some coffee, some fried noodles... and then some more coffee. After which it was time to leave.

We drove back to Teluk Dalam- the tiny port from which we had come. Having come too early, we settled into a small makan (food) place. The others had black coffee, while I killed time over a tepid Sprite. We were joined by two local school students. They said they often engaged tourists in conversation so that they could brush up their English! Happy to have a chat ourselves, we discussed the pros and cons of Nias tertiary education and other things, till it was time to get into the boat.

So into that ancient ferry again, for the last leg of the journey towards Sibolga, and then onwards to Bukitinggi.

Also, from this point on, the posts are going to get shorter and the pictures more in number! Yay...

the sunny beach...

our boat, in white and green

tags: travel, indonesia, sumatra, photography

DAY 8: In the Footsteps of Headhunters

2006-01-06T14:52:00.001+08:00

These headhunters were the reason I came to Nias. Their villages are among the finest examples of wooden architecture in Indonesia, and were in fact one of the reasons why I thought of Sumatra in the first place. However, a small hitch lay in between. These villages were located in the back-of-beyond interiors of the island, and if I wanted to see the precious wooden houses, a 12 km trek was the only way there. Having no choice- and a huge sense of adventure at the moment- I agreed.

We were dropped off by motorbike as far as the motorable road went, a short distance from the village of Hilisimaetano. Niasian villages were usually built atop hills, for defense purposes, since the villages were in serious rivalry and stood in the business of hunting each others heads. The heads were used for dowry, among other things, and eagerly collected. Now before you think us interpid explorers for venturing into such violent lands, the Niasians have long since converted to Christianity and head hunting is a thing of the past.

Coming back to the villages, the houses are built shoulder to shoulder, and the resulting village is arranged in a linear fashion along a grand central street. This central street was used for shows of bravery by young men and council meetings in earlier times; all we saw today is clothes spread out in the sun. A flight of stone stairs indicates the start of the village. Bawomataluo had the grandest entrance to any space I have seen; as you stand on top of the stairs, a green valley spreads out below and the bay is shining at a distance. If ever a place 'commanded' a view, it was here.

The houses themselves are built on massive wooden stilts, suffieciently crossbraced to resist seismic activity. The living quarters are above, looking out onto the street through a slatted window. Steps tucked in between houses led inside. This ensemble was topped off with a tall sloping roof (like a witches hat to give you an idea). The king's house in Bawomataluo was huge; it's roof was the tallest, the living quarters most carved and the stilts the stoutest.

What was as much satisfying as seeing the houses was the walk through the forests. Stone paths that went through valleys, hills and paddy fields connected the villages with each other. We crossed rubber plantations, coffee bushes growing wild and bubbling stream. Exotic as this sounds, its a hard life- every crate of eggs and sack of rice has to be carried to the villages along these paths. No motorable road exists between the villages and we saw young and old alike trudging home with essentials loaded on their shoulders. For the uninitiated like me, I found the walk beautiful, but often too steep. As I huffed and puffed along, more than once did I think 'what the hell am I doing here'! But then stream would cross our track, and we'd plonk down there with our feet in the water to cool off...

We got back before sunset, Mission Nias accomplished.

Some random notes on the trek:
Hilisimaetano, Bawogosali, Hilinawalo, Orohondro, Siwalawa, Bawomataluo... for the record, this is the squence of villages visited. Let no one say that I did not give out useful information!
We forgot to breakfast, skipped lunch, and did the trek on one coconut water, and four bottles of water.
Niasians are among the best looking people I have seen anywhere. No kidding, Well built, flawless skin, and lovely features.
One of the villages is believed to have a 2 mt high stone penis. I did not see it!

And the last (utterly useless) note: after the villages, there was nothing left to see or do. I had no choice but to spend my remaining time in Nias on the beach, with coffee in hand.

our trekking route

nias village street

beneath the eaves

houses, shoulder to shoulder

thoroughfare between villages

kids we entertained

and some...

kings house in bawomataluo

grand steps up...

grand view down

DAY 7: Just Nias

2006-01-04T18:13:00.000+08:00

We has barely stepped off the boat, when we had guys offering us rides to Lagundri Bay, the best place to stay in Nias and legendary as one of the best surf breaks in the world. We did take a ride, and it started to rain. We rode the length of south Nias enjoying beautiful views of the beach to one side and paddy fields to the other, and all the while getting soaked to the skin!

SORAKE BEACH AND LOSMEN POST TSUNAMI
Nias was one of regions of Indonesia pretty badly hit by the tsunami and the earthquakes a intervals. Much of the tourist accomodation-known as losmen- lies along the beach, where the surfers and swimmers head, and all of this had been wiped out. The acoomodation was very basic- single roomed ,thatched huts on stilts- but they were gone and tourism had plummeted. One year later, the reconstruction process is inching along, but many of the losmen are yet to find their feet.

Nias is also known for its tribal wooden architecture and a megalithic culture. These villages are built further inland, on higher ground, and relatively earthquake proof. They survived the tremors and storms while the beach huts fell.

SUN BEACH LOSMEN
Is where we eventually took up residence. Seeing the deserted beach, looking a little sad a low tide, and seeing the very basic room, I once again began to wonder if this had been a good idea. But my worries soon turned on their head... and one of my most memorable beach stays had begun.

Kofi susu (ground coffee sweetened with condensed milk) and fried noodles was stomached. We would have liked to rush off to see the villages, but seeing the distances and lack of transport, better sense prevailed and we took a stroll along the beach- our only activity of the day. It was perfect for swimming, but being unprepared I resisted. A long walk later and nearing dusk, we got back to the losmen and ordered some more coffee.

I parked myself on my verandah and sat and watched the waves. It was really the kind of evening by the sea that one longs for. Where you sit with some coffee and Jeeves. And watch the tide come in. And see the sun set, and the moon rise, and six solitary lights come on in the distance. Till the coconut palms turn from green to silhouettes and night settles on the land. Where you sit idle, till the mosquitoes let you sit no more...

In short, the stuff that mid-office-week yearnings and perfect vacations are made off!

paddy fields to the right...

lagundri bay to the left...

and the perfect beaches of nias...

tags: Travel, indonesia, sumatra, photography

DAY 6: On The Road Again

2006-01-03T13:20:00.000+08:00

Leaving Lake Toba was almost painful. The day had dawned crisp and windy. Since our ferry was only at 11:00 am, we spent the morning by the lake side, with the wind in our face. Just the sound of the water lapping against the edge, the scenery around sparkling in anticipation of rain and the clouds floating by. As a parting impression, it doesnt get more perfect.

So, leave we did. A breezey ferry ride to Parapat, and into an 8-seater 'tourist' bus for an 8 hr trip to the port town of Sibloga. Egg noodle and anti-motion sickness medicine firmly in the stomach, we started off.

Half the journey followed the trans-Sumatran highway, after which the road branched off into an equally scenic route. I would be repeating myself if I spoke of resplendent hills and clouds and forest, but all of Sumatra is just that- picture perfect! The highlight of this (apart from the fact that I again remained in the pink of health) was a hairpin bend we encountered towards dusk. Each arm of the hairpin was a tunnel, and each had a waterfall flowing over it. Being stuck in a small traffic jam between the tunnels gave me time to admire the view down the darkening valley.

Round the bend from this hairpin, Sibolga came into view. A patchwork of lights nestled in a valley. Before we knew it, we were in the middle of a bustling port, and another beautiful drive through the Sumatran highlands was over.

NIAS, AND GETTING THERE
Nias, the next phase of the trip is a small island off the west coast of Sumatra. The Lonely Planet calls it one of the most exotic locations in this part of the world. But considering the difficulty in getting there, and that the 'exotic' (isolated tribal villages in my case) would come in small doses, I was seriously wondering if Nias had been a good idea.

My doubts became stronger as I got into the ferry headed for Teluk Dalam in south Nias. It was a boat from Ben Hur's generation, or probably borrowed from early slave traders to the Americas. Economy class passengers crammed on to two 'shelves' running the length of the ship, while cabin class (viz. us) were shown into a cabin smaller than an Indian Railways 2nd class compartment! It will suffice to say that the cabin had one small window, the woodwork creaked as we swayed on the water, the sheets looked like mosquitoes had been squashed on them, and I woke up thrice from finding cockroaches crawling on my forehead! At times like this, nothing but the Titanic comes to mind. (OK, it was less horrific than this sounds, and a full boat does get accross three times a week...)

Morning dawned. We sighted land, and sensed the threat of rain from a dull grey sky.

(A very staccato kind of read... but then we did move from a crater lake through mountains all the way down to a sea side!)

locals on the ferry to Parapat

interesting silhouettes

Nias on a cloudy morning...

tags: travel, indonesia, sumatra

DAY 5: Matinee Show- The Daily Rain

2005-12-29T14:12:00.000+08:00

The morning was spent in walking to Tomok, the only intention being to buy souvenirs. I spent too much, on a few things, and came back feeling that I could have bought more. But the best bit about the day was a sense of familiarity that had set in, and I could sit about and soak in the place without getting restless.

Our movements of the three days in the anaesthetising Samosir had been structured by the comingof the afternoon rain. The day would dawn faintly sunny or dripping with early morning showers. The lake would be silvery and the sky likewise. The hills a uniform green, and to borrow from Wodehouse, God was in his heaven and all was well on earth. As the morning wore, it would get hotter and more humid, but frequent cool breeze kept us walking the kilometres between the villages. By lunchtime however, the real drama would start.

At the time of the afternoon coffee, I was standing on Bagus Bay water edge, and the hills in the distance began to cloud over. It was time for the show. Clouds began to cluster around and the wind became stronger. The water, rippling furiously, went from pale to pewter. The hills beneath the clouds turned a deep blue green, even a shade of charcoal. But for the display of colours, the clouds sent out only a drizzle. Standing below a beach umbrella, I watched as the sun peeped from behind the hills. Before me lay the deep, dramatic strom clouds and hills while the sun added highlights from back stage. The roofs that cought the sun sparkled while patches of green turned parrot in the sunlight. Predictably enough, a rainbow soon appeared.

I dint take pictures of this happening... I was too busy watching the rain! So just two photos...

bagus bay

my vantage point

DAY 4: Ambarita, Simanindo and Tomok

2005-12-28T13:24:00.000+08:00

Are the three villages neighbouring Tuktuk. We walked to these villages- the walk being as good as reaching the villages itself. Everyone we passed by, from runny nosed kids to young women, would ask us where we came from, and on hearing India, would burst into "kuch kuch hota hai"! I am not sure these folks knew their foreign minister, but they sure recognised bollywood! Apart from these curious folk, the other things we passed by were churches- the religion having replaced the animistic beliefs of the Bataks (and their head hunting traditions!), coffee bushes growing wild, paddy fields, and way too many hens! All this amidst the green slopes and glimpses of the lake made it a very pleasant 6-odd kilometres.

Saddlebacked roofs and similarly shaped graves are the contributions of the Bataks to the landscape. Built on stilts and in wood, these elegant houses are few and far between, and the ones that are, have been turned into museums. The gables are usually (traditionally) carved with lizards, a double pair of breasts and monster faces with bulbous eyes. I know the description isnt too appetising, but this is some of the most beautiful woodwork in Indonesia, and represent symbols of fertility and protection. The houses existing today are not as ornate as predecessors. The space below the main living quarters- among the stilts- is where the animals are kept. Then come the living quarters- a single roomed affair with a hearth in the centre- and then is a loft, where heirlooms were stored. Scholars have likened this division to their tripartite conception of the world; the netherworld, realm of man, and the heavens above.

The popularity of such houses has declined; one sees concrete houses with very little 'character' all over the island, but one can hardly blame the locals. These houses are single roomed, dark, gloomy and high maintainance- in short scarcely conducive to the modern living that the Bataks have grown accustomed to. Also, the religious symbolism seems outdated in todays context where Batak women are zipping about the island on motorbikes. One must hardly expect these people to hold on to their visually pleasing traditions so that foreigners like me can come and gawk at their homes!

ALEXANDER
The evening saw as back at Bagus Bay, and too tired to walk out anywhere else. I was standing by the water and seeing a jetty near by. It was the local clothes-wash-and-bath hangout. A group of kids were having their bath... repeatedly. Repeatedly, because they'd soap themselves, jump in, get out, run around the jetty, and jump in again. There was a nip in the air, but they could'nt have cared less. When the public ferry came by, they clung onto the ropes and rubber tubes and got a free ride some distance. These guys shared an easy familiarity with the water- they knew her moods and depths, and ins and outs like a companion of many years.

Considering that I souldnt join in myself- me being a grown up, and the water being bloody cold- the next best thing was one of the tiny dug out canoes. It was less than two feet wide and barely accomodated my backside. Alexander, all of 8 years, was appointed to row me out. I sat squat in the bota hugging my knees while water seeped in around my ankles. Alexander was master oarsman, while I was his humble water-bailer-out. The rim of the boat was level with the water. Not much splash, not much sound, he manouvered through what looked like liquid jade.

typical house

batak street (now a museum) with village council seats

king's grave- isn't he a looker!

gable carvings and moster heads

DAY 3: Danau Toba

2005-12-26T11:11:00.000+08:00

Parapat in along the edge of Lake Toba (or Danau Toba as it is known), while we intended to stay in the Samosir island in the middle of the lake. We had but begun walking towards the ferry terminal in Parapat, when we were ste upon by a tourist agent wanting to sell us ferry tickets, exchange currency and book a hotel. Avoiding him and a few others, we finally got to a ferry which said Tuktuk, our get-off point in Samosir. The ferry ride showed every promise of good things to come- the expanse of blue gray water, edged by forested crater slopes and villages. It was sight to inspire purple prose and paintbrush alike.

We checked into cottages in Bagus Bay, located bang on the water's edge, and our three days on Danau Toba had begun. But wait, I really must backtrack a little, and add a note on the geograph I am talking about. It will give you a sense of the place, and me a setting to prop my narrative against. Danau Toba, as I mentioned earlier is a crater lake, and the consequence of a gigantic eruption 75,000 years ago. Pulau Samosir, the island in the middle (a peninsula really) was the result of a consequent eruption. Tuktuk is one of the villages on Samosir, now choc-a-bloc with homestays, restaurants and souvenir shops, and tourism is the mainstay of the Tuktuk folks. There are other villages around Samosir (which we visited in the course of our stay) with varying remnants of Batak buildings and therefore varying touristic value.

Our first walk around Tuktuk, and a rumbling stomach, took us to the Orari restaurant overlooking the water. Now that is not remarkable in itself since any building on the island cannot but help overlook the water! What made the meal interesting was peanut sauce, and a weather change. I had been looking forward to trying some gado-gado, an Indonesian salad with peanut sauce. December in the season for rain in Sumatra, and smack in the middle of lunch, the weather obliged. Storm clouds gathered around the hill tops and burst on the lake and our metal roof. The far end of the lake went into a haze and then disappeared al together. The lake became a silvery rippling expanse. We admired the view, finished lunch, and then admired the view some more. Another five hours of this spectacle and we would have begun ordering dinner.

Evening saw us taking another walk, away from the lake and inwards to the island. Smiling locals every where, greeting us alternately with 'Horas' (the Batak hello), and Shahrukh Khan, kuch kuch hota hai, or Bollywood! One always hears about the popularity of Bollywood beyond Indian shores, but out here it seemed incredible. We eventualy even heard 'Vijay', 'Indian fight', 'song and dance'... quintessential images of Hindi cinema abroad!

We came back to dinner of Indonesia curry and rice and fried noodles, and some Batak song and dance performance. I must admit I din't enjoy the performance, the girls dancing did not once smile, and the MC was drunk. I have my reservations against such displays aimed at tourists. They seem to stem from doing/ showing what the audience expects rather than what the art form inherently comprises. But then again, this could be my naive prejudice against the commercialisation of tribal art forms.

Batak houses (which is what we came to see) seemed to be rare sight. We had harldy seen two or three authentic ones in good shape (I am not entirely sure what I mean by authentic here... I think my mental image was of ornately carved woodwork as had existed when the Bataks lived isolated from the world. Considering that, I was duly disappointed). We any how decided to trek to the neighbouring villages the following day.

Photos will have to wait... but trust me, they will make this whole write up better!

Update:

The photos...

Batak houses

from my window in Bagus Bay

season of rains- an approaching storm

lunch in the rain

walking inwards the island

nearing dusk

DAY 2: Trans-Sumatran Highway

2005-12-24T14:10:00.000+08:00

Less exotically put, this was the 17 hour bus journey from Padang to Parapat on Lake Toba, and a journey which formed the bulk of my apprehensions regarding the whole trip. But to bring all the exotic drama back, this was a superb drive through mountains clothed in jade green forest, capped with wisps of clouds, and dotted with gurgling streams and wooden village houses. If it stirs up images of idyllic rural settings with a flute playing in the background, you would've got my drift.

The bus itself- super executive, no less!- was a study in comfort; reclining chairs, 5'x5' cotton quilts, and doordarshan-style indonesian karaoke music. At times of course, the AC was a tad too cold, the quilt a tad too short, and the music a tad too loud. But trust me, within the larger scheme of things these felt like minor irritants. Every turn of the road opened new vistas, in shades of green one din't think possible, valleys nestled below and rain clouds floated above. The driver drove like his pants were on fire, but I have rarely been more comfortable on a bus. Even the foods stops did not disappoint, though that I really would'nt know since I lived on apples and biscuits. But they were awfully picturesque to say the least.

The west and north Sumatran highlands is a volcanic region (though a number of the volanoes are extinct now), and since it flanks the Equator, it is blessed with tropical flora and fauna. In this journey we moved from Minangkabau west Sumatra to a Batak north Sumatra. Houseform in both regions are known for their elegant wooden roofs- the Minang roof being more curvaceous and multiple pointed while the Batak roof is a saddleback shape, stockier than the former but no less elegant. In both cases, the exagerrated stylised form the roof constrasted beautifully with the rough and tumble of the hilly forests.

The approach to Lake Toba began at 6:00 am the next morning. Not for nothing is it the largest crater lake in this part of the world! The bus wound its way along the shores; we passed by villages and hills, while the lake would tease into view and slip out again. Covered by morning mist- and through slept-on-bus groggy eyes- the lake look placid, pale blue and beautiful. Not a bad start of a day after a night bus journey, I thought. A full two hours of playing hide-and-sekk later, we were dropped off at Parapat- probably the first tourists of the day.

And now for the good part...

Trans- Sumatran Highway...

... jade green forests...

...cloud covered hills...

...lake Toba at last!

Destination: Parapat.

DAY 1

2005-12-23T11:06:00.000+08:00

Here begins a winding description of the first day of the trip, where nothing much actually happened! Read on, at your own risk...

I had extensively constructed Sumatra in my mind before actually getting here. My mind was filled with images of the batak tribals and Nias Islanders. So the flight into Padang wasnt as full of anticipation as I had hoped. But an hour from Singapore, Padang and the highlands appeared- blue green ocean, blue green hills and green paddy fields in between. the anticipation took a turn for the better. The airport runway nestled in such a landscape looked picture perfect- the kind of image you'd use for a tourism brochure.

This region being famous for the Minangkabau people- even the airport was called Padang Minangkabau- one of the distinctive features of the landscape barring the ubiquitous blue green was the pointed roof of the traditional houses. Elegantly exagerrated, they are modelled after the horns of the buffalo. Starting with the airport, to the signange saying 'airport', the roofs were every where, but unfortunately a mere caricature of the graceful traditional structure.

The visa procedure was prompt, the customs check inquisitive but perfunctory, but it was the frankly curious crowd outside that created the image of a chaotic but friendly country. It was among these ever smiling people who spoke no english, and in unsuccesfully trying to get directions to the bus terminal, did the experience of being in a foriegn land begin.

Our intention was to get to Lake Toba- 17 hours away by bus, provided of course we could find a bus, and get to the bus terminal in the first place! Two buses later, we reached the Air Pacah bus terminal only to find the last bus of the day full and departing! Surrounded by non-english speaking tickets touts who insisted we take the tickets they suggested, we called Dr. Eko Alvarez.

Eko's number had been given to me by my supervisor at NUS. After a long phone conversation, we deduced that 1. Eko wasnt too sure about the bus 2. We had surprised him by calling out of the blue, and 3. We were to get to his university to chalk out a plan of action. We got back into a bus heading into town (Air Pacah was 12 kms from civilisation!). And that is where we met Rifki. It all started because I thought he looked like he spoke English. Turned out he dint. But intent on helping us, he called over one of his friends who spoke better english, and got set to accompany us to the University. In the meantime however, Eko came and took over our caretaking from Rifki. Even though we had blown into his schedule completely uninformed- and he was a busy professor at the architecture department!- he drove us around, got us bus tickets and a cheap hotel for the night.

We stayed at a non-descript hotel in a non-descript part of town. And we had indonesian 'pakora' (some batter fried snacks) for dinner. Nothing to write home about really. The highlight of the day- at least for me- had been the ready helping hands of Rifki and Eko. I for one, was very grateful for their readiness to assist total strangers. I have seen and heard of this in India, but here- and happening to me- it put my minor travel apprehensions at ease.

Cant honestly say I looked forward to the 17hr bus journey- being a confirmed patient of motion sickness- but that is what was next on the cards.

If you have been patient enough to read so far, you deserve a treat! So, some pictures.... to give you a feel of the place... and convince you of better things to come...

volcanoes...

...blue hills and green fields...

... the buffalo-horn roofs!

yatra sumatra- genesis and development

2005-12-22T10:57:00.000+08:00

In an earlier post, I have mentioned something about going to Sumatra this December. I just did (which incidentally proves what I wrote in the earlier post about it not being an empty dream!). Dreaming about the trip started a few months earlier, though preparations went underway just three days prior to departure. The itinerary was put together, a group of fellow travellers assembled, the lonely planet thorn tree forum devotedly consulted, and I was set.
I took off on the 8th of Dec, returned yesterday, and maintained a travel diary in the interim. So beginning today, I will post the daily notes, and you will be subjected to an unnecessarily detailed account for what I did, saw and ate!
But to bring you up to date with what went on before the trip, I'll begin with:

DAY ZERO

Why Sumatra?
Hmmm... I had read this excellent book on the anthroplogy of domestic architecture in this part of the globe. The people were tribal, the houses were exotic, and choc-a-block with intricate woodwork and religious symbolism. Add a couple of volcanoes and tropical forests, and there I was, completely smitten!

Tentative plans...
Now Sumatra is one big island, and based on the book mentioned above, I decided to visit three tribal concentrations- the Bataks in north Sumatra around Lake Toba, Nias islanders just off the west coast, and the Minangkabau highlands around Padang in west Sumatra.
So the tentative itinerary was to
1. Fly into Padang (with cheap tickets courtesy Tiger Airways!)
2. Head for Lake Toba by bus
3. Then move to Nias
4. And finally return to Padang.

Travel companions...
1. Tatonka: My 45L yellow and-grey- backpack
2. CoolPix: my ancient Nikon 995, an old faithful!
3. Jeeves: Ring for Jeeves/ Thank you Jeeves.
4. and a wallet full of USD-s!
It goes without saying that there were other necessaries and people!

So starting tomorrow...

DAY 1 of yatra sumatra

The Seduction of Poverty?

2005-12-06T15:18:00.000+08:00

These are some pictures from some villages in Jharkhand, Eastern India. I cycled through this area looking for diploma project at the School of Architecture. I cycled, I saw and I fell in love. The colours and mudwork had completely seduced me. I took hundreds of photographs of the walls, openings, roofs, central street, sacred grove. And I made some even more seductive drawings of what I saw. My efforts were lauded by my profs, who spoke in glowing terms of the colour, light and architectural sensibilities of tribal built forms.

Ananya Roy calls this the aestheticisation of poverty. The beautiful lines of the house form suppress the terribly difficult conditions under which the villagers strive to exist... the focus on aesthetics mutes the social, political, and economic narratives that underlie rural life. The choice of mud and thatch as construction materials is not an aesthetic consideration, but a financial compulsion. The building techniques and style may represent a pastoral nostalgia, icons of vernacular beauty for the urban onlooker, but for the builders the solutions were dictated by poverty.*

Nonetheless, the houses are beautiful. Take a look... and come, fall in love.

ps: No titles again. The pictures start from the village street and move into the house, and then some details.
psa: I really took hundreds of pictures... of 8 different villages... over two years. This is a tiny, tiny sample...

*from urban informality

greens that are good for you!

2005-12-02T17:14:00.000+08:00

Some more greens. Inspired by the previous post. I basically pulled out my stack of photo cd-s and picked out what seemed good to put in for 'green'. Its strange since for once, I was looking for pictures in terms of their 'green' content rather than anything else! Anyways, without further ado, these are the rejects that dint quite make it to the thorn tree. I decided they were still good enough to need an audience. So there...

Greens that are Good for You
(am including titles this time, coz 1. I think existing images of the place will add to the appreciation of the pictures, and 2. (shameless me!) I'd like to tell you where all I've been. Even though I realise the pictures are mostly Britain!)

British summer countryside... I really like the mustard-y green of the grass. Very warm, very Enid Blyton...
South Downs, Near Brighton, UK. July, 2004

The best church lawn in South England! No kidding, there was a sign saying so...
Village on the way to Brighton, south UK. July 2004

Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? Gruesome tale of Mary, Queen of Scots' lover being murdered in front of her... or something like that...
Palace of Holyrood House, Edinburgh, Scotland. July 2004

Giant lily pads. Singapore has some too, though not quite as 'giant'!
Kew Gardens, London. July 2004

Now coming all the way back home to eastern India...

A patch of green at a check dam. And taken from a helicopter, in case your wondering...
Somewhere between Jamshedpur and the Jamadoba mines area, eastern India, April 2001

heineken green

2005-12-02T16:35:00.000+08:00

The thorn tree forum at lonely planet is my latest internet addiction. They have a photography competition called 'picture this' and the theme for december is 'green'. So this is my entry...

Heineken Green

I took this at the Heineken Brewery in Amsterdam four years back. Its the wall display at the place where you get your free drinks!

review overdue: Storytellers Showcase 2005

2005-11-24T18:09:00.000+08:00

I have attended some pretty unusual events in my four months in singapore. Been wanting to write about them... but then, me being me, put it off for a better day. And now, the time has come the Walrus said, to talk of many things...

Storytellers' Showcase 2005

This was, believe it or not, a professional story tellers' convention, followed by a performance. (I dont know how it is in other places, but in India, storytelling is pretty much the domain of grandparents, who though are better than 'professional', the whole art is generally restricted to the bedside). Now here were a bunch of guys and gals, who spun tales for a living! But jokes apart, this group of people held captive a less-than-4-ft-tall audience of 500 -and two nerdy researchers*- for over two hours. We sat wide-eyed and wonder-struck, all the little kids- and two nerdy researchers*- as the artists wove stories from exotic times and lands. Their voices crystal clear, their stories that had come down generations, and quaint musical instruments transported us into a magical world of far beyond.

Roger-in-a-bright-red-coat talked of how the night was brought to mankind, and talked in between the other performers! Randell-with-Groark-the-crowd-winning-dragon stole the show, even with a cliched 'princess and the pea'. Sheila-of-the-lovely-voice spoke of how coyotes got their howl, and how Tattercoats won her prince (because he saw her for what she was, and not what she had!). Fran-of-the-north-wind-song (north wind, north wind, fierce of feature. You are still a fellow creature...) sang, well, the north wind song, and told of how Shinnabiz survived a cold winter and taught her people how to do the same. And then there was Jeeva, the-oh-so-hilarious-Jeeva, with her theatrical tales from south India.

These tales are more than just yarns for passing time, they give a feel for the people and society they are situated in. I particularly felt this when doing my dissertation on a tribal village (santal tribe in eastern India). Being an outsider, volumes of Santal folk tales provided a vital feel of the culture and sensibilities that I had missed during my fieldwork. Folk tales are not just simple stories for children- they are repositories of what a culture values. Look closely, and beyond the magic of far away lands, lie codes of behaviour/morality, do-s and dont-s of social structure, and the wisdom of generations. Tribal initiation rituals in most part of the world involve narrating the story of creation to the new initiates. This is precisely because folktales tell of a society's expectations from young adults, and usually in a very vivid, palatable form.

The study of folklore and myths (to the purists out there, I am mixing them up... using them interchangeably) has revealed common structure and elements within the infinite variations in the tales found worldwide. Claude Levi Strauss- a pioneer of structuralist anthropological thought- talks about similarities in the structure of the tales; of common elements which come together following definite rules. Strange as it may sound, tales from around the world have common elements/characters and sequences of events. Think of a few tales you know. Depending on which part of the world it comes from, it would probably have a protagonist who has to brave unforseen tasks/difficulties, a catalyst kind of character (old man/women/magical animal/bird) who will hold a key to the task... the section on myths in 'Structural Anthroplogy' goes on to identify seven such emperical characters and events. And trust me, almost any story you know would fit the description.

Two of my favourite collections of tales are "Folktales of India" by AK Ramanujam, "Blood-Stoppers and Bear-Walkers. Folk Traditions of the Upper Peninsula" by Richard Dorson, and my grandparents.

So the next time you hear of a storytelling event, pay twenty bucks and go attend... its worth every dime you spend!

* Refers to me and a friend who went for the event! An inconsequential detail, inspired by Randell's narration-" The Prince searched all around the world- and three islands- but couldnt find a true princess."

just a flower

2005-11-17T12:37:00.000+08:00

i have become uncharacteristically regular. three posts in three days... wow!
anyways, this one is just a flower. picked it up from outside the library. painted it on my desk. and dont know what its called.
but its a pretty flower, and the red is much brighter... like a shade of velvet.

cartography... and gangland chicago

2005-11-16T13:09:00.000+08:00

I have recently gotten interested in cartography (art of making maps, for those who...well... dint know...). In nicely illustrated maps in particular.
Maps really are a lot more than the outlines of countries on which you had to mark seas and mountains to get a decent geograhpy grade. The act of mapping a place, is in many ways laying down a personal world view. It is a representation of a mental construct of the places in our mind, well, actually the mind of the person drawing the map.
High school geography, unfortunately, takes all the pleasure out of maps. The emphasis on precision, of representing features of the world with exactitude, kills any possibility of representing the world as we imagine it.
Now you may argue that if were each to draw the world as we imagine it, why, it would all be different!
But that is precisely the point. Within our radius of movement, we each have places we frequent, places we avoid, places we love, places we hate. Should you ever feel inclined, try plotting a map of your preferred locations- of places where your memories lie. Get a group of your friends to do it. And you'll be pleasantly surprised to see how they each map their worlds.
This process of getting people to draw mental maps is a useful research tool. Especially when done with children. Since children tend to draw things as they percieve- with great detail and often without dimensional accuracy, it can give indications as to what aspects of their built environment feature importantly in the childs life.
Coming back to why I started this whole thing about maps, I found this most interesting one about Chicago in the 1930-s. This was the Chicago of 'Road to Perdition', the Chicago of prohibition and gangs. And the map depicts precisely this.
Take a close look. Its not just a map- its a work of art.

map of gangland chicago

what i learnt in architecture school (that anna learnt in kindergarten)

2005-11-15T12:31:00.000+08:00

my friend mira, has been trying to figure out where and when my seven years in architecture school will pay off.
i think it did. this morning.
i drew some trees... and pretty well i think.

for all you non-archi types out there, these are trees, in plan, waiting to go into a brochure of a housing project. this vegetation will attempt to make the project look good, and make precisely 'you' non- archi-types part with your nest egg and invest in the flats being advertised.

as an aside, my roomate anna thinks she will send her kids to architecture school. it's so easy... they teach you to draw trees, that she learnt in kindergarten! and even then i drew it wrong... since i drew no trunks...

so, anyone looking for a paint brush-happy illustrator?

them coloured folks!

2005-11-10T10:40:00.000+08:00

have been using a camera (and a good one- asahi pentax k1000, followed by digital nikon coolpix 995- and i know thats ancient now!) for eight years now. but like my blogging, my photography has been equally intermittent. so have decided to post pictures from time to time... things i like, or as in the previous post, photos i like...

i think i should thematize these posts- so one can get some coherent image of the things i am talking about. coz, these places are literally worlds apart!

so for starters...

them coloured folks!

some close ups... essentailly painted faces... from an india pakistan match, holi- our festival of colour... and then other animals...
and while we are at it- any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely conincidental. ha ha ha....

this one is just for laughs... and a beautifully painted face!

and the last one- my favourite- no paint, just a face.

and i defy anyone to adequately describe the expression...

konark

2005-11-04T13:48:00.000+08:00

these are some pictures from long, long ago... from a land far, far away... (well, far away from where i presently am at least!)
the technically inclined may say the picture quality is awful, but i think these are one of my best compositional efforts yet.
so, take a peek... this is the sun temple at konark, orissa in eastern india and the chandrabhaga bech leading up to it. the pics were taken a years after a devastating cyclone hit these very shores...

ps: havent added captions, hoping you'll just enjoy the pictures!
psa: i think the black and white, and almost sepia tones add so much character!

and now: the beach and some random others...

and my favourite: gentlemen holding forth...

psaa: i flatter myself by thinking someone would want to use these pictures. but should you want to, please do take permission. thank you

these are a few of my favourite things

2005-10-28T11:10:00.000+08:00

Aditi has written something about thoughts dying out (or maybe I got it wrong... should read her purple prose more carefully!). well, I almost wish at times that some of my thoughts would die out! Every waking moment, I have ideas traffic jammed in my head. If someone gave me a penny for my each of my thoughts, boy! I'd be a rich woman.

This morning was a typical case: wake up, discuss divya's marriage plans, and within fifteen minutes, I suggested that she can go to Palawan in the Phillipines, South Africa or Kenya for her honeymoon- all the suggestions coming with complete itenararies. Minutes later, Anna and me are planning to become nuns (since we show no signs of getting hooked, let alone married!). But nuns in Italy. If we must... might as well in a beautiful place. Then I could also become part-time national geographic photographer, since I would already be in lovely Tuscany. And maybe even run a bake shop... hmm the wine ice cream in San Gimignano....
And then... mind-switch! To the national geographic website I saw yesterday: they have some awesome expeditions... which start at 7000 USD apiece! So maybe I should stick to travelling by myself. Cant afford these expeditions... Mind-switch again... conference in Delft in 2007- maybe I can do a trip along the Baltic then. Wait, maybe I just travel Denmark... skipped it last time... But that's two years away! What do I do this December... maybe I should plan that trip to Sumatra. With that done, next summer I can do Saigon, Cambodia and then meet Divya somewhere in Thailand. Oh but wait, Divya'll probably be married by then...

Its barely an hour since i woke up... and I am beginning to get exhausted already...

On the bus to the University, I am mulling over my interest in vernacular house forms. Maybe I'll do a compedium on vernacular houseform in India. But then again, I want to work as a research and advocacy person on housing in India. But I also want to travel around the world... maybe I should hunt for a job with the UN...

Please do not carry the impression that I am a hopeless dreamer... I just allow all these ideas to stew in my head... and tell myself that a time will come for their fulfillment. Ok, not all of them... I mean, much as I'd love to, I really dont think I'll ever manage to become a marine biologist studying mating patterns of sperm whales in arctic Norway. But apart from that, I am pretty optimistic that I'll manage a good bit...

All my bright ideas mentioned here are among the saner ones. Wait for the next installment, where I tell you about my plan for the Trans-Siberian railway...

for jamshedpur...

2005-10-21T12:47:00.000+08:00

deleted a dead blog that i had for no reason... and shifted my only post from there...

queenstown will have to wait. i am bringing in a jamshedpur report first. this was a project (my first independent research project, if i may add) that i completed in march this year. it was a four month project supported by the jamshedpur utility services company.

jamshedpur is supposed to be among the 40 largest cities in india with a one-million-plus, and is probably the only city that size without a municipality! the paradox of this 'model town' having a large unplanned chunk (read mango, jugsalai etc) is typical of most industrial settlements that use an informal labour force. we celebrate it as the city beautiful, but much remains to be done in terms of urban governance and development. in this report, we did a historical overview of the planning proposals of the past (all incidentally predating Independence) and then looked at the situation of the city today. we concluded with a set of conceptual recommendations to be kept in mind when formulating a development plan for the next few decades.

the development proposals discussed were
julian kennedy, c. 1910... doesnt quite qualify as a development plan i know...
capt e.g.culpin, 1918... remained a recommendation
dr.harold mann, 1919... was a referendum i think...
f.c.temple, 1919... inspired by the garden city movement, plan did not include the basti areas of the city then
capt. p.g.w.stokes, 1938... implementation was cut short by WW II
dr. otto koenigsberger 1944... by this time we already needed a remedial proposal!

i am not going to elaborate on the analysis of their plans, but to put it in a nutshell, most of these proposals dealt with what was called the company town. there have always been, since the laying of the steel plant, basti areas which were beyond the jurisdiction of the company. every planner bemoaned the state of the bastis and the fact that they were growing. facilities within the town, as always, were satisfactory and of course, according to plan.

our recommendations drew heavily from dr.koenigsberger's recommendations. interestingly, i believe that what he suggested over 60 years back, is fundamentally sound and applicable even today. his suggestions seemed to stem from deep rooted understanding of the indian situation... but this is the beginning of another discourse in itself. coming back to the recommendations, we suggested the creation of a joint administrative body (ya.. ya... i am familiar with the hurdles, the problems with the government etc etc...), the formulation of a development plan which looked at by-laws, city form and the transportation network, and a larger regional development plan for the hinterland of jamshedpur. we also felt that greater citizen participation, allowing controlled private housing providers, a structured low income housing policy and urban design guidelines were important supplements to a development plan. only when jamshedpur managed or at least began to think along these lines, could we remain a model city.

idealistic, you say?

but then, dont the tata's always strive for excellence...

Mercy Petitions- Will they? Wont they?

2005-10-18T13:41:00.000+08:00

I abhor violence of any sort. Even the harmless dishum-dishum we see in Hindi films. World war descriptions give me nightmares even now-the Jewish Museum put me in a state of shock. And for many many years now, I have stayed away from horror movies, thrillers and the like. The thought of death penalty for rapists, child molestors etc, then puts me in a dilemma. One hand is a heinous crime they committed, on the other the fact that death penalty is pretty ghastly.

Why I bring this up is because of an article in the Indian Express, where President Kalam has recommended the acceptance of mercy petitions of all the inmates of death row. Death penalty is something I have never managed to have a definite opinion on. I even felt unhappy about Timothy McVeigh, basically because I strongly feel that no human being has the right to end the life of another- whether it is in the course of legal justice or as a consequence of a unstable mind. Another article- again in the Indian Express- somewhat articulates this dilemma- does death penalty drive home the fact that murder or rape is a heinous crime?

I am not sure. Death penalty would appear a deterrent to those with a normal frame of mind. I suppose murderers, rapists, child molesters are inherently characterised by some degree of unstability in their mental outlook. Perhaps they take a different view of the world, where gratification of desires of the self through any means is acceptable. In their minds, rape maybe justified as a need to show the victim who is more powerful, and murder may be justified as victim deserving their fate for some previous wrong. Or simply, these may be spur-of-the-moment acts, again hinting at an unstable mind. I wonder what a death penalty appears like in such a person's mind.

A criminal mind does not fucntion like a normal minds does (am I treading on sensitive ground here, since I may be called upon to define the 'normal mind'? In that case, I suppose I should just call it the non-criminal mind.) Therefore, I do think that what deters a non-criminal mind, may not necessarily deter the criminal one. So even if a hardened criminal is given a death sentence, there is no assurance that ten others have been kept back from a life of crime.

And having written all this, I think I have made up my mind after all. President Kalam has my full support, and I do think that death penatly should be abolished.

The Church of Our Saviour

2005-10-17T13:29:00.000+08:00

I have been moving around Queenstown, Singapore, in search of 'community sprit' for a research paper. As a consequence, I visited the local temple, churches, mosque, community club and even a taoist funeral! During my wanderings-around, I got invited to attend a youth service of The Church of Our Saviour last Saturday.

Interestingly, these services (and the church itself actually) are housed within a former cinema theatre. Somebody- when designing the town centre- was sure inspired by the Cinema Paradiso... though I dont quite think there is an Alfredo in a little room, clipping off smooching scenes from the reels! But coming back to the youth service, as I stood outside and phoned for Keith, my escort, to show me in, I heard loud music in the background. I thought the service had'nt begun as yet. I was shown into the house-full hall, and my doubts were cleared. There was this young group of musicians playing on stage, and the audience was swaying in time to the music. I had entered into a world of music. A young lady pastor was singing the service. Rhythm was filling every crevice of the mind, and one was being asked to remember to the Lord. Everyone around was intoxicated, high on the Lord, asking for his love, forgiveness, and feeling grateful for the bleassings of life.

The song service went on for about two hours. I did not saw any member of the audience fidget, or look at the watch. The pastors were singing, joking, and in general delivering a very lively sermon. The theme of one of the talks was on how to reduce spending time on computer games! The larger theme of the sevice, I think, was on having faith in god and trusting him in times of need. And for the first time, I saw such a service generously peppered with laughter. This service was meant for teenagers, and religion and the love of the Lord was not being sold to them as an agonising necessity of life. But rather, religious practice- the service seemed to say- could be a musical joyride.

Keith asked me what my thoughts about the were. I told him that I enjoyed myself very much. Services I had attended in India tended to be much more serious I told him.
This service is serious, he said. You probably mean more solemn.
Young Keith's defence proved what I had been sensing. This ex-cinema theatre was one popular church.

2005-09-30T17:31:00.000+08:00

The one problem with the CASA office- my office that is- is that I cannot see the sky from the window. We have large glass windows, but the view is cut off by a corrugated blind sort of thing hanging on the outside. There's a rumble of thunder right now, and I love the sight of storm clouds, but I can see nothing. I am forced to see the mundane goings on of a parking lot down below, and the intermittent bus stopping by.

Should I philosophise that my window to the world keeps me focused on trivial nothings, while my mind desires to soar with the clouds above? I want to watch the sky turn from sunny blue to powder-puff white. And then see the dark rain clouds make their entry to the drum roll of thunder... oh joy!

But all I do see is people park their cars, and hurry into their ice box offices...

I had this story book about Droopy Dragon- a purple baby dragon- who munched soft white clouds for dinner. I always found that a delighful thought...

Iris Murdoch says the only freedom of any real importance is the freedom of the mind.

Now, whats Ms. Murdoch doing in the middle of storm clouds? Nothing really. I'm probably trying to tell myself- in an irrelevant, unconnected sort of way- that what the mind sees has very little to do with what a window shows. I only need to hear a clap of thunder, and my mind's eye can fill in the the colours of a silvery sky.

In any case, when I bend over my office desk, and peep from below the blind, I can catch a glimpse of pewter grey clouds... my own mouthful of sky.

THE END
... now go home and watch the rain!

2005-09-19T14:47:00.000+08:00

Earning Her Keep.

This tirade is about women and financial independance. I find it hard to believe, that even today, educated professional women are comfortable with the idea of living off their boyfriends or husbands. By 'even today' I mean in these times of supposed women's emancipation. And by educated professional women, I refer to women involved in professional higher degree programmes that would lead onto well paying jobs, or being employed but not working for the money. And lastly, by 'living off', I mean taking someone else's money for paying your bills.

Financial independence for me, is intrinsically linked to one's sense of self-control and freedom of choice. A valuable part of your identity stems from the fact that you are able to earn enough for your needs. This is an identity forged not only from preconceived feminine roles established by society, an identity independent of relationships with any other male. A sense of self that comes from being able to do what you want, and not having to ask for assistance. And I would'nt be wrong in saying what a beautiful sense of freedom this is..

When I find working women saying- without hestitation- that their boyfriends are paying their bills, or that they are waiting for their husbands to buy them a vehicle, it makes me mad. You may think I am over-reacting, but not when the women I am talking about are masters or doctoral level students headed for highly specialised careers. And also not when you realise that they are studying not to get into highly specialised careers, but simply to bide time till marriage. Who ever imagined that a girl would study for an advanced degree in genetic engineering simply because her boyfriend was not ready to get married! If there ever was a section of society that was failing the cause of women's empowerment, it is here. It is these professional women, who under the pretext of being emancipated, educated and modern, are using their sex as an excuse to sit at home.

At this point, I will reiterate that my grudge is not against stay-at-home moms or housewives in general. I am not even talking about women forced to seek employment due to poverty or pressure. It is specifically against women who are professionally qualified to work but don't do so out of choice. I strongly feel that it is an injustice to their education and to themselves as women, if they believe that they have the option of not working because of their sex. If women want to be stay-at-home wives, they should not opt for professional degrees. When men study to be doctors, engineers, lawyers or whatever else, it is because they need to earn a living. When women study the very same things, why should it be any different?

Like some of my other outbursts, this too is leading nowhere. I just very strongly feel that women have a commitment to their professions if they have chosen to enter one. A commitment no less honourable simply because of their sex. Financial self sufficiency is a far better indicator of a woman's independence than wearing 'hep' clothes or attending the 'coolest' parties. Working women can and must take their roles as bread winners seriously. If not for the family, at least for themselves.

And that, would be my idea of women's equality.

2005-09-16T13:09:00.000+08:00

Predominantly Pink: My Take on Women's Clothing...

I dont know what dictates fashion in different parts of the world. Cultural predisposition towards notions of beauty? A desire to be different from what is locally considered the norm. Or better still, to conform and feel a part of the crowd? I dont know. What I have observed- rather briefly I admit- that women in England and Singapore like to wear pink. (why these two countries only? Well, they were the two recent travel destinations where I noticed this!). And when I say they like, I REALLY mean like- T-shirts, jeans, skirts, jogging tracks, bags, sneakers, strappy sandals and even underwear. Women seemed to have entire wardrobes in fuschia, hot and baby pinks! The other colour that came a close second was blue- not the cobalt and azures of exotic lands, but sky and powder blues. I wonder why clothes manufacturers so diligently patronise these colours. An unsubstantiated guess is that these colours- being gentle pastel shades- are considered feminine. Then why not lemon yellow or lavender- equally gentle and pastel to my eyes? Like I said, I dont know.

Ahmedabad, on the other hand - in particular the design schools, the elite, and the intellectuals- patronised a very different genre of fashion. Among these circles khadi, block prints, earth colours- Fab India in short- ruled the roost. When you wanted to look cool, you'd team a flaming red or aquamarine kurta with a long cloth churidar, and wear chunky jewellry. The footwear that completes this look (strangely) could range from adidas floaters to leather stuff from Rajasthan! And with a big red bindi and some kajal in your eyes, you were ready to be the most fasionable thing of the moment. Colour preferences were anything but muted- mustard, red, orange, aquamarine, with the occasional linen white and beige thrown in. Again I wonder what inspired these sensibilities- the desire to look 'ethnic'? This begs the next question- why 'ethnic'? Why not the 'western' look? Especially since this lot spend as much time accross the seven seas as it does accross the Sabarmati! (I suppose I must clarify that I use these terms in a pretty colloquial sense, and thats because I dont know any better.)

Another place where fashion interested me was a village in Jharkhand. Unlikely location you may think- but not quite if you allow fashion to mean something beyond the catwalk. If you can think of it simply as people's choices within a particular frame of space and time, then the village has something interesting. What is considered to be dressy in those circles is synthetic clothes! Handmade amdavad-style stuff is only fit for working! Men would woo their women with polyester saris and the women would proudly wear it out to the next village do. Add to this plastic flowers, imitation cosmetics (I even saw and elel 18 somewhere), neatly oiled hair, and you were ready in your sunday best! Their preference of colours was vastly different- purple, orange, fluoroscent pink, parrot green, and an assorment of printed brown and blue. Anything actually, as long as it was synthetic...

This is'nt really leading anywhere... and I am still wondering what dictates fashion in different parts of the world. My guess about what attracts us is whatever it is that we consider foreign. Or just a little beyond our reach. Singapore with its predominant Chinese population does not have a predeliction for red- a colour that others associate with the culture. It largely prefers branded, psuedo-American clothes. Ahmedabad, with its easy access to branded clothes, prefers the more-difficult-to-maintain cotton clothes. When you turn up in a neatly starched fragile handweave, it probably shows that you have the resources to look after such clothes! In contrast, the fact that synthetic clothes dont loose colour and are easily maintain is what puts them on top of village popularity lists. But does this out-of-reach-therefore-fashionable theory explain fashion trends? Isnt there something to be said about affordability, climatic comfort, personal preference? Maybe there is something in this, but then like I said, I dont know.

Missing in Action

2005-09-06T10:54:00.000+08:00

Ajit and I werent exactly close friends. But we spent two years in school together- both sitting together in the last bench, floundering through economics and science, failing the first physics exam of the year... and getting unnecessarily entangled in childish class politics. There was more than once when I thought he was awful, and I suppose he felt the same! But the two years eventually came to and end. And in that precious teenage memoir- the slam book- Ajit paid me a big compliment. We parted ways as friends...

I went on to never-ending years at architecture school, and Ajit joined the National Defence Academy; four guys from our batch had made it through and Ajit himself was headed for the Air Force. These were days of good ol' snail mail, and the neither of us being diligent letter writers, we lost touch. After two years of college, I was home one summer vacation, and the door bell rang in the evening. Ajit was at the door. His hair cropped short, stance erect and manners impeccable, only the drawl remained from his earlier self. It was great catching up with each others lives. The Kargil war was on at the time- and the passion with which he spoke of planes and bombs, convinced me that he was crazy! He suggested that he was learning to bomb houses, and I was learning to build them... he said he was living the dream that every little boy had...

We corresponded after that- very infrequently though. Ajit insisted on hand written letters- saying that they were more personal... but never got around to writing many! I received a long letter on his graduation- he was going on to become a fighter pilot. His mother wasnt happy about it; in his own words, "with MIG 29's crashing all over the countryside, I dont know how to convince her...". But convince her he did, and became a fighter pilot. He got his postings in various parts of India's troublesome borders. We met a couple of times eventually- during his rather limited vacations, and managed to exchange fragments of what we each of us had been up to.

It was two years since I had last heard from him- I was on a train headed back home. It had been on my mind for some time, to find out what Ajit was up to- where was he posted, what was he doing, who is latest crush was! I got home, said excited hello-s and started to unpack. Mom came in looking unsure and handed me the news paper- a MIG 29 had gone missing near the Bangladesh border. The plane did not have a tracking device- or something like that- and it had just gone off the radar. Neither the plane nor the pilot had been located. Ajit was the missing pilot.

The news made it to some national channels, even a small column on the front page of newspapers. But the discussion focused on whether the govenrment should invest in tracking devices for MIG-s - an issue that apparently had been under the scanner for quite a while. The reporters dramatically stated, that after YET ANOTHER plane and pilot missing, MAYBE the goverment should do something about it.

Through the entire episode, his mother sat and prayed.

Well, Ajit and I werent exactly close friends... but I want him to come back. I want to have our infrequent correspondance, the once-in-two year meetings, and I want to tell him that I am so proud to have known him a-while...

MIG missing for two days - published in The Telegraph, 22 May 2004

Body of fighter pilot found- published in Times of India, 8 June 2004

2005-09-04T16:19:00.000+08:00

To blog or not to blog...

Its no longer a question actually... I had simply been hesitating about what to write. Wondering if it was like a personal diary, open for the 'web' world wide to see. But after reading this other blog on polio-saas-bahu-ngo-iran-kishorekumar... and what ever else you will, it seems like it could be a window into myself. A chance to throw out the thoughts that drive me crazy, that whizz around my head every waking minute. It also reminds of the old old Parsi uncle, sitting in Ratan Opticals, so many years back. I had gone to get my umpteenth pair of glasses in less than 4 years. He observed me for a while and said- "You have a lot of potential- you could become an IAS officer. But you need to discipline yourself... start writing a diary. Just a page a day, but make yourself do it..."
So here i am... blogging...

"The time has come, the Walrus said,
To talk of many things,
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax,
and cabbages and kings,
And why the sea is boiling hot,
And whether pigs have wings."