Turbulence in the vicinity....hang on tight and watch out for that 5th leg!

Tamil inscription on a pillar inside Angkor Wat

I saw this on a pillar in the topmost chamber of the Angkor Wat (the most famous structure in the Angkor Temple Complex)

it says: ...gangai jameen madu(rai?) jilla...The village head or zamindar of ...gangai in the Madu(rai?) district....

This certainly did not look or feel like random graffiti by any tourist in the last hundred years. There were many completely uncovered and more legible inscriptions on other pillars which looked like japanese or chinese or whatever. It was sheer serendipity that I happened to walk past this pillar and that I knew how to read Tamil. There were zillions of Japanese milling about and I couldn't get better shots.

In the National Museum at Phnom Penh I also saw an exquisite statuette of Lord Muruga (Skanda) astride a peacock with its neck subtly stylized like a phallus ....no photography was allowed and I didn't have money for the catalogue.

A stroll through Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Jan 2005

I am going through all my old photos and thought I would share some of them...

In 2004, I was having a terrible time at work and things in general were getting unbearable. So I decided to take a break.

I arrived in Bangkok by a night flight from Bangalore just as the tsunami was roaring across half the world's oceans, but I didn't know this then. I learnt about it only some 15, 20 hours later because I went to sleep as soon as I found myself a room.

In the following two weeks I went from Bangkok to Ayutthaya to Poipet (border town) to Siem Reap (Angkor), then across the Tonle Sap to Phnom Penh and finally Saigon. It was a slow, lazy wander and total value for my money in the sense that when I got back to my cubicle war I was sufficiently charged up to win some battles and improve my general situation.

The Angkor complex is a "must see before you die" destination...



But Saigon was the charm champ of my itinerary. What struck me most about the Vietnamese was that they seemed to have truly forgiven (but not forgotten) the past. The place was swarming with loud, middle aged Americans - "Vietnam Veterans" revisiting old haunts. The Vietnamese were invariably polite and considerate towards them, perhaps in deference to The Dollar. Perhaps.

Whatever might have been the reason for the equanimity of the Vietnamese, the truth of course is that this apparently peaceable, diminutive people engaged the most powerful army in the world for 20 years and eventually beat the shit out of it. Not very long ago. In 1975.

The Saigon General Post Office.

The Saigon General Post Office. The atmosphere inside reminded me of the Madras GPO on Beach Road in the seventies and early eighties. Designed by Eiffel.

Tender Coconut vendor.

Facade of colonial era apartment block.

War veteran. 

He was selling lottery tickets (note the bunch in his hand) and was completely chilled out - not anxious, not grabbing, not really keen on making a sale - and friendly. He spoke a little english and I bought a ticket from him more as a handshake of camaraderie than a doling out of mindless largesse. Cool, laid back encounter.

A peep over a wall...

A saigonese family having a quiet afternoon with their dogs..note the man of the house in the hammock.

A Rendezvous with Tutankhamun...in Vienna

Vienna was all spotless streets and stately buildings and sedate boulevards.



I was staying in a quiet, clean hotel in a quiet, clean suburb with a quiet, efficient suburban rail connection handy.




The "happening thing" was the Tutankhamun And The World Of Pharaohs exhibition that was in town as part of a world tour, so I went. It was a little weird walking through a re-created pharaonic burial chamber somewhere in the middle of Europe but the exhibits were timeless, fascinating. The exhibition was nicely curated with a melodramatic audio guide that captured, in a rather kitschy way, the sense of adventure that must have accompanied the so called "discovery" by Howard Carter in 1922.

One piece that simply paralyzed me was the bust of a princess with an elongated head, very similar to this one.

I'm not sure if this is a picture of the exact same bust that I saw because the website (from where i copied this image) says that this is a picture of a statuette in a Berlin museum. I couldn't take my eyes off her and I couldn't help thinking that this woman, this being, this sexy creature, MUST have been an extra-terrestrial.

At the end of the exhibition, as always, there was a merchandise mela at the exit. I'm almost a 100% sure that every single thingy in the store there had been "Made In China". So much for King Tut's Treasures and their impact on the future.

I stepped out of the museum into bright sunshine and started wandering around the city center. Everything was so orderly, so clean, so elegant. Everyone was, oh so well behaved.

Where did they hide all the drunks and the rowdies and the weirdos, I wondered.

Over a soothing beer in a busy cafe, I thought about all the famous Austrians I had heard of, or read about...

The list was quite impressive:

Adolf Hitler (yes, he was born an Austrian and took up German citizenship just a year or so before assuming the dictatorship of Germany);

Niki Lauda, the F1 champ;

Ferdinand Porsche, founder of the iconic automobile marque;

Johann Puch, founder of a motorcycle manufacturing company;

Swarowski;

the Rothschilds;

Schwarzenegger;

Another notorious one (after Hitler) - Kurt Waldheim;

And then, finally, to balance the list off - Simon Weisenthal, the Nazi Hunter....

Oooh!!! Not bad a list for a little speck of a country, eh?

Then, just like that, I remembered the Big Austrian Flavour of the Season (not Red Bull), but: Josef Fritzl.

Some guy in this oh so well ordered country does something like that in his house and nobody..NOBODY...not even his wife...knew absolutely anything about it for something like 20 years???!

What?

These guys are so smart and so "watchful" of their surroundings but they didn't notice something so serious; such bad ass action going on in their own backyard for all those years?

Was there an explanation?

Chillingly, Waldheim, an Intelligence Officer in the Nazi Army (the Wehrmacht), eventualy, actually, got to be their President as recently as in 1986?!!!! I quote from Wikipedia:

By 1943 he was serving in the capacity of an ordnance officer in Army Group E which was headed by General Alexander Löhr[6]. In 1986, Waldheim said that he had served only as an interpreter and a clerk and had no knowledge either of reprisals against civilians locally or of massacres in neighboring provinces of Yugoslavia. He said that he had known about some of the things that had happened, and had been horrified, but could not see what else he could have done.[4]
Much historical interest has centered around Waldheim's role in Operation Kozara[7]. According to one post-war investigator, prisoners were routinely shot within only a few hundred yards of Waldheim's office[8], and at the Jasenovac concentration camp. Waldheim later stated "that he did not know about the murder of civilians there."[8]
Waldheim's name appears on the Wehrmacht's "honor list" of those responsible for the militarily successful operation.

Fritzl was also an ostensibly successful man and an alleged authoritarian. Do these people perhaps just crave for authority to be imposed on them, I wondered. Is feudality genetic? Maybe there really is an Austrian Syndrome?

These were my thoughts.

I understand that stereotyping and bigotry are easy vices to acquire. Beery judgementalism is effortless and free, especially on a holiday. I know very little about Austria, Austrians or their everyday realities. Still, these were my thoughts and I share them here without apology.

I quickly finished what was now an uneasy and stale beer and found my way back to my hotel. King Tut and his Treasures seemed a distant, aberrant memory. Overall, it was not a very satisfying day off.

Rhine Valley Cruise Freebie

I was on one of those tourist trap Day Trip + Rhine Valley Cruise from out of, I think, Frankfurt. It was a hot day and everything was dull and normal until a big buzz erupted on board and on the banks of the river. There was this completely naked young woman just walking and running about all over the place around that park that you see. The locals were as perplexd and amused as the tourists. The woman was followed by a photographer with an expensive looking camera. It was probably a funky photo shoot for a product or a magazine.

And yes, the energy level on the cruise spiked quite remarkably after this interlude. :-)

A Rhine Valley Cruise

This post has been a long time in the making. Loads of weird and interesting things have happened to me since I last posted and I'll try to quickly catch up chronologicaly with whatever I can still remember.

Sometime towards the end of last summer I went on some official work (I still had a job then) to Frankfurt, Vienna and Barcelona for about 10 days. In between frantic meetings and mad dashes from hotels to airports to yet more hotels I managed to have myself a pretty good time.

Frankfurt was a limp, weary smudge of a city. The most famous landmark is apparently the airport and they have guided tours of the place...I said "Nein, danke!" to myself and instead took a guided day trip to the Rhine Valley.

The guided tour itself was a classic tourist trap replete with a witty english speaking guide, an insipid fixed menu meal at a quaint restaurant and some half hearted wine tasting. For some reason the waitress at the restaurant got a little frisky with me and even playfully lifted a chair and made as if to hit me with it. I couldn't be bothered to decipher her heavily accented english...furthermore, she was a big made Bavarian girl so I didn't get too excited.

The Rhine valley was an amateur photographer's delight with picture postcard settings at every languid curve of the river. It was the last week of summer and the Germans far outnumbered the tourists at all the restaurants and inns that dotted the shore. There were hundreds of families in cars and scores of gangs on superbikes ripping up and down the autobahn - everybody generally having a great time.

At one place there was a sudden spike of excitement when a stark naked, beautiful blond girl walked down to the shore and then weaved her way through a crowd of perplexed but amused holiday makers. She was followed every step of the way by a cameraman and I guess it must have been a photo shoot for a magazine or a TV show or something.

I shit you not about this - I have atleast one photo of the girl. But you'll have to wait a while till I load it 'coz I don't have a laptop at the moment (and why that's so is another story).

Shift+Delete! Marked for Deletion?

Once it was confirmed that the venerable - if rather seedy and run down - Plaza cinema hall would be demolished to make way for a Namma Metro station, there were reams of gushing, nostalgic reminiscences written and published in the local press about the cinema hall itself.



My newspaper reading is usually limited to The Hindu and I do not remember reading anything about this other, smaller establishment sitting snug in the premises of the bigger one.



Don't know why, but when I looked at the pictures just now, I thought of a "portemanteau" word (examples: breakfast+lunch = brunch; chuckle+snort = chortle; plaza+phoenix = planix? phleenix? phoeza?).

That aside, I wonder if this Phoenix too will rise again from the rubble in a gleaming new, steel and glass avatar peddling cheap, trendy, "made in china", plastic shit as opposed to the "high class horology, mechanics and engraving" that the sign board proclaims? Not likely.

Also, I personally know that atleast for the last 3 or 4 years there was very little horology - high class or otherwise - that was being dispensed with in this shop.

I know because I wandered into the shop one afternoon a few years ago to check if there was a horologist or a mechanician within who could repair this mechanical toy of mine.




All I found was a curt, middle aged gentleman sitting at an untidy, cluttered table surrounded by a few old clocks. He seemed to have a premonition of his establishment's imminent demise and showed absolutely no interest in my trivial problem. I remember being disappointed because I had naively expected a smiling old "high class horologist" who would somehow fix my toy with a dash of mechanical wizardry and a touch of old world charm.

But that's all that it was finally: a large dollop of naivete.

AND...this one here is a biggie that's probably marked for deletion too...the old airport about 24 hours after being de-comissioned.



There was not a soul in sight that night. Not even a security guard.

Now that this airport is the "old" airport, will the "Airport Road" be rechristened as the "Old Airport Road" to keep the neighboring "Old Madras Road" company?

Friendly Neighborhood Tailor - 2

In Ulsoor, coming from the Frank Anthony Public School, a bit before you wade into Trinity Circle, if you turn right into a very narrow street, you'll turn right back into the 70's or so.

My principle reason for occasionally walking this street is the Kali temple, about a 100 meters up from the corner. It has an interesting history and a stunning, powerful idol.

On your way to the temple, on the left, you'll see this tailor's shop that claims to be 87 years old.



I spoke to the current owner and he told me that his grandfather had actually established the shop more than a 100 years ago at the very same premises, but that the board was put up only much later by his father.

Everything I had said about the tailor in Chetput, Madras seemed true of this gentleman too...

His son was in the shop working alongside him and a clutch of grandchildren grinned and giggled as they posed for photographs.

In 2021, in 13 years' time, will the shop be around to celebrate its official centenary? Will the current owner, his son and perhaps a grandson, hang a garland on the signboard, burn camphor, smash a pumpkin on the road and then go to the Kali temple up the street to pray for another 100 years of status-quo? Will the world continue to stand still in this narrow street and just let them be?

I, for one, wish it would.

A Bonfire of Devotions – plugging into a Cosmic Concert on a weekday morning

A once sleepy hamlet revisited

Long, long before “Whitefield” became a bad word in the lexicon of ITES professionals wanting a piece of the real estate pie in the sky, this once sleepy hamlet on the outskirts of Bangalore was already a seasonal, red letter destination for a small, itinerant community.

For more than three decades members of this unique community have congregated here at irregular intervals – usually at least once every year – their migratory pattern decided by the presence of the unique object of their devotion.

They come from every corner of this nation and every continent on Earth. They represent every profession, every demographic and every segment of humanity. They all come here, unbidden, on their own and unite into one big mass of unquestioning belief. Some stay for days, weeks. Some come for a morning. But they are all united by a common, invisible, cosmic thread that only they seem to sense.

One Thursday last week I dragged myself out of bed at 5 in the morning and took a “call taxi” to this hallowed turf to see for myself how this tribe was faring.

It was a pleasant morning. Construction was apace for an “over-bridge” to replace the decades old “railway crossing”. A constant stream of cars, autos and buses ebbed and flowed on either side of the tracks, disgorging a stunning variety of people. Children, geriatrics, housewives, teens, self conscious damsels, poor, rich, in-between, healthy, weak, ailing, a fair sprinkling of Caucasians - they all hurried to join two gender specific queues by the side of the narrow road, along an imposing, kilometer long compound wall. There was very little chatter. A collective aura of shared purpose and subsumed individuality seemed to emanate from the congregation.

There was a small police presence but it was redundant. The crowd was too pre-occupied and too well behaved to pose a law and order problem.

As I joined the queue I saw small signboards directing everyone to deposit their mobile phones and handbags etc., at designated counters. At the mobile phone counter I was given a token in lieu of my phone.

The “volunteers”

As my queue entered the gates, an animated group of men dressed in white shirts and trousers thoroughly frisked everyone. Everything except wallets and keys was politely confiscated and thrown pell-mell into cardboard cartons.

There was a sizeable army of these white clad individuals about. Most of them wore blue, patterned, boy-scout style scarves around their necks. Average age: 55 or 60. They were everywhere, watching over the crowd. These were the “volunteers”, members of the “service brigade”. There were dozens of them and they were the only aberration in an otherwise other-worldly morning.

A few meters from the entrance there was a huge covered hall bigger than a football field. It was divided into two roughly equal parts and the crowd filed into the near half in two ever disciplined, gender specific streams. There was another round of metal detector walk through and frisking before entering the hall.

Once inside, the crowd sat down cross-legged on the cemented floor in long, disciplined rows. There was still very little chatter. The atmosphere was charged with expectation.

The whole scene, I thought, was what it might be like before a mega prison concert.

And the “volunteers” played the role of jailors to perfection. Some of them were downright ridiculous in the manner that they directed the crowd while others bordered on the perverse. I saw one of the “volunteers” station himself at a spot and point at his feet directing some people who had just entered the hall to come and start a fresh line. The moment the first person sat down at the spot, the “volunteer” moved a couple of feet to his right and again pointed to his feet. The man who had sat down at the originally indicated spot uncomplainingly got up and again sat down at the new location, followed by the dozen or so people who had half formed a new line behind him. The “volunteers” indulged in several such antics throughout the couple of hours we were there.

The crowd however was impervious to the constant jabbering of the “volunteers”. They fretted a bit but were strangely self absorbed, like patients in a doctor’s waiting room.

The “lottery”, the rest of the wait and the concert

By 8 AM the ante-hall had filled up nicely. There must have been more than 3000 people, all sitting cross-legged in nice straight lines on the cement floor. One of the volunteers walked down the front of the rows and asked the first person in each row to pick a numbered coupon from a bag or box or something. This was the “lottery”. The different lines would be let into the still empty front half of the hall in the order of the numbers chosen. There must surely be some method and reason to this but it beats me.

Anyway, my line finally got its turn to get up and troop into the front hall where we all again sat down on the floor. The crowd was a whisper more restless than before with a heightened sense of expectation. My legs were beginning to ache from sitting cross-legged and I desperately wanted to stand up and stretch. But I felt sheepish when I saw all the others around me bearing their discomfort with equanimity. I squirmed and wriggled a bit but otherwise held my peace.

Suddenly, a brief split-moment of silence descended on the congregation and the next instant a clear, beautiful, lilting female voice from somewhere in the front row filled the hall with a devotional song – a bhajan. When the first pristine line had been sung, the entire gathering repeated it in one harmonious voice. All my impatience and fretting disappeared. The music filled me from all sides like a cocoon, a womb.

And then He appeared from behind a curtained doorway on the distant stage – a frail figure in a bright orange dress, with his trademark halo of hair, sitting in a wheelchair pushed by two young men. They carefully maneuvered the wheelchair to the center of the stage and sat down on either side at the feet of Satya Sai Baba.

Everybody was craning to get a clear view of the distant figure. Every single person in that hall was totally focused on this, the object of their absolute devotion. They were in rapture.

The music continued with increased fervor and passion - thousands of voices singing as one. I could hear and feel the collective force of a myriad passions meshing and melding and fusing together before being consummated in the infinite grace emanating from that frail presence on the distant stage.

This cosmic concert went on for a good 45 minutes. Song after song washed over me and I did not take my eyes off the stage. “Swamy” sat listening and gazing over the crowd, occasionally moving his hands in time with the music. He once bent to say something to one of the men seated at his feet.

After what seemed to me a moment, an eternity, at an unseen cue, the concert ended and they wheeled him away.

As disciplined as ever, the crowd dispersed but there was a slight bottleneck at the exits. The volunteers weren’t around to regulate the reverse flow. Even if they had been around, I would have forgiven them their trespasses that morning.

That morning, I felt as if I had touched a small fragment of Infinity.

Sip Sam Seh

This is an ancient Korean song about the spiritual, physical, metaphysical and combative aspects of martial arts training.


Never neglect any of the Sip Sam Seh,
The source of the will is in the waist,
Pay attention to the slightest change from full to empty,
Let energy flow through the whole body continuously,
Stillness embodies motion, motion stillness,
Seek stillness in motion,
Surprising things will happen when you meet your opponent,
Give awareness and purpose to every movement,
When done correctly all will appear effortless,
At all times pay attention to the waist,
Relaxed clear awareness of abdomen, the energy can be activated,
When the base of the spine is erect, energy rises to the top of the head,
The body should be flexible,
Hold the head as if suspended from a string,
Keep alert and seek the meaning and purpose of your art,
Bent and stretched, open and closed,
Let nature take its course,
Beginners are guided by oral teaching,
Gradually one applies himself more and more,
Skill will take care of itself,
What is the main principle of the martial arts?
The mind is the primary actor and the body the secondary one,
What is the purpose and philosophy behind the martial arts?
Rejuvenation and prolonging of life beyond the normal span,
So an eternal spring,
Every word of this song has enormous value and importance,
Failing to follow this song attentively, you will sigh away your time.

A “Tang Soo Do” Bandicoot - Me!

Hey! I’m back! Lots of interesting things happening and there are several pieces that I’m working on, but I didn’t want to post stuff just for the sake of posting… so.

This morning though, I had a compelling reason to sit down and write…

Today is a particularly happy day for me. Today is the day I received my Orange Belt (the first level) in Tang Soo Do.

I have been learning this martial art for almost a year now, but with some breaks in between. Why and how I came to do this, you’ll read a little later on.

I do not know what images a “martial arts class” evokes in you. Perhaps a scene out of “Enter The Dragon”, with lots of h.a.r.d. types endlessly repeating punches and kicks, extreme macho types breaking piles of burning bricks with their bare hands, and alpha males sparring with precise, lethal moves and blows?

Enter the Dragon

Well, the classes I attend are very different. My instructor is a soft spoken lady who needs glasses to read. Make no mistake, though… she can break boards, burning bricks and bones with the best of them - she is a second degree black belt. She is just likely to do the destruction more gracefully.

Her daughter is 10 years old and the only reason she hasn't received her black belt as yet is that she needs to be at least 12 to officially get one. She’s been waiting 2 years already!

Classes last about 90 minutes and are held thrice a week in a spotless, well ventilated hall awash with natural light. When you look out of the big windows you see quite a bit of greenery around.



A typical class starts with the students - the majority of them ladies - lining up according to seniority and doing a few minutes of “chi” breathing.

At the end of this, the instructor and the students bow to each other and then everyone salutes the school flag by crossing the right hand, palm down, across the left chest. Then we all sit down for several minutes of meditation with our eyes closed.

We come out of meditation, stand up and then the real action starts – we do about 30 to 40 minutes of stretching and other strengthening exercises. At this point the instructor gives us a minute’s break to drink some water and when we come back we learn and practice punches, kicks, blocks, moving drills, sparring routines and combinations of all these for another 30 or 40 minutes.

At the end of this we salute the flag and sit down for another short session of meditation to bring the body rhythm back to “normal”. When we come out of closing meditation we stand up and repeat aloud the 5 codes and 7 tenets of Tang Soo Do:

• Loyalty to country
• Obedience to parents
• Honor friendship
• No retreat in battle
• In fighting, choose with sense and honor
• Integrity
• Concentration
• Perseverance
• Respect & Obedience
• Self-Control
• Humility
• Indomitable Spirit

I really love that part. The words tease and awaken something deep inside me. We all then raise our right hand in a fist, with the our left hand crossed across our stomach, and happily cry “Tang Soo!”and clap like children, for the sheer joy of feeling so alive.

Finally, we walk up to our instructor in a single file, in the order of our seniority, bow, make eye contact, smile, shake her hand, and quietly say “thank you” in Korean before dispersing.

There is soft, pleasant music always playing from a Bose i-pod port but I am seldom consciously aware of it during the 90 minutes of class. There is almost no chatting between students during class. There is an elegant protocol that governs every activity, every move we make while inside the training hall. The instructor is as patient as the hills but she can also be as tough as nails. In any given class, there are usually all levels of students - from rank beginners to fairly senior ones – and everybody gets the attention they require. Some classes are quite relaxed but some are brutal. But they are all invariably fun. Well, that’s the kind of martial arts class I go to.

As in most martial arts, in TSD too there is a system of colored belts to measure the progress of a student. Beginners wear white belts and the first color belt they test for is the Orange Belt. This usually happens after three to six months of training.

The instructor is the only person who decides if a student is ready for a test. It is not a student’s birthright and he or she cannot request, much less demand, to be tested. Tests are held roughly once in three months on a weekend morning. A notice is put up a week earlier with the names of the students appearing for the test and the level they would be testing for. Also, for each level there is a small written assignment to be submitted in advance. The subject for the first level assignment is “Why do I do Tang Soo Do?”

My test was scheduled for early April; I submitted my assignment, paid the test fees and couldn’t wait to get my first colored belt. I started picturing myself proudly wearing my Orange Belt in class.

I would have to tell all my friends about it. Tell my parents, too. Perhaps post a small, smug piece on my blog about it….

And then, a few days before the test day, I injured my foot during training and had to sit the test out. This was the second time I was missing a test. I was disappointed, but well, tough luck! Now I would have to wait for the next test in three months’ time. I resigned myself to more days of not learning any new techniques. It would soon be almost a year since I joined the class.

But this morning, the unexpected happened. I walked into class a few minutes late and vaguely sensed an increased focus on me from the instructor. Her daughter, who never trains with our morning class, was present. As I took my place in class, the instructor specifically asked me how I was feeling. I realized then that it was my test day!

Very occasionally, an unannounced test is held for one or more students who missed the scheduled test for whatever reason. My instructor, in her wisdom, had decided to accord me the privilege of being tested in the course of a regular class!

Tests are very challenging. But if you are expecting it, then it’s more or less OK. On the other hand, when it’s sprung on you on a Friday morning, with your mind already hazily zooming in on potential, delicious weekend excesses…then it’s…tough! On test day, all hell breaks loose.

Also, the poor co-students, especially the new ones who have never tested before, get caught unawares in the storm along with you… a little rain must fall into each life…;-)

And thus, this morning, I walked out after class, exhausted, drained, spent but at the same time energized, excited, ecstatic – the proud owner of a brand new Orange Belt!

I couldn’t stop smiling the whole day long and couldn’t wait to write all this down and share it with you!




Tang Soo!!!!!

Ganja Boys

At the stroke of midnight, one day last week, these cyclerickshaw-walahs were smoking kaya on a Madras pavement. The one on the left was in a particularly boisterous mood and started whistling and dancing a jig when I started making photographs…

For thousands like them, the pavement is their universe. You can see several generations of several families in clusters all over North Madras (where I grew up) and other poor pockets in the rest of the city. They live in the open and when it rains they huddle under the awnings of nearby shops or public buildings like schools and marriage halls.

The one defining characteristic of their lifestyle that springs to my mind is the periodic, high decibel, ganja and booze fuelled quarrels that break out between families. The protagonists are usually the women folk and the main topic of discussion during these quarrels is the sexual history of various members of the feuding families.

I learnt all the really colorful parts of my Tamil by listening to them as a child…

This too shall pass?

This regal octogenarian was quietly watching the world go by last Sunday at Ulsoor, Bangalore.

I approached him and asked if I could take his photograph. He looked at me for a few seconds and then with a wave of his hand said “Take as many photos as you want…”
After I had taken the photo he quizzed me about (1) Where I lived (2) Where I worked (3) Whether I was married (4) Where my parents lived and (5) My caste.

I provided a verbal, 5 minute resume and was bidding goodbye to him when a young chap ran up and asked “Uncle, why you taking my grandfather’s photo?”

“Coz’ he looks good,” I replied, with a smile. “In fact, he looks better than you do!”

“Then you take one photo of me also with him!”
He commanded his grandfather to pose with him, and after the photo was taken, pointed out his house to me and made me promise to bring him copies of the photos.

Purveyor of Destinies

This guy has been purveying dreams and destinies with his sci-fi assistant for about ten years at this spot on Mount Road, Madras.

The board in Tamil reads “Computer Astrology Rs.5”. (“Computer” has been transliterated.)

You pay him Rs.5 and name your star sign. He hands you a headset which you put on and you can listen to a recorded message detailing what the future has in store for you.

From the look on the face of this young customer, the message is probably inspirational. If it helps him face the rest of the day – or the rest of his life – with a spring in his step and a song on his lip, then why not?

Friendly Neighborhood Bespoke Tailor

Internet Banking, Cheap Airfares, Million Rupee Paypacks, Chilean Wines and Italian Cheeses, Lifestyle Diseases and Aspirational Angst...seem to have left this guy unscathed, though! Harrington Road, Madras.

Random Images from Bangalore

This cobbler from Tamil Nadu told me that he had been plying his trade for the last 30 years at more or less the same spot on CMH Road. I intend to do a small video of his manual magic someday.

This was near Ulsoor. I believe that the cart is a ceremonial "chariot" used for temple processions. The able bodied gentleman and a couple of his friends had "borrowed" it for a little moonlight transportation service.

I love dogs.

I also love tigers and hawks and sharks, I guess. But dogs, man….. I simply LOVE the creatures and I think they love me too. I have made friends with weird, neurotic canine bastards at 2 in the morning on strange deserted streets, I've met totally lovable ones and dainty doggies and haughty ones too. And I do believe that I communicate at a special level with dogs. Look at this Bengalooru St. Bernard looking at me, for example. I met her off Bannerghata Road…..Tia is her name, her seedy looking ‘owner” told me. May she live long and live happy.