drip drip drip

Written on a wet, dark, rainy day.
Left quite unfinished as thoughts flit between Bangalore, Milan and elsewheres in time.

***

It pours.

It beats on the roof and down on the swelling puddles. The noise is so much, I can't hear over the rain. I put down my headphones and pause iTunes.

Pangaea Rising
Be the Change

Reminds me of the Great Deluge. Apt.

Clouds roll ahead, like surf hitting the beach. Fluid. They glide. The rain slows down to a simmer, it sounds like static. Little grains of blue, black, grey and white dance in a frenzy. Hypnotising. Numbing. A single drop jumps into an empty bucket, the moment of collision echoes through the room. It jumps, echoes; again and again and again until it exhausts itself.

Silence.

Cold cold silence. It hangs around me, moist, damp, heavy. There are no ceiling fans here. I stare at the flat white ceiling. The snow continues to float outside in the streetlights. There must be a wind too, the snow isn't falling straight.

I sleep.

The wind makes it seem colder. I put on my yellow raincoat as we step outside. It smells strange, a mix of cold rain and new plastic. My shoes are drenched, they squelch with every step, from the water inside and the slush outside. We trek back to Bison Valley Lodge; I hope the leeches stay clear of me.

***

Kochi

I finally made my way to Cochin last week. Internet Kerala was actually all around me and I got extremely kicked when I saw an endless canopy of coconut trees before we landed at the airport (the inside of which smelled of sandalwood). On the car ride from the airport, I counted Kallu kadas, lost track of coconut trees and attempted to read Malayalam. I can actually make out a lot of the characters, so a game of fill-in-the-blanks usually worked for the simpler words.

It was all so oddly familiar.
Except for the accent, which was extremely surreal.

Drew Mohiniattam and Kathakali dancers in the dark, sniffed at spices and stared at windows in Jew Town, saw how fish is caught in Cheenavalas and watched fishermen mend nets, and sat at random places in the sun to draw.

Airports and Sleepyheads

Bengaluru, Amdavad, Kochi

*new notebook: A gift from long ago, and a format that I ought to learn to use better me thinks.

People People Everywhere

At work

Barista, Koramangala

Tea, Coffee & Lemon cake

The past few weeks have seen coffee cup studies, a box of Ferrero Rocher, the return of Earl Grey Bergamot and lots of the boss's famous lemon cake- this time with orange flavoured cranberries.



Excuse me while I go back to dreaming about lemon cake day.

another afternoon

Quick one. At the pg.
In retrospect, very very warped.

ballpoint pen, derwent pencils, fat fluoroscent lyra pencils

At the printer's

Two days at the screen printer's spent watching colours being mixed, asking seemingly silly questions about screens, staring at positives taped to a white board, listening to Kannada discussions on structures for signage and drinking tea from a tumbler.

brush pen, dry pastels, dried up poster paints.

The woes of a wait.

A mouse-like woman sits next to me as I wait my turn. As much as I try to hide my papers from her, I constantly catch her peering, trying to read something. She has cracked heels and wears large spectacles. Some men crowd around the counter I need to get my money from. Another bunch of women huddle around the counter (DOCUMENTATION) in front of me. I spot the doctor who got her forms stamped last Thursday. She looks sweet, like those doctors who don't like to prescribe even crocin to their patients. The mousey woman still peeks into my notebook when she takes breaks from fidgeting. Voices rise from somewhere inside the city of cubicles. Mouse Woman sits straight, pulling at her nails, not unlike what I do. The man manning DISBURSEMENT COUNTER has disappeared.

More people walk in.

The door is peculiar. Every once in a while, it makes a pop. Like a tennis raquet cutting through the air just as it smashes a ball back. It feels like a release in the vaccuum of noise inside. Pop. Silence. Pop. Silence. I welcome the silence followed by every burst in the door, even though they last less than a few seconds.

My turn arrives. I'm sent along with my folder to meet the manager who isn't here. Why isn't anyone ever in their places? He arrives only to walk off to the other end of the cubicle maze. At this point of time, I sit diagonally across my earlier seat, minutes ago. I'm still on something chequered though. Pink and chequered. I just realise that the entire place is done up in salmon pink. A pink bank.

Written sometime last year, Septemberish.
One of many days of waiting at SBI, Ahmedbad.

Cold Chocolate Horlicks and Buttered Bun

Scenes from the workplace.

Advaita LIVE.

Went for Advaita's performance at Kyra with the cousin.
Beautiful beautiful music. I heard a sarangi for the first time and loved it.



Headbanging+drawing=TOTALLY enjoyed.






Advaita on myspace .(My favourites are Ghir Ghir and Durga).