The Shutter Speed Journal

The Last Dragon Dance

2012-01-13T21:38:00.000+05:30

Images from the Beijing Opera's performance at the Kamani Auditorium in New Delhi, India on thursday.
Incredible performers and beautiful choreography.

Photographs by Tashi Tobgyal/ Indian Express

India's backyard Rail Odyssey!

2011-12-22T23:25:00.001+05:30

One hell of a train Journey.... Click on Post Title to watch slideshow..
http://www.indianexpress.com/on-vivek-express/

Backstage Phantoms

2011-10-05T23:10:00.002+05:30


A small photographic preview into a Ram Lila setup in New Delhi, Oct 2011

Highway to Hell

2011-03-01T01:36:00.000+05:30

This isn't anything near to a grate picture, but then I just thought I did like to share this with you for just a significant piece of information. I do travel in this milestone of a thing that we have in the city, just that the chaos now forms the essence of the routes. Issues, that aren't deemed anything now, but those that we shall be cursing soon. And in all this , big rail corporations are selling off the chaos into dividends to corporate cannibals. Wait and watch.... Refer to the Airport Express...

Crisis in Exile : The story of the karmapa

2011-03-01T01:26:00.000+05:30

They come carrying photographs of the Karmapa, some have his picture strapped to their heads, others come bearing bright yellow and pink plastic flowers. The long march of over a thousand people winds its way down the hills in the hot sun, past the snow-capped Dhauladhar ranges. Monks, students, women, youth and the elderly all walk down about 15 kilometres from McLeodganj, the home of the Dalai Lama, to the Gyuto monastery in Sidhbari, the transitory home of Ogyen Drodul Trinley Dorje, the 17th Karmapa—and the current seat of controversy.
The prayer hall inside the monastery is a picture of calm. There is a reverential hush as devotees walk in. An old woman who wants to make a Rs. 20 offering but has no change, puts a Rs. 50-note and takes back Rs. 30 from the pile. In the small mounds of offerings that people have left behind are currency notes from all over the world. Amidst the Indian rupees and the dollar bills stands a nonchalant Chinese yuan note—the currency whose recovery in the monastery was responsible for a round of allegations about the Karmapa being a Chinese spy.
Outside, the steps and the courtyard of the yellow and maroon monastery fill up with devotees. Wednesday and Saturdays are when the Karmapa gives a public audience and today, a Wednesday, apart from the usual visitors are those who have come to express solidarity with the Karmapa.
And then, he finally appears. As he speaks, the crowd—with devotees in large numbers from Kinnaur, Lahaul-Spiti, Ladakh and from other parts of the country as well as abroad—hangs on to his words. His address in Tibetan is short and he talks about the controversy swirling around him.

Untitled Panoramics

2010-12-06T01:46:00.003+05:30


Durga Visarjan at the ghats of the Yamuna river in Delhi, during one of India;s most vibrant religious celebration, the durga puja towards Autumn. Photograph by Tashi Tobgyal

Somersault City

2010-10-29T01:07:00.000+05:30

http://static.indianexpress.com/frontend/iep/Gymcity/index.html

The White Melodies...

2010-09-20T16:30:00.000+05:30

Nyen Karpo from Samridhi Thapliyal on Vimeo.

PinkPurple!

2010-05-02T21:00:00.002+05:30

May Day! May Day!

2010-05-01T22:54:00.006+05:30

Just coursing through the city's insides on the International Labors day, I was not at all amazed to know that much of the migrant Laborers that I spoke to.... Many didnt know what the International Labor day was...

Notes From an Oracle!

2010-03-13T21:07:00.003+05:30

Every year, at the Tenshug ceremony at the Namgyal monastery in Mcleodganj, Dharamsala, the future is summoned. The “state” oracles of the Tibetan government in exile invoke spirits and are rewarded with visions of what lie ahead. It is a ceremony packed with political portent and attended by the Dalai Lama. This year, it was a more elaborate affair as it marked 50 years of exile for the Tibetan people. Freedom or the absence of it was on many minds. “It has become more important for us to stand united, to believe in freedom, to stand by the Dalai Lama. The battle is not over yet. Fifty years is not the end of the time,” said Tenzin Thinlay, a Toronto-based Tibetan.
A huge crowd assembled to watch the ceremony last week. Many had arrived from Tibet and were in tears at the sight of the Dalai Lama. As part of the ceremony, Tsering Chenga, a woman oracle, led the other oracles into a trance. Their cryptic utterances will then be framed into predictions for the year. Amid the reaffirmation of faith, the young also spoke about their confusion. “People like me are stuck in between a belief in freedom and the lack of complete awareness. But it’s up to us. We are the future, it’s us who are the predictions. I am a musician, and for now music is what I give for my country,” said Tenzin Jigme, lead guitarist with the Tibetan rock band JJI exile brothers.

The Highway to Agra

2010-02-06T20:21:00.005+05:30

The Yamuna Expressway is among one of the largest Infrastructure project underway in India. A road that shall play shortcut from New Delhi and Agra by 90 mins. To know more of the story, Click the title of this post. A Multimedia slideshow presentation.

Sometimes in Between!

2009-11-05T20:24:00.002+05:30

A scene at the underground Airport shuttle metro station, Shivaji Stadium. Currently, under construction, It shall be commissioned by the time the Commonwealth games happen in the city.

Pretty Politics in Bangle-desh: Samajwadi Dimple Yadav

2009-10-26T20:29:00.002+05:30

Dimple Yadav, Samajwadi Party chief Mulayam Singh Yadav's daughter-in-law, is the latest in the family to join the poll fray. She is contesting the Firozabad bypoll on the seat her husband Akhilesh Yadav vacated. The Sunday Express accompanies her on her campaign trail

AT 10.52 a.m., a bus painted in the Samajwadi Party colours of bright red and green reaches the dusty crossing in Shikohabad where a waiting convoy of Boleros and Scorpios filled with SP workers noisily lines up behind it. It is the start of Day 1 of the campaign of Dimple Yadav, daughter-in-law of Mulayam Singh Yadav, in the parliamentary constituency of Firozabad.

Firozabad is part of the Etawah-Mainpuri-Etah belt, home territory for Uttar Pradesh's former chief minister or, as he is best known here, 'Netaji'. His ancestral village of Itauli lies in this district, his home in Saifai is just about 45 km down the NH2 from Shikohabad to Agra. Yadavs form the single largest and most decisive chunk of Firozabad's over 14 lakh-strong electorate.

The red and green bus, or 'Parivartan Rath', is an imitation of the 'Kranti Rath' said to have been gifted by Chaudhry Devi Lal to Mulayam Singh in 1987; two years later, it became part of the fiery Janata Dal campaign that signalled the end of Congress dominance in Delhi as well as in Lucknow. Mulayam Singh became chief minister of UP for the first time that year.

Emblazoned on the back of the rath is a large portrait of Netaji addressing a teeming crowd. Inside, the newest member of his family to enter politics sits dressed in demure pink, head covered, waiting for her cue to emerge from the bus, make her speech, smile and wave.

Akhilesh Yadav, Mulayam Singh's son and Dimple's husband, third-time MP and recently anointed president of the SP in UP, has vacated the Firozabad seat for his wife after he won from both Kannauj and Firozabad in the Lok Sabha polls in May. He accompanies her through Day 1 of the campaign. He choreographs the Dimple roadshow.

And stars in it too. At each one of the 17 stops that day, on the thin road winding through fields lush with bajra, and those still being readied for the next potato crop, a settled routine plays out. A hydraulic lift takes Akhilesh and Dimple to the top of the bus, Akhilesh speaks first and then it is Dimple's turn.

In his speeches, Akhilesh, an affable campaigner much in the mould of his father who instantly connects with his audience, repeatedly strikes a defensive note. This is a different election, he says. It will be "decisive" and will send out a "message to the nation". "The entire country is watching Firozabad...a fight for the SP's prestige and self-respect". Mulayam's son repeatedly talks of "SP ki gherabandi", painting a picture of a cornered party, up against the might and machinery of two governments, the Congress-led government in Delhi and the BSP government in Lucknow.

He explains why he vacated Firozabad and kept Kannauj: "They say I ran away. But I have come back because I knew I could count on you to vote for the SP, regardless of the hurdles others may create. Now you will get two MPs to work for you, while Kannauj will have only one."

Dimple's speech is brief. She doesn't read it out but the script remains unwaveringly the same: "I thank you for coming here to give me your blessings. I am your beti (daughter) and your bahu (daughter-in-law). You know well why this election is being fought. I will only request you to turn out in large numbers on November 7 to vote for the Samajwadi Party. I promise you I will do whatever I can to develop this region and will not discriminate against anyone." And, "I specially request my sisters to come out and vote for me."

Speeches made, the couple briefly steps out of the bus, SP workers round up the women in the crowd and bring them to Dimple, who bends to touch the older women's feet. At some places, she dutifully sips the hot milk offered by partymen and supporters. Back in the bus, Akhilesh amiably calls it the "milk party", while Dimple reluctantly confesses, "I am not fond of milk; I drink it because I have to." There are other parts of the campaign the 32-year-old political debutante may need time to adjust to. "The waving part comes easy," she says, "but the speaking part is difficult."

"She shouldn't speak much," says Akhilesh. "She will only get into trouble. For now, hers is a good speech for a beginner." For now, 'AD', as Dimple calls him, ('Akhilesh dada', he reveals with an easy laugh; 'Akhilesh daddy', she insists self-consciously) prompts her at every step, often reminding her to fold her hands and acknowledge the people outside the window as the bus hurtles towards its next stop.

AD has thought it out. He looks at his wife as she sits, quiet and poised, across the aisle, staring out of the window. "Dimple will raise women's issues in Parliament," he says.

***

Mulayam Singh Yadav had reservations about Dimple being given the Firozabad ticket on two counts, says Akhilesh. "He thought the children are too young. He was also apprehensive about the message it would send to the party if the ticket went to another member of the family. But Amar Singh uncle and the party convinced him that it was for the sake of the party. Both the Congress and the BSP can conspire to destroy the SP," he says.

The Congress, of course, is the party the SP supports at the Centre. But the relationship between the two parties is an open question, maintains Akhilesh. "My father gave six months to the new government at the Centre, of which three months are over." He believes the SP's poor performance in the recent Lok Sabha polls was because it took its eye off the Congress. "We wanted to defeat the BSP and BJP, our candidate selection and campaign didn't target the Congress."

In Firozabad, the Congress has fielded Raj Babbar against Dimple; Babbar was earlier in the SP. Incidentally, even the BSP's candidate, SP Singh Baghel, has recently crossed over from the SP. By all accounts, the BJP candidate isn't widely seen to be in the fight.

But finally, what also counted in the decision to field Dimple in Firozabad was the fact that there were as many as 16 claimants for the ticket, says Akhilesh. He lists out the prominent names—LJP's Ram Vilas Paswan, who had struck a loose alliance with the SP in the last Lok Sabha polls and who failed to make it to the Lok Sabha from Bihar; Kalyan Singh's son Rajbir since the constituency has a strong Lodh presence; and Ramji Lal Suman, SP's senior Dalit leader and former MP from the erstwhile reserved constituency before delimitation. The tug-of-war, he suggests, could have torn the party.

"It was the decision of senior party leaders that I should contest," says Dimple. "But I agreed with his (Mulayam Singh Yadav's) reservations on both counts," she says.

The initiation may have come too soon, but she doesn't deny that politics was on the cards. "I had thought maybe after 10 years or so, when the children are grown up," she now says. Dimple and Akhilesh have three children, three-year-old twins Arjun and Tina, and seven-year-old Aditi. "My older daughter came with me when I filed my nomination papers. After she saw my picture in the papers the next day, she insists I should pick her up from school so her friends can see me."

She had no interest in politics while she was growing up, says Dimple; she was "neither pro, nor against". Her father was in the army and she moved homes from Pune, where she was born, to places like Andaman and Nicobar, Bathinda, Bareilly and Lucknow, picking up a passion for horse-riding in the cantonment school, finishing her B.Com, and hoping to "join a company".

Life changed after her "love-cum-arranged" marriage in November 1999. "I haven't done horse-riding after marriage," she says. But even though she was now part of a political family, till now, politics remained at a remove.

Dimple has never been to Parliament and she has never accompanied her husband on his election campaigns. "I didn't ask her to. I thought she should have her own life. At that time, her responsibility was different—my packed lunch, for instance," says Akhilesh, only half jokingly.

Tom Cruise is still her favourite movie star but recently, perhaps in preparation for her new role, Dimple has started reading a biography of (Ram Manohar) "Lohiaji", whom she counts, along with Atal Bihari Vajpayee, among the two politicians she admires most outside her family.

She first confronted caste, Dimple recalls, when she entered an inter-caste marriage—she is a Thakur. "No, I don't know the caste equations in my constituency, I'll have to learn," she says. "But I know everything, and so does he," says Akhilesh, gesturing to Hari Om Yadav, a former MLA and a relative, who also travels in the bus for part of the campaign on Day 1.

"When Dimple works in the constituency, she will come to know these things," says Akhilesh. "Politics cannot be separated from the social set-up. I too had to learn. If there is a fight, now I know who could have done the injustice."

***

It is Day 2 of Dimple Yadav's roadshow. She is now on her own, as Akhilesh campaigns separately in Firozabad city. She will cover the rural interiors of Jasrana Vidhan Sabha constituency. A small group in the bus attempts to take over from where Akhilesh left in his wife's campaign the previous day, but they cannot match his exuberance, his banter or his natural air of command.

At least four of the five members of this group that rallies protectively around Dimple have something in common—each one is part of Mulayam Singh Yadav's extended family and also holds, or has held, a key political-party position. "Samajwadis are all one big family," laughs Ramvir Singh Yadav, ex-MLA, Dimple's uncle by marriage, and the only male in the group.

The routine remains almost exactly the same as that of Day 1, except that on Day 2, it is Meera Yadav, Ramvir's wife and pramukh of Eka block, who goes up in the lift with Dimple and makes a brief introductory speech atop the bus before Dimple takes the microphone.

As the convoy leaves the small Yadav-dominated village of Banvir Kurkuri, a group of villagers discusses the candidature of Dimple Yadav.

"If Netaji had not fielded Dimple, Yadav would have stood against Yadav," explains Ramvir Yadav, a farmer. "We will vote for the daughter-in-law because the party must go on," says Sunil Yadav. "In any case, Yadavs cannot go to any other party or their vote will lose its value," points out Arun Yadav.

But the women in the group disagree. "This is where the men all go wrong, they vote on caste lines. Dimple must ask for our vote only if she can give us clean drinking water," says Kusuma Yadav, the most vocal of them all, as the other women nod in agreement.

In Banvir Kurkuri, the water tastes so vile that villagers must bring drinking water for themselves as well for their animals from a neighbouring village. The problem has remained acute even as power changed hands in Lucknow; the SP government did nothing to solve Banvir Kurkuri's water problem during its tenure.

Kusuma's vehemence appears to persuade at least one of the men in the group. "This is definitely the last time," says Ranbir Singh Yadav. "You can write this down. After this election, we will only give our vote to those who work for us."

Black or White!

2009-10-17T17:14:00.001+05:30

"Inshallah"

2009-10-12T19:29:00.002+05:30

One good molecule in my Portfolio is that I went to University at " Aligarh". And even today, years hence from that time, I still feel and strongly feel that my affinity towards times, such times is intense. Time itself is a paper-boat, that takes you down calm rivulets into rugged waters and then settles all scores. many times when I set back into a life span most splendor, I just consider that I was a paper-boat written lucky on the butt. Everything Islam, call it muslim- to me meant and means is a fraction of my life that does the revisit function was a boat that I stepped in while at the University. and with the passage of time, It stayed on, It strayed on, like as though I was glued with its fate. Somehow or the other, it has become a part of my life, a revisit always. And in the now as I am, Any day I see its signature, I can always just feel so wonderful. Somewhere in a consciously inebriated existence, I feel wholesome when I quietly say " Inshallah".

Immersion, Where all Sins sink!!!

2009-09-28T19:54:00.001+05:30

Durga Visarjan by the Yamuna in Delhi, India's Capital.

Kargil " A Decade" - The Thin Red Line

2009-07-20T19:17:00.005+05:30

A decade after they boomed non-stop to evict Pakistani intruders from the heights of Drass and Kargil, the Army’s Bofors artillery guns lie silent in Apatti, a small village that overlooks the strategic town of Kargil.
Located on a gentle slope that can easily find a place in any tourism magazine, the guns have not fired since 2003, when a ceasefire agreement was reached between India and Pakistan. However, the deceptive calmness is broken as men and officers constantly calibrate and feed the destructive machines with the latest positions that the “enemy” has taken up across the border. The closest being a mere seven kilometres away.

All along the Line of Control in the Batalik-Kargil-Drass sector, both Indian and Pakistani troops are manning impossible border posts, several of them located at heights of over 18,000 feet that remain snowbound throughout the year. In 1999, India lost 533 soldiers and officers from the Indian Army to regain a series of strategic peaks in the area that had been occupied by Pakistani troops and were threatening to cut off the strategic NH 1 D highway between Drass and Kargil.

A decade later, the Army is stretched across the entire border with men and supplies on virtually every peak. Not unlike the Siachen Glacier, the highest battleground in the world, soldiers virtually remain cut off from the rest of the world more than six months at a stretch on tiny posts along the border.

The region, earlier looked after by a Brigade-sized force (4,000 troops), has now five times the number. The area now has four Brigades—close to 20,000 troops— that now cover every inch of the border. This includes an artillery brigade that has heavy guns pointed at vital Pakistani installations across the border. For an Army that is struggling with an acute officer’s shortage of close to 12,000, the sector is a huge drain to resources.

Things have improved since the last decade when troops went up the heights, braving enemy fire, in little more than regular combat fatigues. The Army has connected most base points with roads, special rations and clothing have been given to soldiers and a strict induction training protocol is followed.

“Post-Kargil a number of improvements have taken place, not only in terms of army deployment but also in roads and trails that have come up. Mobility has improved, including over snow. Our survival capacity has gone up many fold,” says Maj Gen Suresh Khajuria, the General Officer Commanding (GOC) of the Kumbathang based 8 Mountain Division that is in charge of the region.

Even more important, troops says, is the presence of DTH television sets that have been set up at all forward posts. The Army has bought thousands of the television systems.

In terms of firepower and reconnaissance capabilities too, the Army has a lot of additional resources. The area now has anti-material rifles of South African orgin that can take out enemy bunkers. Artillery guns, which were the surprise heroes of the Kargil war, have been brought in large numbers. However, most of them are of the ’60s or ’70s vintage. While the Army says it has an adequate number of guns, the delay in its artillery modernisation plans has prevented the purchase of modern guns.

In terms of reconnaissance and intelligence gathering—the failure of which in 1999 led to Pakistani intruders setting base several kilometres inside India—the Army has seen a huge boost. Besides all-weather, day-night satellite coverage by the latest Synthetic Aperture Radar, the Army has access to a small fleet of Heron and Searcher UAVs from Israel that keeps a constant eye on the border.

The Army has also improved its defensive positions along the border. A model post that is coming up on the border, as a pilot project, has well dug-in defences, all round protection from enemy shelling and gunfire and can be used in all weather conditions. A handful of troops at such a post, officers say, can hold off an enemy several times their size due to the unique design.
BUT despite the massive inflow of weapons and defence systems in the area, the tension has quadrupled. Any small activity on the border triggers a massive response from the Indian side. A small surveillance report of a possible intrusion in Drass last week, for example, set off the Army on a full-scale alert. The name ‘Kargil’, officers say, ensures that there is no possibility of complacenceAll changes withstanding, a few basic things on ground are still to change. The strategic Kargil-Drass road, which Pakistani intruders were trying to cut off in 1999 in order to choke supplies to Siachen, is still under threat of artillery fire.
Large sections of the highway are under direct observation of Pakistani soldiers. Here is where the ghosts of Kargil come out to haunt the Army. The dominating Point 5353 in Drass, which overlooks the Tiger Hill, is an Indian position that is still occupied by Pakistan. While the Pakistanis lay claim to the position, the point lies fully within Indian on Army maps but is occupied by crack Pakistan Army troops. So important is the point, which overlooks a large section of the road near Drass town, that Pakistan has built a permanent road right up to it for supplying troops.

The Pakistani positions along the highway are not so many as to bother the Indian Army—officers say they can be neutralised easily if war breaks out—but they are a grim reminder of war. The only way out to ensure continuous supplies to Siachen is to build an all-weather road through Rohtang Pass in Himachal Pradesh. However, work on the Rohtang tunnel is behind schedule and not expected to completed before at least seven years.

Increased capabilities and comforts apart, the message at Kargil 10 years after the war is clear—Pakistan has managed to force India into committing a large force in an area that was earlier practically uninhabited. And, with Indian soldiers outnumbering their Pakistani counterparts 1:3 along the entire border, the strain of manning an impossible frontier is much greater for India.

Text by Manu Pubby/ Indian Express Photographs: Tashi Tobgyal/Indian Express

Into Oblivion

2009-06-25T19:41:00.002+05:30

The fleet of stairs that leads down to a cave where Kabir Das is said to have meditated, Uttar Pradesh, India

Radar Control

2009-06-22T19:22:00.002+05:30

Indian Air Force personnels witness the IL-76 aircraft mounted with an AWAC (Airborne Warning and Control System) after its induction into the Air Force in May 2009.

Portraits from India's Midland

2009-04-15T21:17:00.004+05:30

In the midst of the national Ballot, an insight into India's midland, Eastern Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. where Life is a quaint potrait. Simplicity underlined by a misunderstood mystery.

The Dark Night

2009-04-03T17:57:00.004+05:30

In New Delhi, Sundown brings the dark to its most cruel aura in many corners. These are Images where abduction and Murder take place. One night, I wanted to feel the dark itself. Driving thru wasn't scary but disturbing. These are reaches where Soumya Vishwanathan, a television producer, Jigisha , a Call centre manager were murdered, which created a sensation of sorts. But in a way, these stretches still remain in the dark, waiting another episode.

Tibet on a Roller Coaster

2009-03-27T14:02:00.006+05:30

A young girl at the backstage prepares for her show during the first day of the "Tibet Week" in New Delhi on Thursday. Photograph by Tashi Tobgyal

50 years of exile is a longtime. An expanse within which even memories would fade to nothingness. Its a stretch which can heal the world and let history be colorful. For the Tibetans, its been two generations of labor, of restrain and optimism. In exile and everywhere,with much impression they have been successful in preserving the varied shades and shadows of the tibetan culture. To celebrate this, a five day "Tibet Week" festival is on in New Delhi. Its an exhibition unlike of military might but surely of what Human endurance and karma can undergo. At the same time, on the other face of it all, things have illustratively come to a standstill for Tibet. Over the past year or so, routines have set to be ubiquitous. Compassionate protests, Up roaring International supporters and then the very incomplete silence from across the Yangtze. Things seemed to have come to a lull except for the fact that casualty figures within Tibet show ascent and turmoil innumerable. All this packaged into recession has just made things all around a slowdown theater. So till then why not relish the week of a dreaming Lhasa.

HARAPPA RETURNS

2009-03-10T19:57:00.005+05:30

Text by Shweta Dutta: Indian Express Photographs: Tashi Tobgyal

Archaeologists from three universities have been at work since the beginning of this year in Haryana’s Sonepat district, digging for what may turn out to be one of the most significant breakthroughs in the study of South Asian protohistory.

Evidence of 65 burials has been unearthed over the past month at the site in Farmana, 60-odd km from Delhi, making it the largest Harappan burial site found in India so far.

The digging is in its third season now. Evidence of seven burials was discovered last year, and should the work continue into another season, experts say Farmana may throw up evidence of a larger number of burials than even Harappa, the Pakistani Punjab town from which the civilisation of the Indus valley (c. 3300 BC-1300 BC) takes its name.

The discovery holds enormous potential, said Prof Vasant Shinde of the Department of Archaeology, Deccan College Post-Graduate and Research Institute, Pune, the director of the excavation project.

“With a larger sample size it will be easier for scholars to determine the composition of the population, the prevalent customs, whether they were indigenous or migrated from outside,” Prof Shinde said.

A century-and-a-half after the great civilization was discovered, historians still have no definite answers to a number of questions, including where the Harappans came from, and why their highly sophisticated culture suddenly died out.

“For the first time, we will conduct scientific tests on skeletal remains, pottery and botanical evidence found at the site, to try to understand multiple aspects of Harappan life,” Prof Shinde said.

“DNA tests on bones might conclusively end the debate on whether the Harappans were an indigenous population or migrants. Trace element analyses will help us chart their diet ¿ a higher percentage of zinc will prove they were non-vegetarians; larger traces of magnesium will suggest a vegetarian diet.”

Most chemical, botanical and physical anthropology tests will be done at Deccan College. But the more sophisticated and expensive DNA and dating tests will be conducted in Japan. The Research Institute for Humanity and Nature, Kyoto and Maharshi Dayanand University, Rohtak, are collaborating with Deccan College under the aegis of the Archaeological Survey of India for the project.

The team also plans to carry out coring tests in lakes around the Farmana site to ascertain climatic conditions prevalent at the time of the Harappan civilization, and investigate whether the decline of the culture followed catastrophic climate change.

The burials found so far are expected to be from around 4509 BP (before present), or 2600-2200 BC. “There are three different levels of burials and at some places skeletal remains have been found one above the other. All the graves are rectangular ¿ different from other Harappan burials sites, which usually have oblong graves,” Prof Shinde said.

The site shows evidence of primary (full skeleton), secondary (only some bones) and symbolic burials, with most graves oriented northwest-southeast, though there are some with north-south and northeast-southwest orientations as well. The variations in burial orientation suggests different groups in the same community, Prof Shinde said. The differences in the numbers of pots as offerings suggest social and economic differences within the community. Also in evidence are significant signs of regional variations that contest the idea of a homogenous Harappan culture.

Prof Upinder Singh of the Department of History, Delhi University, expressed enthusiasm about the project. “If such a large Harappan cemetery has been discovered, I am sure it is going to be of significant help in historical research,” she said. “The entire fraternity of research scholars and academics would be looking forward to knowing about the findings at the site".

Moves!

2008-12-25T13:46:00.002+05:30

A Northeastern Dancer rehearses her moves before a performance, New Delhi.

Postcard from Karachi

2008-12-05T23:30:00.002+05:30

A Lone Ice Cream Vendor awaits customers at the Karachi Beach at Twilight.

The Maulana Express

2008-11-06T21:09:00.006+05:30

Three thousand Muslim Clerics from Northern India started a journey by train today.
The Train is christened 'Sheikh Ul Hind Express'. This is a journey of more than a thousand miles which started from a little known town, Deoband in Uttar Pradesh. The culmination of this journey shall be in Hyderabad, where another three thousand from other parts of the country shall join core.The purpose of this odyssey is to relay through the journey the word of Allah and towards spreading the message of national integration. With sectarian chaos damaging much of the community's image, the clerics feel this journey shall give others an insight into Indian muslims and try and erase misconceptions that the community is aggressive and violent.
Photographs are some insight into the journey from Deoband to Delhi.

Bhind Balluchi

2008-11-01T01:26:00.002+05:30

In Bhind district which shares a direct border with the Chambal, Gun and ammo acquisition has now become a fashion. Claims are that, people sell of land to buy guns. Three guns can be attached to a license and country made and unregistered ammos are even more in number. A very poor and underdeveloped region of Madhya Pradesh, Bhind has probably one of the poorest infrastructure in the country.
The total number of registered guns in the region is at a whooping 23000 while much more is unaccounted for. In Bhind township itself there are more than seventy gun stores. The Images:
View Bhind and people flock to the Police station to submit their registered firearms before elections take place in the state.

Station Balsawa

2008-10-26T02:58:00.004+05:30

In the northern border of Delhi with Haryana is Balsawa. Ugly, dilapidated, ignored and desolate, this little but chaotic part of the city by the northern Yamuna is a congregation of mainly migrants both hindus and muslims, living in harmony and goodwill. One of Layman brothers last donations has been going into constructing some houses for the people here. Interestingly, in the photograph, the left part of the dwelling is a mosque, while the rest is a hindu home. Something thats uncommon in a way.

Of Flights and Fantasies

2008-10-22T21:33:00.003+05:30

The Shadow Circus

2008-10-20T03:03:00.002+05:30

A serpentine column of India’s poorest of the poor is moving across cities, determined to reclaim their land taken over in the name of the country’s heady economic boom.
About 25,000 landless farmers, many of them using plastic bags for shoes, marched into New Delhi, last October, thinking sure that their month long hike from poverty stricken pockets of central India, would move the Key bearers to think and rethink of their plight. A year later, the story is still incomplete.

The Day of Kali

2008-10-11T23:25:00.003+05:30

A Durga idol being immersed into the Yamuna in Delhi this Dusshera.

The Kabul Express

2008-10-04T19:36:00.002+05:30

Turmoil in Afghanistan over more than two decades have displaced many. An estimated 2,00,000 now are resident in India. Some arrived two decades ago and delved into the Indian mainstream, while others reached a few months earlier.But the traffic has no end.Near to all have been having hardships in their livelihood. While most cases are of economic disparity, others relate to personal, medical and psychological agony.
I have been hearing their stories for a few days. I hope I shall be lending my ears to them for longer. Images now are a few but I hope soon, I shall be able to present a total Image. These images are of families who have been in India for sometime now. While some have converted to Christianity, Hindu Sikhs from Kabul still maintain their identity and live in a Sikh territoy in West Delhi.

Untitled!

2008-09-25T22:21:00.002+05:30

Shafqat Amanat Ali, just rang a normal Sufi and Pakistani singing bell in my mind. On assignment some days ago, I just went wrong of assuming to witnessing some dead concert. But Alas, I was proven critically wrong.
In the photo Shafqat and his boys perform at the Siri fort Auditorium in New Delhi, India.

Sans Measurement!

2008-07-15T19:40:00.003+05:30

A day, when I was once again educated of how small I am. Of How measurement is nothing but imagination.And of how Human kind can strive with imagination and measure beyond the nothing.
The photograph was taken in New Delhi, on a cloudy Monday afternoon. The flight in the picture was an absolute chance that rose up from the dark.

God of Small Beings !!

2008-07-10T19:48:00.002+05:30

While on assignment at the Tibetans Childrens Village in Dharamsala, I came accross this group of children on the Barbers day. After quite a few shots I thought, this one was decent enough to be shared. Tibetan children, majority of them undergo primary to high school education at this schooling unit before University. With Shoe string budget for everything, the two thousand members of the school still have performed impressively through years. Today, a selected football team from the school leaves for Gotenberg in Sweden to play the Gothic cup.
Indeed, Its God of Small beings.

Time to Go 377...

2008-06-30T00:11:00.002+05:30

Today, India witnessed the first Gay and lesbian parade organized in the capital. Under cloudy skies, the event was a successful one. Surprisingly, the rascals of moral policing were absent today. In the picture, two gay men hidden behind masks during the event.

The Momento!

2008-06-24T23:45:00.005+05:30

Caught right into the darkness of the monsoon, I was just wishing for one good shot. No sooner it seemed that the pair of lovers, the eagle and the immense spirit of the monument drew up a stage for me. The sky was just right. Within seconds I had it, but just one chance.
Dated 20th June 2008 Place: Feroz Shah Quotla, New Delhi.

That One Last Chance for the Bidi Folks:

2008-06-04T17:59:00.002+05:30

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY TASHI TOBGYAL

INDIA accounts for 85% of the world’s bidi production. A hundred million smokers live here. An industry so well protected, with taxes at minimal levels, that it could only flourish. But within the realm of a huge industry employing 70 lakh workers, all is not well here. Majority of the bidi workers earn less than a dollar for every thousand rolled. Exposed to various sicknesses and risks, their lives are spent in acute poverty enamelled within the promising figures of this industry. But in one corner of India, things are not going to be the same for the next generation of the bidi workers. Padali is a small colourful village in the Nasik region surrounded by a rugged dry topography, and it is here that the Vidi Kamgar Kalyan Pratishthan (VKKP), a branch of the Sarda Group, monitors the ‘Equal Opportunities’ programme. Indeed, it’s an irony that one of the largest bidi manufacturers would be developing a programme whereby within a span of time its bidi production would gradually end with the next generation of the bidi families educated and possibly employed into the organised sectors.
“We have concluded a survey through which we identify talent and appropriate children from the bidi-making community, capable of gaining a decent level of education, so that they in their lifetime get an opportunity to do better in life than making bidis. Its not about education, but equal opportunity and a chance to make it,” exclaims Shrirang Sarda, CEO, Sharda Group. “ For those who cannot make it through education, they can through various vocational trainings. All we want is that in the course of time, no children should be a bidi maker,” he adds.

Through the years, the Sarda Group has been identifying talents from within the community, supporting their education and trainings. With the formation of the VKKP, it is only got more streamlined. Kiran Datir, now a practising doctor in Nasik and Kiran Ekhande working at the Asian Electronics are among those from the bidi worker community whose lives not only transformed but also lays motivation for the younger kids. With district heads and coordinators at the designated villages, organising the children, motivating the families and also imparting necessary knowledge and information is smooth. The children of all ages congregate at the karkhana, which is their classroom for now. But soon, the group has plans to constitute organised infrastructure for the same. It is within the premises of the karkhana that the coordinator goes about her task of both teaching and classifying children as per talent, skills and intelligence. As per the current state of affairs, the VKKP has designated a dozen karkhanas with an equal number of coordinators for the Sinnar block under which Padali is one branch. Two block officers of the VKKP head each block. Omkar and Mahendra, head, Sinnar. Coming from distant Vidharbha, they are both Social Work graduates and express the need for more professionals to adopt such rural undertakings.
At age eight, it is ironical to see Rekha Revgade sing a “dowry song” for the class. But at the same time, a visiting team leader from VKKP presumes she has a promising voice. Hira Nandu Kirkide, 17, is pursuing her diploma in teaching from the educational expense assistance she begets from the VKKP. Her grandmother and mother are only too optimistic about her future as they sit in their one room home chatting and rolling the day’s quota. The VKKP educational assistance is of two types. One is of funding conveyance through the schooling period. The second assists in the food and lodging expenses of a resident student. In case of extraordinary performance, all expenses are borne by the group.
A few blocks away from Hira’s home, Poonam Burkule sits tailoring a few petticoats. She discontinued her studies after she failed her matriculation. Fortunately, she discovered he talent in tailoring. The VKKP assisted her training at the prestigious Dandekar Institute and provided her with a tailoring machine. But even within the seemingly cordial environment, there have been events of orthodoxy.
Sunita Sahane was married off after her intermediary studies. She hadn’t an idea about it till the last moment. Since then, her urge for further studies was drowned into the chores of marriage and its complexities. It was only with the motivation of the VKKP programme that she was able to attend vocational courses. Today, she is one among the dozen coordinators in the region. In contrast, Sheikh Anjum comes from a background encouraging the kind of duty she performs as a teacher and coordinator.
Throughout the region and also in Andhra Pradesh, VKKP’s programmes have been on the uphill tasks, with difficulties, criticisms and hopes. But for now, whatever little it has achieved is notable. Like Sarda says, “I am a capitalist, I can move on wherever I like, but think of it whole, I believed in all that they have given to my concern, I must give back something. That’s education I am trying to give, and it doesn’t end here. Cause Education is just a way to that chance, which I hope they can make on. After all, we believe in equal opportunities”.
Within the next few months, VKKP on the basis of the recently concluded survey through the region shall draw up a conclusive plan, laying the necessary infrastructure towards ending one of its most known and profitable products. Soon the Children of Padali will have that once chance of equal opportunity.

The Face from Hindustan!

2008-05-30T16:00:00.003+05:30

" A group of Immigrant laborers assemble at a roadside tea stall for refreshments, Kahri Baoli, Old Delhi".

Its amazing to be in this corner of India's capital. The old city is a reflection of India's harsh, bitter yet colorful diaspora.
In the midst of the swarming crowds of seller and buyers, numerous immigrants arrive from all over north India finding menail work. The most fascinating thing about them is their patience. While whatever numbers employed go about their labor, the rest congregate by the old post office in the midst of Chandni Chowk with their tools, awaiting for the Call. And sure does all find a way into it.

Tsongtsen's Children!

2008-05-30T15:52:00.000+05:30

Potraits in a Panthoen

2008-05-09T18:01:00.003+05:30

Trudging through the crowded lanes of Khari Baoli in Delhi, I witnessed the heavens were looking out of the window,from the dilapidated shaggy house above. In chaotic India, It is always wise to be looking up in a while though.

THE COMPASSIONATE USURPER

2008-04-19T18:26:00.004+05:30

Indeed, through the months that the tibetans scavenged on perseverence, the culmination of a henious event did pass sans turmoil from the heart of India. While the gruesome Chinese dictatorial sighed with relief, the 17th of April proved a rather weird affair for the Olympic torch relay. It was a success in failure for the tibetan exilees, numbering in the thousands, protesting against China's gruesome record in occupied Tibet. But for China, it was an absolute failure embroiled within a contingent chaos. For India, It never walked the thin red line this wise.For an onlooker within the city, it was summed up alike an event that had no taste bordered within the rusty maligned barbed wires.
Tibet had its share of supporters and following. The come up to the day was intense, like a roar that only intensified as the torch came closer. Participants of all ages and skin made this one of the most impressing call since years.
I had been keeping close watch, making sense of it all, getting answers to queries in myself. Being born in India and bred outside of my society rather makes it chaotic to understand things I guess. I had been speaking and photographing much through this phase, reading peoples minds and exposing my self to them. Much of the time , I have been rather contemporary. Much of the tibetans and supporters I met heckled with the fact that I hadnt the inferno in me. They claimed, I was rather a spoilt , directionless usurp. Indeed, I guess within the society, if I dont slogan along or boast of my patroitism all the time, I did be not one of them. But, deep inside the consideration lives, I may be fluent in Hindi, with an absolute accent, I may love butter chicken over Tsampa, I dont know the tibetan national song, I speak the language infected with other vocabularies and etc etc , but I know , I realise and everyday I feel pride to belong to a culture, to a civilisation called Tibet. I am not religious but I am fortunate to have inherited the blessings of the Sanga, the Dharma and the Buddha. Sorry, if the order is wrong. But I just find hate when I have to claim and proclaim and exhibit that I belong, exactly like I am doing now.
No doubt, there have been many wonderful characters in my life, who painted a bit of tibet into me. It was both by concern and by force, mostly going berserk.
But now It is something, that is working , all the force and all the proving business. I feel concern and thats why I was there. Somewhere, I know If not the whole of it , most of it inTibet is happening wrong. Today the voice was louder than ever, but god willing soon, it shall run everything deaf. Once I didnt care to review into the words of the Dalai lama, but today I see much sense in it. And for the poor creatures who damn not understand, it is not Gods voice, but lessons picked out of mistakes. I may at the end still be a damned usurping Tibetan, weak in the language, and my buddhism without direction but through the events of the last month or so, I could learn one thing perfect and thats"Compassion".

The Only Mathematics " The Thin Dead Line"

2008-03-13T17:05:00.003+05:30

A thin dead line, a division. Hives of scarcity outline each single day. Within the premises of a catapulting Lifestyle, it takes only an instance to look into a mirror. To finally realise it aint moving anywhere afterall. Indeed such is life and its bastardly rounds, that while the rich take it up as a challenge, the lesser fortunate coolie it as a struggle. And the only mathematics of it all is a thin dead line.

In Quest through the Viewfinder!

2008-03-08T20:26:00.003+05:30

I bet, when chance bequeath upon us moments, within the fraction all action is set, all sight is one and from the core of the mind arises a greedy bitta thing, that shoots like powder from the gun. The next fraction is like the shadow, that lures the sun.
Roaming through the hardy gullies of the muslim neighbourhood, I get stares, i get half quenched smiles. Salam! I utter like a pant peeing kid. The thrid fraction comes and I am just about greedy. Suddenly, every noose loosens down and I am finally able to register.

Hold Your Breath!!

2008-03-08T20:23:00.002+05:30

We took our positions—me with my Canon camera and the cops with their
batons--at the driveway exit of Ruby Tuesday, a bar in Saket, South
Delhi. This, I thought, would be my kind of shootout—I had been
assigned to click pictures as cops of the Delhi Police went about
their 'Campaign Against Drunken Driving'.

There were half a dozen of them and I noticed they looked particularly
well turned-out--it's not often that a photographer trails them on
dark, cold Friday nights. It was their big day--the breathalyser was
going to make its debut. I straightened as our first catch, a rickety
Esteem with three young men, drew close.

A grand wave of hands and the car stopped. No license, no car papers.
Perfect photo-op. The driver looked tipsy but seemed to be in control.
The traffic inspector whipped out his…gun? No, that was the
breathalyser and the inspector grandly shoved it into the driver's
mouth. "Blow," he ordered. Our prey blew hard. The cop pulled out the
device and checked. No readings. Was it the cold? The cop and our
friend tried again, and again, and again. No luck. The inspector
banged it on his palm and tried—ONE LAST TIME. No. The inspector then
put the device in his own mouth and blew hard. All this while, I stood
at a distance, shooting hopelessly in the dark.

Mission failed. Someone suggested that the batteries were probably not
charged. Soon, all of us—the driver and his friends, the six cops, and
me with my chunky paraphernalia—checked into an ATM cubicle close by
to charge the batteries.

The three men were getting restless. They tried bargaining with the
cops but these seemed the honest types. The driver came up to me and
said, "Hey, what are you getting out of this? For the few thousands
you earn as salary, you are tarnishing my reputation. I come from a
decent family. Why don't you go and do the right kind of journalism?"
He got me thinking. "Tumhe kya pata patrakarita kya hoti hai," a
constable snapped at the boy. My wavering conscience steadied itself.

Twenty minutes later, the battery was charged. All of us spilled on to
the road and the exercise was repeated. No luck—so it wasn't the
battery after all. By now, it was 11.30 p.m. The inspector called his
senior, who was leading a similar campaign in GK M-Block market, for
help. The senior wanted the youths to be brought to him. So all of us
got into the Esteem and our tipsy friend drove us down. The man was
clearly overspeeding but the cops didn't seem to mind.

As soon as we reached GK, I saw a dozen cops round up a young man.
This one was clearly drunk. I clicked as the cop wrote the challan.
But as I clicked again, the man charged at me, abusing, swearing and
lunging for my camera. I managed to get my camera out of the way as we
exchanged a good number of blows.

"Enough of this," said the senior cop and directed our team to get
back to our base. We locked ourselves in the Esteem. We were in a
sombre mood. Within seconds, a speeding car from the other side rammed
head-on into the Esteem, swerved, and sped away. The bonnet was
crushed but everyone was safe.

Our tipsy friend went into a rage. "To hell with you cops and
journalists. I am going to *&%$ this guy tonight." And then, at over
100 kmph, we began our chase to track down the car that had just hit
us. The other car was fast too. I clenched my fists and cursed my
luck. Everyone was getting abusive. Four kilometers later, the driver
swerved and screeched to a halt in front of another car. A couple in
the car stared back at us—a car full of cops, a photographer and three
youngsters swearing at them. Oops! We had chased down the wrong car.

We got back into the Esteem and drove back to Saket. I felt a pang of
sympathy for the three men. The poor boys will have to shell out Rs
10,000 to fix their car and then there was the Rs 7,000 challan to be
paid.

It was past midnight when we reached Saket with a broken car, a
defunct breathalyser and me with my heart bleeding for the young men.
I called the inspector and pulled him aside. "Now, I don't speak as a
journalist and let's assume you aren't a cop. This damn instrument
nearly cost us our lives. We ought to let the kids off. They have
already paid for their fault."

The only complaint booked that night was a five hundred-rupee challan
for driving without seatbelts.

Famine in the River

2008-02-06T18:24:00.001+05:30

Bye Bye My Dear Bitoo!

2008-01-17T18:58:00.000+05:30

Aged 11, Bitoo was more a child than a carnivore. It had the heart of a man, the roar of a lion and the sweetness of a child.
Born The Winter of 1997 - Died This Winter of 2008.
Meet you again.

Forthcoming!

2008-01-17T18:08:00.000+05:30

This sure is some kind of experiment I am trying out. I dont really know whether I am the the first or among the first ones to do this, but I am working hard on this, making it look real. It is going to be on soon and I shall be informing all.
The series is on the Old city of Shahzehanabad and my effort to try and capture moments that atleast have an inch of taste from a time that lived there once.
Wish me Luck
Jaja
Tashi Tobgya/ Taxi Press and yes by the way Taxi Press is my working title, a collective agency of just me.

Now the Nano!!

2008-01-15T21:19:00.000+05:30

Why does India and its people always have to land up jackass, floating on debates with edgeless holes. Travessing by much of all the echoing on gasoline, nuclear map-out, the miserable blueline buses to say the fly in the KFC and the Ratna awards, it is just all cacophony of nonsense, cause at the end of it all there is nothing better to do, nothing better to solve, not even to have the mind to fill up the pothole by your frontdoor. You are so much that your silence is like shouting. The number is so intense that we need no music.Till now , of whatever energy that moves the nation be it, but the size is done nothing else than debate and take sides. Now the Nano, Since the day it went upstage, I have just been banged and barged into my peace with debates on its good and bad. Some say the rich dont want it cause too many of them will kill their road space, then comes the activist, environmentalist and even the guitarist staying next door, singing songs of a small car that brought the death of a civilisation. I really dont figure out whats in all this business. One man done his responsibility now of fulfilling the impossible, so why not the rest make little things in this land possible, atleast by doing more and debating less. See those huge smokes that chug off the chimney of the factories of those millionaires,now thats serious concern, thats a debate .... Why only the Nano afterall?

Taxi from Tibet

2008-01-09T16:26:00.000+05:30

The little shop by the monastery square is decked with pirated Korean dvds. It gets only more interesting to know from the shopkeeper that tibetan youngsters have a festish for singularly Korean horror and Urban legends. The ambience around the square is dent with a few tattered wrinkled faces spending their winter in prayers. A constant flow of young men in hip hop appearances keep passing by, hurried into their own lives of fancy and fun. It doesnt take me much of time to finally conclude that since 59' much has changed. In moving with the times, the tibetans have somewhat got locked into it. The spirit does sure seems to soar high, with voices of vengenance keeping aloud much of the time, atleast once a month under the pretext of customs, tradition, prayers and numerously on annevarsaries. But in Irony, it takes a penalty of about five hundred rupees per family to get flesh and bones move the voice. In a world of real dreams, where the mint is working over time, It is just so human to be cornered distantly from the call of duty, duty in any form. But then to move flesh and bones at a price , sadly that means "unpatriotic" in a way. I belong to this order of duty, I am sorry to be honest.
I have been pegged and butted at so insanely, forced to take pride in my roots, to pride over my backdrop. This I do so much with a heart, but then being "Unpatriotic isnt a fault all the time".
at this juncture, It seems the Beijing games is going to play catalyst in the liberation of Tibet. Thats what a lot of tibetans feel. The Land is so vital. Soil that imbedded with a civilisation of six million souls. Indeed with prognosis I scent that freedom of the land couldnt be far now.Cause each era has to pass, pain and agony has to lie dead and Injustice is short lived. Balme it on them , in all ways you can, cause the globe is standing in whatever way , but just behind you.
But then, has the fifty years in exile inflicted much damage? Indeed could be. It takes me only a wink to chart out a list of how the soil of the six million has in an immense way lost its glory, cause who ever I ask a simple query on the motherland has an inadequate answer and many times a dead response. And at the end of the day, Everyone is headed to the Wild Wild West, like the once upon a time and have fallen in love with Korean cinema.

A dollar a day , A barrel for Hundred!

2008-01-07T04:01:00.000+05:30

A dollar a day ain't anything, a day is nothing.
Cause when the continents cry, it makes no reason to smile.
At the station I ride, a barrel is nothing.
One arm into the dark, while the other hopes for a spark.
Is there something, anything really left.
Cause into a package of twelve months once again,
We walk hand in hand with hope.

Dotted into the Sky!

2007-07-22T02:56:00.000+05:30

The Last Peg!!

2007-05-09T01:30:00.000+05:30

Daughter Dearest, U are a Waste...

2007-05-05T15:56:00.000+05:30

Probably to be a Photographer is to own a special eye. Something that is, aesthetically visualized and emotionally registered. And there are instances when the subject engulfs beyond that eye. Last week out of the blue , I was commissioned a shoot . I had no idea of what the story was. Presuming it to be one of those take on crime , all I perceived was to be photographing some plum cops coughing up a catch story . Soon, I was informed of a place in Ghaziabad called Hindon Vihar. Something terrible had occurred here.
Shraddha Sharma is a little girl of three days, lodged mercilessly inside a polythene bag, was discarded into a junkyard in the Hindon neighborhood .With dogs just on the verge of a feast, she was saved and adopted by a generous family. On arrival at this place, I was lost into a cluttered settlement of poorly built houses, lined by drains filled to the brim with filth. Here lay in all directions clusters of garbage and waste. As the choking smoke from a burning rubber waste pierced through my senses, I was aghast to realize the menace that I was surrounded with. How can people live this way thought I? I didn’t have difficulty finding the address, as the little baby had already gained instant fame in the neighborhood.How fortunate a baby thought I? Moments later, a minute, fragile and wrinkled creature was introduced to me. As I photographed the baby for my newspaper, I took those little pair of feet into my palm and tried to picture her ten years hence. I saw nothing but realize that fortunately defying death wasn’t enough for her , there sure was more to come her way.
I felt a sense of sadness and pity, and then went stoic. Soon I discarded the whole episode, like I format my camera card. In hours, I was back into my hurried life as usual, only to be photographing sweet little girls, dressed in attractive attires, performing Russian ballet at the Kamani auditorium, in the Capital. Their affluent parents shedding smiles with their eyes glued to the stage with fancy and pride. Some, with their hi-tech cameras frantically trying to capture a moment that would signature this special event. I realized each choreography was much practiced but couldn’t stop my wicked laughter each time a girl made an error, creating a chain reaction through the stage. But as each section ended, the house applauded with vigor , bringing smiles to the ascending confidence of these little damsels. I picture the spectacle with much delight. Having lived through another day , I get back home that night to only see a little baby girl of three days , being flashed on prime time news. What a farce I felt! But I felt guilty too.

Mossy Walls of My Innocent Trails

2007-03-17T21:55:00.000+05:30

I miss the moss on my walls, that home small but everything
a child like a Raven flying past colors into memories
nostalgia not suffer I from, but from the smell that seep
from those moments that travelled long ago, into today where I stand
Of those little quaint hills I climbed, the rivulet I splashed into
Of the Innocence I long lost, Of those smiles that sprayed the earth
And to the days that were endless, the stars countless , the sky too far
Dreams and fantasies inescapable, to everything so young, to something that didnt die.
come of time have I,but seek a desperate revisit.

Pampers and Diapers

2007-03-06T17:17:00.000+05:30

Hey you good hearts that run through my words, I am sorry I have no solace to offer. I come back after a long long time .
I am the same, with the same foul words and those ideals that are like Hollywood special effects, in existant. I am back with complaints and like the usual city slicker , bitching and crying of those that spit on the road, of those that dont abide by the smallest law. I am back with more woes, but this time i promise you something , that literaure tastes even better. Whatever, this is our world and be it anything , We love it . You love it ... We are all pampered and thats all.
Love and Luck

God Almighty, bring no disgrace!!

2006-12-09T18:25:00.000+05:30

It is just three weeks heading into a new year. Before the darkness befalls over this twelve month length, We celebrate or reciprocate "Human Rights Day" tomorrow. There is no sentence which can be neat to montage this aspect evolving over decades. Human rights is not just the damned face of Somalia, or a rape victim gone berserk. By the time the evolution is done, definition made of this chaste effort, millions would have vanished without reason into the dark shadows of world reality. The reality of not only Agony and fright, but of ignorance and selfishness.People have stood in numbers to make a call, to push a stand, to draw a difference between the good and the bad, in the right and the wrong. But like Goliath, the giant that we face stands massive by our own disgrace. The numerous candle light vigils, the meagre revolutions, the weak muntinies and the coarse voices may save a dozen but is minimum for a gross or even more. In it I am one , with a voice that peaks but with no reality, raised but with no elevation. Like me are many and probably all. God Almighty, bring no disgrace. Let the slumber die its death, and like you promised us land, strengthen us to not discover but to find it.
Slow and gradual in time , I have an opt to see no corpses lie sad on the roads, no wars to kill the heart, no sadness to abrim the air and more smiles with a reason... Om Mani padma Hum.

The Lhasa Twilight

2006-11-19T20:30:00.000+05:30

It is a sunday today, the entire city bathes into a pleasure that we call " holiday".
Into the Cinemas, to the shopping malls, to the parks and picnics and to everywhere that gives vibes and emotions of completion of an emotional demand.Satisfying, the neds of one and the family that the last six days ate to the extent of a civil war within homes.It is a day for a free India, where without work and jobs to do, people get a breather within " Liberty". Not afar from the sight of a housefull cinema hall and a populace munching onto ice creams, sit about forty saddened and grey souls, without having eaten for the last fourty eight hours.They live within the vicinity of no freedom within a liberal state. Fourty Tibetans, who have been here at the jantar mantar trying to express something which the Ice Cream mongers are hardly bothered about.The cinema runs to a full house, but the houses of these wretched individuals are at the point of extinction.Living in exile for years now, Tibet is lost into the Magnanimously growing China and all that implies from Jantar Mantar is a small voice of hope and help. As the Traffic on the road hurries by those wretched faces, not a single expression is replied to let lone be responded to.Today the Big Boss from China is in this Country to sell good will, to offer mutuality but cooked in the oil of distrust.But then the first impression for a fair roundabout means that the wretched in exiles need to be silenced and covered up, atleats for a moment.And that they do, like always with great care.They never let things skid off control, they always have been an intense bureaucractic set of machinery who know how to sip the bad oil off the good food and that they did and do may times scraping ooff the wretcheds.That they do today and that they shall tomorrow.The demonstrations have been shortened, both in voice and in the distance that it moves.Today, they scrape off and vanish tibetans who live in close vicinity to the Chinese bastion called the Embassy. They have cleansed and cleared off all the rust on the stage.Maybe the Chinks are smiling but then they always cook everything in bad oil.Tomorrow never dies, We are coming tomorrow.

MOTORCYCLE DEBRIS

2006-11-17T13:43:00.000+05:30

Hussein aint deserve to Lie!!

2006-11-09T19:05:00.000+05:30

Revenge is a meal best served cold, is what I first thought. But then Saddam aint alone in the jamat of a thousand gruesome offenders. Why do we stick his butt into all the misgivings. He headed it but he didnt butt it.I am not sorry for the dictator and shall never be. but then with his head comes a long story , one of a prolonged agony to the hundreds of innocent Iraqis whose life for the sake of nothing , for the duplicate glory of Paradiso shall forcibly enter into a realm of uncertain existance both ways. The world is going to be unequal. In a way the War on terror is never going to be the same again. Sometimes. when the inferno spreads out , the best thing you do is do nothing. This is not my voice but sentences and words in millions that I read each day over the media, newspapers and everything that makes money. People are fatigued of seeing Iraq in Newsweek, On CNN we need better, cleaner and happier stories. Too much violence is made everybody stoic. People aint caring anymore cause Iraq is nothing but news now. And you know , todays news is tomorrows dustbin.

The Comeback Explanatory

2006-10-26T18:29:00.000+05:30

I come now, as I have to make an appearance.In hiding comes two conclusions.That are either that you are a thief or else a revolutionary.Well dont think me both nor think me one.All this while to be honest, I have been lazing like a dirty pig.While in the sty, I just realised I had lost on time.The festivals in India have ended.Once more Winter has made a comeback, this time too early somehow.So that means I love to bike even more now, especialy after dayfall.With winter comes many things that i love. I mean the fog and the haze,the warmth of the quilt.roasted corn,longer nights and darkness.The cosy of winter is what lures me.Soon the year shall end along with Xmas.Many things, so many things that are all around, all inside.Things that I have to cry on, smile on and Improve on.Too many things that need to be taken off the closet, along with the blanket, the heaters and everything.I have come to make an appearance and i shall be to stay.I oath myself that, I shall hate pigs now on and forever.But I am not of both or of one.I am not a revolutionary nor the thief.

Autumn Fall Collection 2006

2006-10-17T20:55:00.000+05:30

Escape from October!

2006-10-13T15:27:00.000+05:30

Gradually but surely, I have started to feel,to see and to know and above all realise,what those Chinamen are upto in the impossible heights of the Himalayas.They have ruined my past, my present and the future.They have murdered my belongingness, I am silent.They disfigured my identity, I am dormant.They buried my country,I lie low.But for how long I sometimes feel.I am born of the India soil but lived and grown by my past.I have Tibet in my blood but till now or I dont know when I lived selfish.I lived disconcerned.I dont know why.But for an instant I felt hurt, with gruesome pain and It remains since the last three days.The reason cause of this.....

http://www.phayul.com/news/article.aspx?id=14226&article=Breaking+news%3a+Slovenian+climber+Pavle+Kozjek's+pictures+from+Nangpa+La

When Mona becomes Mona Darling !

2006-10-05T16:09:00.000+05:30

We the decimal in an entire Mathematics...

2006-10-04T15:45:00.000+05:30

I dont know what religion does.But It sure does get closer as you get Older.This aint some simple phenomenon, but a complex situation.Time now is an event that gets too contingent by the moment.And for sure those summers that smelt of scent does less and not anymore.The rains are cruel and the Cold from a murderer, now a sadist.Seasons have broken to fragments without reason.Are the words dipped in what we called religion true?.Alike the Outer, does us in the inside do like the seasons?Sure somewhere it does!But somehow, like we call ourselves the supreme, we love to forget pain into the realms of pleasures.We abolish the truth into the fancy of lies.We believe in the light which is prone from darkness.We believe and live in a decimal of an entire mathematics.We unfortunately being the highest contain the lowest altitude of sight.We are a civilisation into our own meagre creation.
Till a day, like I had mine, when confront we have to with the endless truths that exist and are real.When we lose, feel sad, diminish and solitary, When we truly face the truth within.It is then when we get closer and much closer to the faith.
But sadly, like always one upload aint enough to have no more.

Much can happen over Coffee

2006-09-28T17:28:00.000+05:30

All knows and you too, Whats money in a big City.People flock, educated and neither both into sinks of high rises, Which we call the metropolis.There is nothing called No and Impossible within.There can never be an end too.Each day, is like a piece of pie.Each day is somewhat nice.Likewise,money and sometimes lots of money stick on people who work hard for it.Sometimes men are simply lucky for it.Money the one bastard, Illegimately sweet.The more you earn the more you want to.Within the confines of this dreaded desire,We spend what we call money, everywhere.
One day, I sat with friends at a Coffee shop.With coffe cups laden onto the table, there was also stuff to eat. Lost into conversations, we carried on our bucky style.
Soon, I saw a shadow pass by, on the glass that covered the face of the store, which read " Cafe Coffee Day".The shadow of poverty.A man pale and hungry, with no hope and expressions.He is among those millions who we call unfortunate in India.Was hard enough to not think twice.Ruggedly pushed the door to the entrance and stared inside with hope.He uttered out which meant Hunger.I stood up, took the food I had and laid it into his hand.He said nothing.I expected nothing either.As I turned back to sit...I heard a frail voice which pissed me off.

The shadowy frail said " Hey listen, Hope this contains no Meat or Egg".....
Me said " Kiss my Ass"

The Tenyang Truth on the onset of Winter

2006-09-27T15:46:00.000+05:30

As we think, So we become...

"The thought manifests as the word
The word manifests as the Deed
The Deed develops into habit
And the habit hardens into Character"

Years later, a character by the name realisation, delves into survival
But time has passed off bounds and residual innocence has given way
Like a broken shattered dilapidated architecture,the soil within is crumbled
Into a mix of mud and moss, Nothing remains of worth to the spirit
The Concience is in its winter and thoughts witheld onto Sans

When the track is halfway travessed,Friend be sure to take a halt
And think of what lay Past, cause know not what lays ahead.
Its a beautiful world and A plesant Life
But It is just of a few gross, and soon rots alike everything.

Speedin like a freight train..OMTT

2006-09-09T17:18:00.000+05:30

I must have been about 8, in the spring of 88'.I had just joined Main school.St Josephs College, School Department was how it was addressed.North Point was how it was known.All this was a consequence of my Inquenchable and unsurmountable character at home.My Parents had given up...long time ago.In short, As a kid, I was system failure.
A day when Aunt visited for lunch, She suggested the Jesuits and the Convent education to Mama. Within a few weeks, my fate was sealed but healed.Since then, I have come a long way, i have come to 06'.Eighteen years have passed by.

I write this cause, Last night I listened to "GUNS N ROSES"

You want to break the dark, you better not.

Gopal

2006-09-09T17:04:00.000+05:30

India, Rickshaw
Originally uploaded by caspernita.

The largest number of immigrant labourer in New Delhi are from Bihar.Gopal is a rickshaw puller who is from Gaya in Bihar.With his meagre income of 50 to 100 rupees a day, he has to survive, spend and send some to his family back home.In the last two days I have had this assignment to photograph rickshaw pullers of a particular kind, The commission which I have not till now understood and an assignment which made no sense when it talked about "Particular' , to finding rickshaw puller.To me Each rickshaw puller is of the same agony.As i spoke to Gopal, he tells me that two days ago, a heir to a rich father, one son of a god damned Illicit rammed his autmobile into the fragile body of this Bihari babu.Evaded luckily, he now has a torn knee.While sipping his cup of tea, he says, " We are like some of those animals they show on that great wildlife channel". He meant National geographic. He continues " We are like them......Soon shall be extinct".

The "New Daily" Times of a Serial Fungabonkket...

2006-09-08T12:00:00.000+05:30

Amigo! I aint a statesman and One I can never be.Its just that I sometimes raze the keyboard to make my point.Everybodys got to make a point right.We live in a liberal society they say, they say it is good to erupt, to pour forth what contain within.I am a dot in this dotted earth, too small to speak of one weight which within me is unimaginable.I live a home within the precints of a city that I seriously hate but emotionally love.Like the Lord said " Maya is Quickfix".I curse this city, hate its people and wish to flee with not even the surburb insight. I want to derail its dreams and murder its future. Sometimes I aint care for its past too. I can spit a gallon into its filthy soil, which stinks of nothing but flavours of dread and danger, of grim and sadness, Of nothing that can bring a tender smile.
But then " Maya" resurrects my dead emotion, and I know I am depressed.I curse and vent but into thin air, which has no ears and nothing. I dread and crib but to reasons and causes that exist not.Cause this is a city which is supposed to be.Brimming with everything and with anything.This is a sculptor which knows not when to end.This city is severe.
I shout a furlong but in an inch I forgive it.This city is a story with a days life.
Mondays could be a dirge, but tuesday sure is comedy. Fridays maybe sloth but Sunday is infected with zest.This is my city, with a statement ....."New Daily", sorry Amigo , I shall never be a statesman....nor an Author, But I did be what i am rather.

The Gods are Back in India

2006-09-05T17:29:00.000+05:30

India Durga
Originally uploaded by caspernita.

Each year, India spends billions on celebration.And India expends the major chunk of it at the time when the Sub continent sowly gags Winter.Come September and october and thats when the country does its traditional rock and roll, romancing the gods.A time when a group of sculptors from a small town called Nadia in West Bengal, India come here each year to mould out good bucks and good art from clay and colour.They live here for three months and sculpt out numerous idols of Durga and the pantheon, which soon on completion makes way to the different venues of celebration through the city and mostly into the heart and mind of the Bengali community.Nestled inside a tarapaulin enclosure which is their house for these months they do up with the clay.The size of the enclosure is that of a city bus.Within the precints of the Kali temple at the CR park, they spend their days in shaping out what finally brightens the religious fervour of the people.

On TIbet Once Again....

2006-09-05T17:20:00.000+05:30

India, Demolition
Originally uploaded by caspernita.

The demolition in New Delhi, India over Illegal Land holding has been an issue of division.The most to suffer from this stance are the middle class and the poor.With many upcoming events like the Asian games in 2010, the States decision to have an organised and clean Capital has led to a chaos that is been going on for motnhs now.Here children from the slums sit beside a demolition site at the Tibetan Colony in New Delhi, India.
On the 4th of September, two unauthorised constructions in the Tibetan Colony were brought down by the Citys development authority.The incharge of the Demlition, a woman in the midst of all the chaos had shouted out " You tibetans have stayed here enjoying everything for fourty years, now we will kick you off here, We shall wipe out your place".Since sometime a reign of contingency and chaos surround the few hundred tibetans living here.They have even started to speculate on where the State would resettle them.While some chance on a place close by, others say it would be on the outskirts of Delhi.With this the tibetans have also started to push in the pros and cons of ther situation.However, the final verdict shall be made by the courts soon. Hope is what these tibetans can do. "This is what happens when you have no land of your own, you cannot even Do or Die" shouted a youngster.The total loss from this demolition has been casually figured at thirty million rupees.

In India I do Fashion, Even If I dont have Ration...

2006-09-02T18:34:00.000+05:30

India, Ashish Soni
Originally uploaded by caspernita.

Fashion in India is Vogue.You tatter your jeans or rust your stilletoes,No one is going to complain nor abstain.In this land of a billion,fashion is in the dick.The steel blade hat of Ajay Devgan,Rahul Roys hair,or Jhonny levers Chequered shirt, Its all a hit with the minds of India.This week is Fashion week in New Delhi.There are too many clothes that did the ramp on skimpy skins.It is absolute and wonderful.....Halt my friend! Still thousands aint got a feet of cloth to cover their crotch....maybe thats fashion too....

The White Nile

2006-09-01T18:24:00.000+05:30

I dont care for nothin,I dont care for dreams
Sadness must I say is one dirty whore
Romancing my dreaded soul
All moment, I try free my own,
I cannot run away.
Please father, make me not the devil
cause the devil lives in me
When the dark it falls, when the rain it wets
I fall sullen and grim
Damn me , I am no one I know
With nothing left to sow
Pardon gods , the kings of heaven
Only your mercy I read.....

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I did feel I ran the White Nile.

Ode to Pa!

2006-08-29T12:51:00.000+05:30

My Father once said:
"When you get your ass into the army, you become someone,
I am still tryin to figure which one!"
Cause In war the first death is Innocence,
I am a man and it kicks me cruel in the balls
to even fall an inch from grace
But I kindda think, finally Dad,
I got my self to Somewhere
Now dont ask me Which , Where?

Mine Nitty Gritty Pretty City

2006-08-24T18:47:00.000+05:30

The funniest thing about this City is, even if you smash your head on the wall a thousand times, you still love it.Maybe It is the case with all big and famous Cities the world over.I aint been to where the Sun sets but they say Cities like the Big apple and Vegas are Concrete myths with high emotions.Like wise each day thousands flock into mine city insearch of something that could never come.But the addiction is just there, running every moment like the crazy traffics disobeying lights.My city somehow nevers gets asleep.Every single moment, in some corner, life runs amok with hope,Hope which is both painful and useful.Each day more dreamers flock here and each day the water table drops down an inch.Every morning starts with chaos, which shapes to anger and by sundown to dismal, but then two drinks at a cheeky Pub does the rejuvenation.All a simple practice to Nirvana.There is nothing perfect in this city,the system, i dont know which one cause I have never met him or here.The Governance which is kind of OK , the infrastructure, which is near to a rupture,The roads ,wide but astride and we the People , like critters and gremlins aflock onto everything that we can suckle onto.We dont care if my digging will be anothers burying.I dont care where I park, I dont care for nothing ...But then I want everything...This is our attitude.There is nothing perfect in the city...But then like we say " practice makes a man perfect", we keep practice each day.

The Centre to Nothing.....in a Circle of everything

2006-08-22T17:54:00.000+05:30

Within the Teakwoods of Northern Andhra, a rather desolate region in India's Cyber Kingdom, lies an earth as the centre to nothing.Brimmed in Governmental indifference and the Naxalites, the lives of a few thousand tribals are in utter mess.Lacking in basic amenities to life, this years Republic Day saw the tricolour flutter for the first time since Independence.Traditional dogmatic practices like child marriages and Child slavery is rampant here.Education even though there is does majorly breathe on Affadavits and stamp papers.In a single word, This place is "Scarce".

THE CHEATED ....MITSI LO KHANDU GORBO

2006-08-19T16:08:00.000+05:30

Life could only grow better when you are cheated.A disgust,which hadth no face.To lay upon onto something or somewhere, which defines nothing in reality.Be stubborn but stern, cause when cheated, depletes many an inch inside.Everything , All surrounding is a passage, a passe, like time.Nothing got anything, no Price nor Value .All It does is just taste of a good bright fruit, but then fruit is where the poison sleeps, in the shape of a two faced snake crawled and slithering to strike time.The time when you are for no direction and for nothing destined.It is difficult to succumb to the truth but then one cant lie oneself forever.One cant be a bad dog to eternity.Everything has to pass.Cheated are many , but those stupid clings still to the claws of reality of nothing and when realises come , there is not an inch of peace left.I drive my own life and thats what it ought to be.I dont care a shit about when people fail to me.

MAYA TO MOKSHA ....LESS A DIKSHA, SOLELY BHIKSHA

2006-08-18T14:42:00.000+05:30

Time I am , All am I said the Lord,
Maya is that which curtails you,
That one which Curtains you from the truth,
Infested with Lust and desire,tastes of greed and lure,
Making a fool out of you, everytime you seer.
Restrain from Intoxication, from Unfaithful sex,from the taste of flesh and from gambling,
Sure you shall find the way.... to me ....Tough but sure....

Hey lord, I dont know what to figure out,
Cause I taste your words and sure they make do sense
Indeed tough it is but not of impossible
but everytime I see hunger I think the sad face of Africa
All the unfortunates picture to me of hope , and hope is painful.
Within the realms of all this , I see Innocence
Angry sure I am and I shall be
Cause if there is a road between Maya and Moksha
Why do you let Innocence die in a dirty pool of blood
And let the evil and the heartless, ever grow prosper
Cause I think you are somewhere
Playing a screwed up joke , and If that is true
Be it Maya and Moksha , I dont need to be with you.

Confusion and Chaos reigns and I ask Why aint there any respite from the Books of God?

Buena Suerte De Tibetan Populace

2006-08-12T12:34:00.000+05:30

Tibeto De Populace,
ee ke tengas suerte,La porto Fucas .
Sipor Dela muerte, La de Partida.
Uno, Dos , Treso
Tibeto de la bresso

PIPER AT THE GATES OF JAMA

2006-08-12T11:49:00.000+05:30

Just a roundup on a sweltering Jumma, I run into this stranger.He play by the gates of the mosque , that many call the Mecca of the east.Surrounded by slums and dwellers,filthy lanes and sweet eunauchs.He is lost in translation of the melodies of Kenny G xeroxed into tunes of Hindi and urdu.From afar, he did sound like a performer and nearer he was more than just that.Born of poverty and growth in agony, for him, something that melody brought was dear.So he picked up this instrument as a child and taught himself the chords, I presume the chords.Cause I aint know what this thing is but yes it sounds of good music when heard with depth.He played with passion, maybe thats all the passion he had.he tied two dead watches onto his foot,I still try to figure out ?Cause out of courtesy or of fear i didnt ask him why?Surrounded with a sickening Mulla who couldnt even stand, and yes an infant close which lied with a dilapidated dog, a few passers by did stop to listen to his passion.As a crowd grew near, he slept his passion and shouted out aloud, "To those who wanna know of the magic stones from the seven oceans, which fortell you all and everything , I dont force you to buy but hitch a look and when you ignite faith within , you shall buy my stones".he laid a few into a bowl and commanded them to jump off one by one.To estrangement , the stones followed like Cavalry in a march.Then he droppped one into a bowl of water,asking it to move and dance....God dammit, The stone served like a belle, dancing to his tunes.Astonished I was but like all educated men I thought to myself "Utter Bullshit ,Extreme Illusion"
Walked off soon i did , but till dusk I was for sure astonished.
Finally, I forgot to ask his name.....Well I christen him Najab....

MY FLYING SHOES

2006-07-29T13:18:00.000+05:30

I glide alike an Angel, My flying shoes
Abandoned the Ills below,with no woes
glittered in sanctity, riddled with compassion
aloft, I sway in my flying shoes
passing miles, passing tides passing sans
To Never Never land in my flying shoes
To the soil of all my dreams,into light of except realms
where nothing but smiles and fair,into something really rare
I glide on silver clouds , in my flying shoes
My flight is long,the clock shows stout
But I own "hope" whilst in my flying shoes
Cause the moment not afar,unlike grim
When land I shall, onto Paradiso
In my flying shoes..........

A 50 BILL BY THE HOLY FILTH ON A DRUNK SUNDAY

2006-07-24T16:22:00.000+05:30

As I strolled by the holy filth "Yamuna" the past Sunday evening, I meet, Bandra, Tashi Bandra.Bandra is among those unfortunate tibetan youths who started off fair but accelerated wrong.Now 30, he is a loyal prey to Psytrophic substances.A habit which got him thrown out of his brothers house.Both his parents are dead.he lives by the yamuna and takes refuge at the Babas ashram.The Baba provides food, water and the real succour to Bandra.He is never short of Bhang, Ganja and booze and yes the Babaly love.In return, Bandra propagates Baba to any fool who strolls by the Holy filth, like me, sometimes extracting good bills as much as a 50.Baba and Bendre breathe in symbiosis and have strived to be together in both stoned and unstoned versions of life.Like all holy men , Baba is also managed to lure a few foolish cows.All in all,a very Bolbum emotion, one that of Lure by the River.
By the way Bandra loves to drink and jump into the Holy Filth.....I lost my 50 to him...

TIBETO LA TALAILAMA PISHTUNDI

2006-07-07T12:08:00.000+05:30

The 71st birthday of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzing Gyatso was celebrated throughout the Globe on the 6th of July.With much Fanfare,Culture and Nostalgia, the event consumed a rather cloudy day in Delhi.This years celebration was also immersed into politics and Issues that concerned the local tibetans and the Freedom struggle as a whole.While the india ruling party ordained the festivity here with assurances against the demolition of the Tibetan settlement, Tibetan loyalists and sympathisers had also a concerned emotion over the Railway and the Nathula Pass happenings around the same time.Within the chaos of tender politics, an annual formality, a birthday bash ,a cruel weather, flirting clouds...there were moments, which to me have no expression.Say this I cause, the moment expression plagues moment, the moment is filthy.Some moments of celebration and innocence.....the Photographs......

VESPAS TO THE BIG SUNDAY

2006-07-05T12:48:00.000+05:30

Italia beat the Germans 2 nil.It is smaller news than the level of Play that resounded every corner of the Globe.Persona vebis I believe that It was the best Play of FIFA 06.I am sorry Klinsmann, you have always been a very favourite of mine, but then I lost Argentine and I cannot afford the Vespas.An exceptional display of professional football was what happened.Nothing could have been better than this and both sides exceptionally exhibited.All I did love to declare is yes after Roberto Baggio screwed up years ago, Alessandro Del Peiro has brought back the glory.Grosso you are the man that coloured the day.
Italia shall meet Portugal probably in the Finals.Scolari, you are a damn lucky hard worked Old man, you also deserve a Chance.
Zidane, I hope , Henry your long legs aint mean goals all the time.Italians! you got to play with your head cause you got a lot to stake back home.You win means all allegations shall be buried.You lose, all big clubs shall play third divisions.

FIFA 2006 DISASTER STRUCK THE QUARTERS

2006-07-03T14:58:00.000+05:30

Good! that Maradona didnt turn up that disastrous Friday.The day that changed the face of FIFA 2006.If you believe in superstition, then the night of Friday brought down a trail of taboo to the South American continent.As I sipped good coffee with my friend Zahid at the Cafe Coffee Day, Half time was in.Nothing seemed nor appreared wrong or weird."Hey Zahid" I said, "the beginning of second half shall bring the score", Like I predicted, Argentina did. 1 - 0.
Riquelme! man friday led Argentina out of a sordid junk situation.Advantage on Argentina, They played good.
In the 70th minute , Devil struck Pekerman.he withdrew King Riquelme." Disaster, Zahid , this is Disaster" I said.Then the Golie got injured and replaced,Crespo too didnt last.The flow within Argentine churned into something that looked absolutely directionless.Every passing moment got them weaker and slower.By the time 90 struck, nothing seemed right.By the time extra time ended , nothing was right and by the time the Penalties were through, the flight back home was ready.Argentina lost, Argentina crashed ....So did I ....Nothing could be as lousy as this.I agree on the contrary, the Germans moved stronger every moment, they deserved cause they fought well.Argentina ! well , thought they were through.
Just one single error.....If Raquelme played all 90, FIFA sure did look so different today.The very next day, The devil struck Brasil.They made the same errors.
Portugal and Scolari deserve every bit of it.They deserve the Cup if they roll strong on the field for two matches more.
Germans, you played good but like always I feel you were rough.France and Italy, I dont understand you, you confuse me too much.When I think you are Out , you are In and when You need to be In you are Invisible.
This FIFA, South Americans had the best chances , but too much of Partying and Egos got them good.Serbia& Mont,Ghana commendable you did well.Japan,for sometime you got Brasil by the balls.Netherland you lacked luck and Lust.Spain you tried well.Ukraine, I think you need a few more years to understand what FIFA means,England you cant always make Beckham bend, and Rooney you gotta take it cool Dude,Portugal! Till the time you have Luis Figo, I shall romance Lisbon.Mexico, next time wear a better looking jersey and open your eyes more to the situation...Give my love to Tijuana.The rest Better luck next time!
My prediction for Further: FIFA 2006 = GERMANY + FRANCE
Dont play by the color of ones skin, Shoot by the Power of ones foot: " Viva La Fussball"

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

2006-06-30T17:52:00.000+05:30

Are all the battles worth it? The money waste?is it?
No one dont cares, for nothing and for anything?Is Value something?Does value Something!
For the Consience needs an answer, for the Truth needs a reason...
Does speaking too much do harm and speaking nothing even more...
Does concern shower weaknesses, or Ignorance carry logic!!!
Is anything really worth it? Does everything carries substance!
Do I have to love my mankind , or can I be selfish for me..
Is all this chaos a dug trench, where I shall also lay too soon..
Is all this world that happenin? Is all this really worth it ?
Cant I have an answer..a much simpler answer....
cant a sentence explain this .....Cant a word retain this...
If not friend then sing on.....
Welcome to the Jungle ....We got tons of pains
We got everything you want Nanny!
We dont know those names!!!!!!!!......

WHAT IF LIFE COULD BE PHOTOSHOP!!!!!

2006-06-30T14:55:00.000+05:30

What If Life could be photoshopped!!!
To be honest, It is really difficult to a decision! Decide being reasonable and straight.Decide without having a school girls crap like ...
I would morphe and change my hairstyle, My eyes and My Butt....nor like a Teenage ass giving an MTV byte like
I did be Axl and I would do Megadeath.
Nor Like a lazy fatso with nothing to say but to parrot " Technology Ah Hah..Hambug".
Photoshop and me , trying to be real is like feeling to be a flibbertigibbet.But I reall dont know what of which in When if Life could be a Photoshop.I feel shameful to talk alike a loose crazy Chic, feel weird to narrate like a dead celebrity,or to be Ignorant and selfish like the Face on the road.
Well finally with much Spirit , If Life could be Photoshopped,

"GOD SAVE MY ASS"

WELCOME TO THE HOTEL KERALAFONIA !!!!

2006-06-28T16:31:00.000+05:30

HOTEL KERALA-FONIA : BY ANONEAGLES

On the road to Trivandrum
Coconut oil in my hair
Warm smell of avial
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a bright pink tube-light
My tummy rumbled, I felt weak and thin
I had to stop for a bite
There he stood in the doorway
Flicked his mundu in style
And I was thinking to myself
I don't like the look of his sinister smile
Then he lit up a petromax
Muttering "No power today"
More Mallus down the corridor
I thought I heard them say

Welcome to the Hotel Kerala-fonia
Such a lousy place,
Such a lousy place (background)
Such a sad disgrace,
Plenty of bugs at the Hotel Kerala-fonia
Any time of year
Any time of year (background)
It's infested here
It's infested here

His finger's stuck up his nostril
He's got a big, thick mustache
He makes an ugly, ugly noise
But that's just his laugh
Buxom girls clad in pavada
Eating banana chips
Some roll their eyes, and
Some roll their hips
I said to the manager
My room's full of mice
He said,
Don't worry, saar,I sending you
meen karri, brandy and ice
And still those voices were crying from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them pray

Save us from the Hotel Kerala-fonia
Such a lousy place,
Such a lousy place (background)
Such a sad disgrace
Trying to live at the Hotel Kerala-fonia
It is no surprise
It is no surprise (background)
That it swarms with flies

The blind man was pouring
Stale sambar on rice
And he said
We are all just actors here
In Silk Smitha-disguise
And in the dining chamber
We gathered for the feast
We stab it with our steely knives
But we just can't cut that beef
Last thing I remember
I was writhing on the floor
That cockroach in my appam-stew was the culprit,
I am sure
Relax, said the watchman
This enema will make you well
And his friends laughed as they held me down
God's Own Country? Oh, Hell!

TILL STEVE SAYS BINGO!!

2006-06-28T15:06:00.000+05:30

A slumber sleep, dazed and drowsed, and the Haunting.People saw this and said it reminds them of Steve Mc Curry.Now that is more than just Compliment.For me, Yes i like it really really much.I feel pride in seeing it.But everytime I see her, she wanes and winds down in expression.It feels like a dilapidating Oil paint drooping and drowning by the moment.I then wonder, am I being proud too early and for nothing ?I start to see flaws in it.I start to find the woman get ugly by the day.The whole fraction of that very second loses its endless glory.I see too many mistakes.I feel, finally that I wish to find her again and not let her go till Steve himself says " BINGO"!

CONFESSIONS OF A DAGGEROUS MIND....ND10/29

2006-06-26T15:31:00.000+05:30

A spate of sad rain brought no respite to the City.Locked deep inside one of the rooms within 1400 rooms in the 32 block apartment,brought intense respite for him the absconder.The apartment sprawls lush in the eastern surburbs of the city.It is among the best domiciles that make real estate prices greedy.A week ago, on a friday,Najab, sat relishing his plate of Korma and Khameris at one Sultan restaurant within the chaos gullies of Srinagar.he had the other nightfall escaped into India from the other side.His face lures for pity and brims with the rays of Innocence.There is not an inch in him which dangles his intent.A while ago he turned 23.As the loudspeaker nearby sirens for the Fajir namaz,Najab has thoughts revolving on his ailing mother and his novice sister, probably praying for him , far away in Pashtunland.With the last morsels settling in his stomach, he walks to the mosque like all loyal muslims do.
Six days later,dark clouds loom low, The City awakens froms its slumber.From the filth and the heat, finally respite it seems.But who knew that the Clouds brought no rain, they hung loose , they had brought bad news, they brought contingency.
Thursday towards evening it is ....Like all thursdays , Tashi, a young aspirant Photographer does the rounds for his Imagery, walking past and through everything that did bring him closer to that one moment.He strolls Connought Place, somewhere closeby to a place where you get good sweet milk to drink.But he aint happy, cause the Clouds killed his element , the Light.Like they say "Photography sans light is porto".Then he had the least in his mind that the clouds brought him good omen.He strolls on...hopin and swearing!

TO BE CONTINUED ........

IN A TRUE WAY SHANGRILA! INDIA

2006-06-26T13:26:00.000+05:30

India is a grate country, It is exceptional.I am grateful to it and I am proud of it.In a way I aint an Indian and in many ways I am.Today India wins in all directions, hoping to be the King in a few years that passe.India is proud and carries much history.India is diverse.Words fall short of praises.You millions! one species that stink but consist the world, make it mobile and bring in harvests of gold too quick, too soon.Within half a century, you play the magic wand to arise out of a filthy bog, to gain in stature and in price.You million excel in everything that you do and in all agonies that you function.Commendable is something thats worthless to define you with, you are those prefect machines that shall reign the globe.You have strength and sight and your backdrop is affluent and rich, which attract even the null and the voids.
It is like my Dad calls you " Gyekhab thie norbyki Phangtso Bay" meaning "India is the land of endless riches".

UP UP AND AWAY.....FROM CHAT TO THHAT

2006-06-21T18:32:00.000+05:30

What happens when you pick up Water for free and Fizz it with Sugar and Carbon, and give it a Good name.You have Coke and Pepsi and you have a Multinational and you rake that Water in millions.Likewise,What happens when Little and simple India is cooked into lustrous and expensive kitchen.You have all the papri chaat and golgappas being overnight celebrities and raking in ten times the money that it swarmed in.The same, I drop into the Chor Bizzare, an authentic and Indian restaurant which respects and refreshes Indian buds but at a price, a price that good money can sleaze.The golgappas, chaats and edibles that otherwise sell fashionably and with trademark on the dusty and sprankled and swarmped gullies of India now have directions into Big Brand restaurants and Outlets.They claim that way It is Healthier! But at the same time ten times more expensive.Does that do Justice? and for sure ....Do the common Indian masses fear epidemics eating from the hands of a roadside Bihari Chaatwalla....

FIFA LA ANGEL DE LA PROGNOSIM

2006-06-19T13:33:00.000+05:30

I am so excited about the World Cup, I just follow it much.But then, Last night It seems the Premonition and a Prognosis followed me.For a While, I felt FIFA like an angel was expressant to me .But then Within a closer thought and a sterner and stronger look onto what I did see, I saw something that I now relate to this World Cup.I saw the Italian clolor in a corner of my home where I shower.Probably, The House has a bet to make and wants to rake in for Italia.I sure guess, No more Maldini, Baggios nothing but then If not South America , then Italy probably.The Prognosis shall unfold naked soon...in a few more days.
Viva La Fussball!

MERCI UTNOOR....MERCI LAKSHMI BABA

2006-06-14T16:05:00.000+05:30

To those many, stranded in Society, without Nothing.There are the Doubles with Nothing.One journey is sometimes an Odyssey.One sight is sometimes the Vision.It is just what Stories are born from and Tales vanish foray into.
To those Many faces that I saw, that I discovered and that brought me something.I cannot promise to say that I shall always remain Alight, But Yes! I shall always and forever remain Obliged....For those moments of Respite and for Peace...
Merci Utnoor!!!! Merci...

UNLUCKY! NO TIME FOR RHYMES...

2006-06-07T19:09:00.000+05:30

Rejoice,My friend , My Comates in Exile
Live your life, Like the Kings
Your Breaths like the Seasons, That take their Turns
For when the Time arrives
like a sordid Scraptrain
We gotto laden ourselves
Into those filthy compartments
Crying out loud, for the Tracks to soften.....
Lo!
Pray My friends! You Unlucky Wretcheds
The Train is arrived.......

NOL NOL NOL.....I AM A MOLECULE, ALSO A GRANULE ...

2006-06-07T13:12:00.000+05:30

Everyday, I want to Change, Be Better, B Happier, B Content.God damn,at the Minimal be Normal.No Remorse, No Pretence, No Chaos.But I am part of this system we call the World Order.A granule of a huge sagging plant.A Molecule within an unimaginable size.A pixel within a picture of a Mountain.So small,so Opaque.But Sadly or Gladly, a Player within.I am required as I am a component and like me all are too.This morning, I get Mail from a good friend.It conatain one image which first Spoils my day.For sometime, I am awestruck and dumbfound , then fascinated, and finally filled with thoughts of both joy and remorse.Joy cause,I once again realise no matter what Molecules and Granules know how to survive and sustain.To fight all odds.But Remorse cause All odds bring sadness and Ill,bring Pain imposed, Tears forced and helplessness.Great God What a Structure, just see see, Its full of Rupture.Good times sometimes seem Unpunctual.Good Prayers seldom heard.

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

2006-06-06T19:19:00.000+05:30

"THE BEAST OF BURDEN" , christened it is and fetched 4.5 Million Euros at the Sothebys Auction in May 2006.The painter Monsieur Renny Dupont of Marsielles, France is among the most renowned and prolific creator of contemporary time.A peep into the darker sides and shades of this masterpiece relays the horrors of the 18th century,a volatile period of Europe.A continent enlaid with rustic Politics, social inadequacy and epidemics.The burden that gradually crushed onto the old society.

The Truth: " the painting is mine "
I call it the burden and Thank you, I have realised .. you aint have an Eye for whatever you call Art.

RESTRAIN DID WE, TILL WE FELL ALWAYS !!!

2006-06-06T15:40:00.000+05:30

Restrain, Why Am I , Why are We scared of it?Restrain from what and how much?Papa says restrain from the three, Anger, lies and Greed.Mtv say restrain from Drugs and Aids.Teacher say restrain from the false.Boss say restrain from Disloyalty and Disrespect.Grandpa say restrain from Alien traditions.Grandma say restrain from Charcoal Women and Nightouts.Mama say restrain from Atheism.Leaders say restrain from Unity.Friend say restrain from falling in Love.Girlfriend say restrain from the rest of the Women.Wife say restrain from thy Neighbours Wife.Husband say restrain from Obesity.Sister say restrain from her Friends.Brother say restrain from his Girlfriends.Enemy say restrain from Goodwill.Doctors say restrain from Good Food.Wise learned gurus say restrain from Evil.Evil say restrain from God.God .........Ah.. God! He only say nothin'....Knock Knock (knocking on Heavens Door) " Anybody Home"..........Over and Out ..... "RE - STRAIN, I shall always miss my Train".

Probably! When Men befell this earth, Restrain was the first warning.It was broken of a stupid Snake.Adam bit into the lush Apple, Eve got the drabble.Since time God knows when,We have tried it hard,to be of better face, to be no disgrace.To encounter this circumstance, restrain lived amongst us and showed us many face.Sometimes the Snake, sometimes the fletchling lures, manytimes the juicy flesh and evermore Money and Grace.Surrounded forever we are and numerous falls to disgrace.To only stand back again , once more to fight a losing race,with no fortunate trace.