uj453

[uj453]

christmas lives in vigo 

18/12/2021 

1 Comment 

christmas lives in vigo

you would have loved the dilapidated conditions of many of the buildings. You would have loved the facades of the buildings that were standing up with nothing behind them. Windows that people would have looked through, now becoming windows of the hollowness inside. You would have loved the traces and remnants of the buildings that are no more - onto the buildings it was surrounded by. They put a yellow paint on  the walls adjacent to the one that was broken down. Probably it’s not just yellow paint but something which has more functionality to it to, than just being a marker. But the markers were so ever present in the city, it is clear they are really trying to rebuild the city, into this idea and imagination of the modern. The city boasts itself as the city where christmas lives. It full of lights, too many and too much of them. Light installations that seem that they are there just because the pressure to maintain the city’s own reputation as the city of christmas lights is too much. And this is something that needs to be done. Otherwise, there might be an identity crisis. There were sculptures and sculptures of Santa’s sleigh, of everything christmas, and many things not. Of a huge giant bear sitting, which was attracting everyone from all age groups to sit on it’s lap for a photograph. And suddenly you would see the police running in the streets with a very alert alarming whistles. And I was like shit what happened. They were clearing the way for the christmas toy train, full of adults, wearing masks, and no sign of enthusiasm. None of that young drunk partying college kids. These were adults, almost like in a public transport system. The cops kept whistling and running in front of the train to clear it’s path, the engine driver would give a couple of bells every now and then, clearly displaying his own ability to honk/bell the streets clear. Or just to remind everyone that christmas lives in vigo. 

This was all part of the fiesta, the giant wheel which would light up in various colours and have almost strobe like effects (remember, it’s teh city of lights), the kids roller coaster rides, the merry go around s, the cotton candy stores. you told me that you couldn’t afford cotton candy as a kid, and now here we were, with really sticky sugary fingers, sugar filled mouths, of so much we ate, that all just dissolved into thin air. the paella that was so good insistingly served to me by the airbnb host. the airbnb host who was widowed and lived there with her daughter, renting out every room, nook and corner possible of the flat, to let the money come in. the dog that was so sadly locked into the room, so that ‘the guests’ wouldn’t be disturbed. and the nephew who would sleep in the living room and just not get up, depite our host really screaming her lungs out. all so lively, all so energetic, with so much buzz, kisses on the cheeks, with churrizos and with cheese, with regular bread and with croissants, with a packet of local sweet snack left on the side of the bed. and yet with so much heaviness in the air. of an absence, of these fleeting presence of strange people, of the young daughter who was in her room throughout our stay. of not being sure of what you do with the mask rule when meeting the airbnb guests, and not being sure of what to do with the mask rule when meeting the airbnb hosts.

Somehow it reminded me of the truck stop cities we have in india. transitionary places. of places which would end up not having so much of their own identity. was a port town like vigo also similar like that somehow. the port is visible and clear and forms a nice lovely view from various parts of the city. from the few remanants of a castle or a fort. you can see the port, you can see the town on the other side of the water body, which is almost like a backwater, you can see through offices where people are working on computers and have huge ass windows, and you can look at offices where there was no one right then. The building said buas festas. happy holidays. and then you can see the cranes. the cranes all pointing towards the future that is going to be, of a promise land of development, and all this construction is all towards building the future of vigo we want to see. a future visible in the train station already. of basically being a mall where you have the h&m’s, the mangos, the body stores, and of course you can pick up train tickets. of this neat clean white sanitized building which shouts out vigo in huge letters on side (which is lit like crazy in the evenings of course- it is the city where you come to see the lights after all). But what about the old man who spent two to three hours in the morning trying to fill up sand in between the tiles that had been presumably new laid out just on the porch of the swanky new train station. In this new clean improved city, you donT need to see the train of course, they are hidden in the tunnels, which form the basis of the train stations and the platforms there. but where will the remanants of the sand that is being put in the gaps of tiles go? or the person who did? 

where will all these remanants go, of old buildings, of buildings that are no more. you can now access the fort through a series of escalators right from the street/road. and there was a marking for a cathedral. we couldn’t find the cathedral. we found some churches, we found lots of christmas, but somehow not the cathedral. maybe it was in one of the yellow painted walls. 

1 Comment 

Sarita narayan 

25/3/2022 07:59:19 pm

बस्तियाँ उजड़ जाती है ,  निशानियाँ छोड़ जाती है ,  ये दस्तूर पुरानी है ,,,,  Enjoyed reading it

[uj453]

the recipe to kill cockroaches 

5/9/2021 

0 Comments 

after having some not so expensive but really good zeppelins and cold beetroot soup, i walked down to the museum of occupations and freedom struggle. The one nice thing also being in a poorer european country is that everything costs less. And they accept student id cards of any age!!! so the ticket was just 3 euros. The quite non descript building of the museum, and it not being so prominently marked on the tourist map, i didn’t really quite know what to eXpect. The beginning rooms were also quite small, and it was made clear that this was the office of the kgb at some point. The museum would go on and open about the freedom struggle, the mass deportations during soviet union-istation, the partisan movement and so on. On display were guns, uniforms, puzzles, gas cylinders, different medals of honors of the partisan army and so on. At some point, there was some attempt to project something on pre printed walls. Not a bad idea actually, but the eXecution left something to be desired of. As you entered the first floor, the first thing you are encountered with is a small wooden cabinet with gas masks on display. That by itself was striking, and which then led to the room of glory. The room of glory was kgb’s room of accolades, of people who had done well for and in the kgb. The museum’s and in connection the state’s own dilemma with the idea of preservation was quite apparent in the fact that while they stated the intent not to be wanting to maintain this as a room of glory, they had in fact done exactly that. This followed by a room which contained the various forms that KGB used. A very interesting installation in the room was of three screens, which were CCTV monitors of three cameras in the museum itself. I think that was quite smart. It is quite commendable this effort of preservation, and not denying it. 

In a country so young, thrown into the enthralls of the EU, many of the wounds are really young too. Lithuania is clearly also of the [post soviet states which has done well economically. I wonder what/how Estonia looks at this recent past. 

The ground and the first floor of the museum were alright. I get this idea and notion of trying to preserve. Trying to build up this national identity. And the glorification of that resistance. The Partisan army’s discipline and moral codes were points that were consistently emphasised upon. There is this instance, where they say talking about these oaths of moral conduct and so on, followed by, regardless of that, there were atrocities on the civilian population, just link in any war. Or something to that effect. And that by itself was quite revealing. 

What was really striking was the basement. This is the part of the museum which completely shook me up. THis was the prison cells of the KGB. I assume that it was not the main prison, but maybe an intermediary place for suspects before being transferred to other prisons. Or so I thought. What you are encountered first here is these two solitary cells, Barely enough place to just stand up and sit. Of course the door had a window which could only be accessed from the outside, and no possibility of sunlight at all. Followed by cells and cells with iron beds. Some of the rooms inaccessible, had been done up to show how they were. Like the ground floor and the first, I was eXpecting to the section having a few cells and that s all. That wasn\t the case at all. This maze of a ‘prison’ seemed never ending. It wa still not huge, but it really would just keep leading on to more cells, more interrogation room, more interrogation rooms with water, and so on. On again another label was marked the eXectution room. Going there was very very overwhelming. You first walked up the stairs, which takes you into a passage of the courtyard and then another signage asked you to go down into another basement. 

As you are climbing down, the steps you are encountered with glass floors, which are elevated from the actual floor. Very well lit two rooms. and the one inside with a small window. Apparently they used these small windows to slide off the bodies from. There was so much that those rooms had seen and you could clearly feel it and sense it, and be drained within it. I know it was my imagination and the knowledge of what had happened in the room, but you really could feel it, smell it.

I wonder why that was the only room that didn’t have things translated in english. they had a small model recreated of those rooms, marking where they would do what, but that too was just in lithuanian. Maybe it’s just a work in progress, but maybe it’s this idea of keeping it to yourself. The pain of it. And that inaccessibility made the it even more dark. It’s like as you step down, there’s a sign above four hooks saying - ‘Victims of KGB’, or something to that effect. The four hooks hung there empty. 

After stepping out, I went into the courtyard which was the eXercise area for the prisoners. There were different cells even in that. These small eXercise areas had a small bench each kept in it. The walls were really high. And a peephole (outside in, of course) in each too. Sitting in one of them, by myself, and still soaking in that eXecution room, i really felt like throwing up. It was all a LOT to take in.and I for one, was having a really bodily reaction to it. 

The language dilemma, and this angst against russian also then one understands, they were teaching lithuanian apparently in lithuanian reading clubs, and all of that. The struggle was really fresh, and recent. 

Later in the day I would visit the national art gallery’s eXhibition ‘Indigenous narratives’. A beautiful one too, it just had stories of various indigenous ppl, their bios sometimes, some tales they would say. Not all had been translated to english though. Like the one - a recipe to kill cockroaches. Another recipe of a cake was translated. There was through that huge hall, songs or chants playing constantly, which were really beautiful too. Some reminded me of some hindi rhymes. Also on display were some masks, which were quite beautiful, the description reminding us that the masks of the other was not to mock others, but just as a storytelling device - bullshit political correctness. It’s also okay to mock. And a lot of it would be that, but there s beauty in that too. 

Like how in one of the tales, there s this woman who is visited by three hungarians (anyone who is outsider is referred to as hungarian), and she is smitten by one. But she doesnt want to go with them, because they were hungarians. So she leads them to someone else’s courtyard and asks them to go there. She is unable to go back to her place, but embarrassed doesn’t want to go after them. So she waits for them outside her place, overlooking the other courtyard. Much later, when the three hungarians come back, they make fun of her saying - you didn’t want to come wiht us, and then you are waiting for us? She says, she is really smitten by this one, and that she wants to go back to her place, and that they should help her cast the spell off. The hungarians laugh and after making a bit more fun of, the one comes to her and taps her hands thrice, and says, now she will not want him anymore. Once he does that, she doesn’t want him anymore and goes back inside.  

[uj453]

long live the good samaritans, god save the samaritans 

12/5/2021 

2 Comments 

With my father in hospital for a few days the doctor suggested that we go for plasma treatment. For a disease or virus that is still largely unknown, there are these eXperts, and there are these methods of treatment. A lot of it is just trying out things, that make sense to that particular eXpert. Somehow, in just over a year we have covid experts. Experts who not just have the pressure of having to deal with so much of the unknowns of the virus at hand, but also to play the role of the eXpert. Because we need to know. At every point, it seems there are things that we just know. And then one after another things that we know gets obviously disproven. 

The amount of information that Indians seem to know of about corona is astonishing. OXymeters have really become household thingies, and people all seem to understand what SPO2 percentages mean. When you can’t trust the state to take care, you have to take charge of it yourself. So the headlines and discussions are revolving around specific medicine shortages, around treatment plans, and this is true for the general discourse also. 

A lot of coverage in the media, is also revolving around the heroes of this fight against corona. This is true not just for domestic media, but I have realised is true for international media coverage of the situation in India as well. Of all these people who are out there doing good. You will commonly find messages, about home food tiffin deliveries for covid patients. So when I searched for plasma sourcing, of course there was a plethora of websites, groups, that popped up. Some of my friends figured out telegram and whatsapp groups that were helping people find plasma and other necessities. 

And so began the hunt. The first few phone calls to some of the blood banks listed in some of these support sites, didn’t deal with this at all. They just didn’t even do plasma eXtraction thingy. Contacting friends there were few prospective donors that emerged over the neXt few hours. The next morning the dozens or so sites where I had left a request for plasma started calling back. And re confirming I needed the same, blood group, hospital, so on. A particularly enthusiastic donor was contacted through one of the groups. Another advantage was that he was very close to the blood bank where the process had to be done. So I requested him to head over there, and sent him a copy of the requisition from my father’s hospital. There was a requisition that was already made last evening, but when I asked the duty nurse of the ward, she asked me to wait, and made me another one, with of course a test tube of papa’s blood. And then I got the one that was made the previous evening, with another test tube of his blood of course. 

The system wasn’t very clear, and the nurse was telling me the process, since I wanted to arrange the plasma myself. I didn’t want to do it! but it seemed to me that there was no option! Anyway, by the time I reached the blood bank, I had around 10 missed calls from different people including the donor I had requested to head towards there. Most of these calls were from people giving me leads, or reconfirming my requirements. On telling them that I was already reaching this blood bank to check the availability there, the question was almost always as to if I needed plasma or not. And of course I did, and there was nothing certain at teh bank I was in. 

Another person told me that some plasma had been booked and blocked for me at another blood bank. But I needed to decide soon, so that if not needed then the plasma could be released for someone else. I had NOT asked for the plasma to be blocked. I told this person my situation, that I had just arrived to this hospital’s blood bank and that they would need to check the sample and cross match it with their availability or figure out if they could give me the required sample. 

I gave in the sample for processing and the same would take over an hour or so. Through this hour, there were several others who called me offering me for donating, that there is plasma availability here or there or something, and of course that guy who had blocked it out for me at this other hospital. I needed to decide and decide soon, because otherwise what if other people need them. But how in the world am I supposed to make that decision. I had no sense of how critically this other patient needed it, or even if there was such a patient needing the same.

And I was supposed to make this decision?

On what should I make that decision… 

should I toss and see? 

How critically was the plasma needed?

for my father? 

or for this abstracted notion of a patient…

And meanwhile my really helpful and generous donor in his enthusiasm was calling and updating me every 2 minutes. He was now waiting after having given a sample to check the haemoglobin and so on. Because the situation was seemingly so dire, I had of course contacted many lists, many websites, and all those calls were coming in, checking in with me as to if i still needed plasma. Of course I did, what if the cross matching that has to happen didn’t work out in this blood bank.

I was trying to be as honest about the situation as possible, but it was only annoying a few ppl. They were getting confused as to if I needed or not. Some others were more understanding. But of course all of them wanted to help. 

After about two hours or so of doing this, and really being on the edge of the seat, and feeling under immense pressure to make a decision if the plasma that had been blocked in the other hospital was needed or not, they finally told me that the cross matching had happened and it worked out. Phew. So before asking them to release the plasma from the other place, I just wanted to check once more with the administrator at this blood bank. She was like wait for a bit more, because there’s still no clarity on the amount of plasma that could be given. 

tick tock. tick tock. tick tock.

One blood bank guy called me and told me that he had found some more plasma at some other place. And I told him that we already have cross matched here and so on. His suggestion was to get as much plasma from as many places as possible. Because one never knows. And then later it could be returned back to his bank, so that it’s not wasted also. And I was like, really? 

Another set of calls that came in, would start inquiring me about the situation at the blood bank I was in, and of course I would try and help them and give them the info I could. But finally after all of this, they gave me the required amount of plasma. And message was passed on to all of them that were holding on for us. The sense of relief was manifolds, because all the plasma could go on to other people, and we were not blocking it out for other people.

Of course the last guy who had asked me to collect as much plasma as possible, was like ‘but what if more plasma is needed later’. And then we will see then, is all I could think.

Rushing back to the hospital with the plasma, was such a sense of relief. It felt like that was the aim, that that was the ends, whereas it was just the means. Each of these tasks becoming a herculean task also makes you myopic to just focus on them. And at the end of the day, you are dead tired and then thinking what will you have to do neXt. 

As I was reaching back home later that evening, and really tired ready to crash out. I noticed a number of missed calls I had got while I was riding back. I was pretty sure that these were all donors, or well wishers whom I could simply tell the situation finally, and thank them. As it turned out, the good samaritan groups, somehow my number had been swapped to a blood bank’s number. Maybe it was because I had helped out some such queries while I was at the blood bank. But it took me straight to the day before, when I had started calling on the list of blood bank numbers, in many of these groups, most of which didn’t even deal with corona plasma thingy. 

Some phone calls have continued to come in. One in fact came in right now. It is not so many and not so annoying, but each of the calls is just heart breaking. People looking for plasma for their loved ones. And in desperation calling any number that is given to them. And the process goes on. 

Am really grateful that there were people were around to help me and others like me. That these networks have emerged. I was chatting to a friend, who is in delhi who was talking about the same thing - about how there have been so many people who have risen to the occasion, and it is on them that things are still running a bit. And of course we love to celebrate these narratives. 

Reminds me of the annual Bombay flood. I was stuck in the great one in 2006, (or was it 2005) and I remember the celebration of the great bombay spirit. We love to do these every year. Of people who would distribute food, of people who will give shelter. But why don’t we work towards a system which is capable of dealing with it in the first place.

Why is it okay for the whole medical infrastructure to basically rely on all these people doing volunteer work of all these people. The Maharashtra CM correctly pointed out that we are relying on infrastructure built by nehru. But why hasn’t more been done. 

I got a call the day before at 2 in the night, of a person looking for plasma. I apologised to this person that they had gotten a wrong number. And they were apologetic of course. But why is it okay for this to be on benevolence of others. And each of us feeling the need to be obliged to the good samaritans. When the state can not be relied upon we build these networks ourselves. And it’s a pity, and a joke when you then talk about the great Indian spirit. It’s not because we are generous, but because we have no option. 

I wonder if this model good samaritan is so different than the model moral vigilante.

2 Comments 

Sarita Narayan 

25/3/2022 06:14:28 pm

There is no dearth of good people who genuinely want to help ,,,,nicely written 

Reply

Madhu Ranjan 

25/3/2022 06:41:08 pm

I was the fortunate plasma recipient, and am indebted to the Good Samaritan, the donor. The panic, the confusion during the second wave is very well expressed by Ujjwal. 

[uj453]

what will we see on the other side of this... 

30/4/2021 

0 Comments 

I have now attempted to write about this more than 2-3 times. But what can be said about corona that hasn't already be said? The horror of it? The madness of it? The way the state has handled it? The way the right almost across the world have been able to take advantage of it? The way we had this opportunity to re look at the whole system and re imagine it, and instead as a society as a whole we have just somehow managed to justify this profit driven attitude ahead?

The multitude of levels we have failed ourselves is quite something. And in this individualised setup that has been created and we so pride ourselves, we fail to see beyond our own plights even now. Now that the virus has exploded in India, people here are in shock, and it's an emotion that is far away from the apathy shown by the state and in the larger narrative, where it was apparently Shiva whose lineage was protecting us all.

It is amazing how we value human lives. It only gets triggered when it is someone we know. In abstraction, it just remains an idea. Somehow in these times of the virus, we talk about how it afflicts the rich and the poor, but fail to talk about who comes out on the other side and in what condition. Someone once told me that being poorer in a rich country, is better than being rich in a poor country. If we can't see that now, I don't think we ever will. We are just blind. The rich, are so blinded in their convenience, and their luxury, that they can't really see how this kind of a social situation is killing themselves.

When the second wave was hitting India, and the other countries started announcing border restrictions, the first action of the uber rich was to get the fuck out. There were apparently around 10 private jets, some probably privately owned, some leased from the middle east, that landed in UK before the 4 AM flight ban that was instituted. It is everyone for themselves. And when it is that, you want to be in a state where the facilities are better. Where the provisions are universal, and even there you will demand for an eXclusive premiere facility of course. How can we in our blindness not see that if this place here, this situation here was more just, then it will be better for all of us. And then you won't have to protect yourself from the other.

It is always this other who is a problem. Be it the muslims who were the super spreader, against the holy dippers, who are purifying the world with the virus. Be it the poor. Be it the class that serves you. They should be sanitised, they should be kept at bay. The upper middle class Indians, love to talk about how the country has progressed, prospered. Mind it, I say upper middle class, because the middle class doesn't really exist. For whom is this progress, and prosperity? The other day on a news channel was an appeal for a vaccine for a child who suffers from a genetic disorder. The whole treatment is supposed to cost around 16 crore rupees (around 1.8 million euros). And the channel in all it's open hearted charity is asking for charity from everyone. Of course this is an English news channel. How can we in our blindness not see that a health system which is so profit oriented will inevitably lead to situations like this. Is it really so difficult to see through the facade of all of this. Instead of the blind short sighted privatization of everything (health education), is it really so difficult to see that this whole situation could probably have been better.

In celebrating the rich, in idolising the ambanis, in trying to be the adanis, in awe of the tatas, the ruias, the jindals, lost in this creation of the myth of 'the indian dream', can we all really not see that it's just better to have a stronger national system? Ambanis made a hospital. How many state run hospitals could have been run with the cost of that one hospital. How many tons of oxygen cylinders be bought at the cost of the opening ceremony of that hospital. Mind it, the opening ceremony had who's who of bollywood, and of course Modi flying in specifically for that. How much more could have been done had Ambanis at least paid the real cost of the land, on which they made a hospital which only the uber rich can access.

The irony of the situation is that now the celebration is of the philanthropy of Serum Institute of India's Poonawala. How graciously he reduced the price of the vaccine for the state government by 25 % to 300 rs. The same person who said that even at 200 rs, they were making profits, but NOT super profits. And they would of course want to make super profits. But he is our hero, our saviour in these times. He is the one who tweets the federal government policies before even the state governments know it. No there is no corruption in this efficient hard working government. How blind are we, when we do not see what we don't want to see (a digression to Rafale, Adanis, Ambanis being refrained). And the aforementioned English News channel host is criticizing the state governments for wanting to make the vaccines free for people. Of course it is with the political agenda, of course it is a populist measure, but shouldn't people of India the ones who have to make a choice on what to spend the money on, still get vaccines? Of course this host who only talks to the upper middle class again, says that when the state makes vaccines free, we are the ones who will pay through our taxes. But how blind are we to not see that if the society en large is vaccinated, we are all better for it?

Somehow this ingrained notion of the individual right, and might, is so ingrained, that you would rather take a chance on the fact that you will be able to protect yourself, than work towards living in a more healthier, more just society. A social situation where you do not have to make a choice. What is amazing to me is how we are still not seeing this. I have had to face a lot of critique and debate about this in the social circles that my privileged position helps me occupy. This i feel is the folly of this situation. Even now, even in this crisis, even when we are seeing things really crash down, we are unable to see, to imagine a world order which could be different. We cry about the deaths of our own. But we are unable to connect to the pain of the death of others. The corona deaths are just horrific. But so is a person who died in the riots in Delhi, or in Ahmedabad, or in Bombay, or in Amritsar. These are the places where in the past 4 decades in India, there were major riots, against the minorities. The last two against muslims being co-ordinated by the ruling party's commanders (and then there are the countless other atrocities that happen on a daily basis). And somehow the hindu majority population now claims it's victimhood. Somehow the hindus are under attack here.

And with this comes the silencing of the voice of critique. In Uttar Pradesh, NSA (National Securities Act) has been invoked for people asking for oxygen for their relatives on Twitter. People have been asked to maintain discipline and watch the tone of their voice. The aforementioned English news channel apparently does a sting operation on people in Delhi who are black marketing oxygen cylinder. Where as the celebratory news is that in Srinagar an organisation is hoarding up oxygen cylinders. A muslim business owner who is coordinating their city's oxygen response is being celebrated. He started using his own monies to get oxygen in and slowly the city apparently handed in the whole organisation of the oxygen cylinders to him. Of course, he is different than the muslims who were attending the tablighi jamaal. Would the hindu mobs coming back from the char dhaam yatra in the neXt riot care about that?

Of course, Indian understanding of diversity and inclusion is that the muslims celebrate holi and diwali with the hindus, in the spirit of one India. That the dalits be celebrated for the work they do, because it is god's work. What will the majoritarian in power hindu castes would do for the inclusion? Claim victimhood, because somehow muslims and dalits are taking what is rightfully theirs. Claim victimhood when the muslims and dalits and other minorities are being killed by them. It's an attack on their sentiments, on their way of life. 

We do not have to go that far of an 'other' to see how this works. This last year we have seen the sights of the migrant labourers being given almost no notice of an imminent lockdown. Of all the house helps being viewed suspiciously. Again ppl in my circles were so condescending about all these ppl on the street who don't wear a mask, who go around in groups. Who don't care or understand. 

This wave has been different. This wave has hit this class too, and now you can hear them cry fowl. This wave has hit the young too. Now the apathy of condition in hospitals is being talked about. And that too has become a thing about state govt vs central govt. The narrative seems to be the key. Thousands are dying. It is quite an overwhelming situation of distraught. Death of one person affects so many. Of course it also depends on how 'valuable your life is'. In villages in UP and bihar, where people pass away with TB still, death is more of an everyday reality. It is like how it is so horrible when europeans die, but not so much when Indians do. Had the virus been contained in europe early enough, I really wonder what the perspective of the whole world would have been. It is like how when 3000 USAnians die is far more important than the million Afghanis. What about the refugee crisis in Europe, and the Trump policy on mexicans migrating to the US. Interestingly, the upper middle class Indians, might empathise or relate or connect with this emotion, but would largely be blind to the 30,000 odd rohingyas who were seeking refuge in India who were kicked out. Or the thousands who have been disenfranchsed due to NRC/Citizenship registry in Assam. What about the people who killed themselves due to that? 

Death has become more of a reality in the larger Indian psyche with corona. We are hearing of people no more all around us. The numbers that are being shown, seems quite comparably smaller to that. Now a days my friends, people around me, overwhelmed with all of this, are unable to fucntion much. Especially for those who can work from home is there but it's difficult to concentrate and so on. My only thing is that let's just sail past through this, let's see each other on the other side of this. That is important. We need to take care. This too shall pass, at least for some of us.

My fear is what will we see on the other side of this. We are blinded by so much. 

[uj453]

when what they can and will execute supersedes even your imagination 

6/1/2020 

1 Comment 

In the last few weeks, the moments where it seems like this is it, they really have done it this time has been several. But each time they come up with something even more nastier, even more brutal, even more far reaching.

It is crazy, how we took so many things for granted, and now it seems there’s no base of any of that. It seems everything is coming to an end. 

the state is reformulating itself. and i don’t think many of us could have seen how easy it is to repeal all that one found comfort in. comfort is the wrong word because it somehow implies a luxury. But more about a way of life really. And that way of life might not remain no more.

somehow sanity has to be maintained. 

we really don’t know where will we go.

rather i don’t know. 

but sanity has to be maintained.

nothing can be taken for granted.

1 Comment 

Sarita Narayan 

25/3/2022 06:16:22 pm

No dearth of helping hand ,nicely written 

[uj453]

the black box... 

6/1/2020 

0 Comments 

the holiday season here in europe, or i can say at least in Vienna, is weird. Everything gets shut. Even institutions! It is crazy how well lapped up this idea of christmas is here. And the city really does slow down. These are anyway extremely isolating times, extremely divisive times, and writhin all of that, being in europe can be even more isolating. And the rhythm and flow of my work was completely screwed up by these holiday shutdowns. And on the christmas eve, when there s not much else to do, the filmmuseum was screening the wizard of oz. Had never seen it, but as even the person at the ticket booth told me, it was the highest ticket sale for the year. And a different bunch all together than usual screenings. Families, couples, kids, youngsters, and all having a ball over the screening. The air was so different. And yet again, on yet another day, being in the black box with a single light ray illuminating the screening, hidden, and invisibilised had saved the day for me. The next day they were screening Blazing Saddles, and I have never really seen a Western. Maybe if you consider Ramesh Sippy’s Sholay a western, which it at least partly is, then I have seen one, but apart from that, not really. 

Anyway, there I was again messing up time and schedule and reaching much before the screening time. Had a beer at the filmmuseum bar, and got set for this ‘western’. Turned out to be not so much of a western after all. A lady at the bar who had read the synopsis told me that this was going to be a parody apparently. She liked my hair apparently, so maybe her judgement couldn’t really be trusted and later she would help me look for my tobacco pouch and not finding that, offer me a cigarette. The beauty of all that connects us within this box. The only reason she had come to see the film was that she had seen films as a kid with horses in it. She had been crossing the filmmuseum and saw that there was a film with horses and voila. 

The film was hardly a western, but did have horses. Somehow it probably was only possible on screen and that too only in a parody that a black man was being made a sheriff of a white only town. Of course the population of the town is ready to shoot him down but is only stopped by the black man himself threatening to shoot the black guy, and that act of bi-polarity, is the only point which triggers all the whites of the town to see that it was actually a human being - who might actually be killed, and by no other than this black person! The connection with germany is also interesting. The German seductress gets herself seduced by the seXual appeal of the black sheriff, and of course there is the mention of how big his thing was. And it was amazing how Mel Brooks was breaking the illusion of cinema. The villain in his height of villainy and before proclaiming the hiring of villains for destroying the aforementioned town actually says ‘there goes my chance of Academy award for supporting actor’. In the most crazy of queues of villains ready to join in the militia to destroy the town - rapists, robbers, murderers, German soldiers, the klan, you name it, and the black sheriff tries to infiltritate the militia, by pretending to be a klansman! 

There was this group of three young people who were sitting in front of me, and they were really loving it. The parody really had them in tickles and quite a few of the audience members. It had me amazed as to how the same struggles continues, and how talking about the same things even decades later is so difficult. It is a pity that we can talk about the other, others than the majorities can be talked about/with only on the screen. In life, more and more so it is becoming more and more difficult to. It is crazy how majoritarianism is such a driving force now, and the situation is becoming so isolating. The only ones we can have connection with are people we laugh with in the black box? Or of going for a film because it has horses in? 

While the society here can be extremely isolating. But with all the things happening in India it is even much more so. It is bizarre how driven these guys are towards the idea of the Hindu state. It’s almost like by 2024 the target is to just reduce the overall voter base to contain it only to their supporters. That s another way to win elections, I guess, just get rid of all the others, of all the dissenters, of all the opposers, of all the oppressed, of all the disenfranchised and then rule with the oppressors, and be with the privileged and govern not just for them but with them, and make sure the structure isn’t questioned and even looked at. Somehow anything and everything is fine under the garb of Hinduism. Also because somehow these guys are the whole sole agents of Hinduism who can define what Hinduism is. And their idea of Hinduism, like most right - in most countries, is so narrow, so limited. These are intensely isolating times, these are intensely dividing times. So much so, that even so many of those protesting against CAA (kudos to them) wouldn’t care so much about the repealing of 370. 

I had asked Saeed Akhtar Mirza, as to what does one do, how does one react, or positions oneself, when a disenfranchised community is not even ready to connect with another. Not that there was a hope of a positive optimist response, but the response that we can’t articulate political positions till the acts have been done, and the results of the same had, was quite heartbreaking. It is important to be able to protect oneself, and so on also, but if we don’t talk about things in anticipation, then... then yes, the disenfranchised and many of them will lose their lives, their identities, and so on.

Is all of this, in a larger scheme of things, just elements being prepared for another parody to be done eventually? It is such a crazy time for stand up comedians with Trump, with Boris Johnson and so on. But eventually one wonders who the joke is on - them or us? Indian political situation is far more graver - it is far more difficult to make fun of characters like Adityanath, Pragya Singh Thakur or even Modi or Shah. Maybe we will find our way to do that, but by the time that position is articulated, one wonders what all will be or will have to be lost... Until then, the only recluse seems to be in this black box, nicely invisibilising, and at least with that one ray of light hitting the screen reflecting back on us, connects us all somehow. These are the connections that are probably the only ones that we might have remaining. It is of course telling of the times we are in, that we can only connect with people when we can’t really see them, and only in the act of seeing something else (on the screen) is where we have any sense of camaraderie. Regardless, we probably need to value them and respect what we do have. 

[uj453]

a line which described the cone 

19/3/2019 

0 Comments 

this was one of the most beautiful experiences on cinema for me ever. i keep talking about how cinema isn’t really about the image or sound or whatever, this piece proved me so. 

it’s a line that defines the cone. 

literally that's what it is, in the thirty minutes of the film, you experience the cone that is made. it happens on the smoke in between the projector and the screen, and you have to look at the projector light, not the screen. the image is just a by product, not even a by product -maybe just an excuse.

it is quite undescribable how beautiful it really was. 

and i am not even going to attempt it. 

This was apparently the first of the solid light films that he made. 

Would be interesting to see the other. 

but for me, right then, the screening just restores faith in cinema in a way.

in the power of the light and sound machine that is there. 

the mysticism of it, the philosophy of it, so much can be talked about it.

but all will be reductive. one just needs to be inside that cone, 

and words can’t do justice to it. and cinema can.

thanks Masha for taking me for it.

to Mark Webber for curating the show.

And, Anthony McCall for actually making the piece. thank you. 

[uj453]

khaana loge tussi? (will you have some food?) 

29/1/2019 

0 Comments 

khana loge tussi?

arriving at the new new delhi station, it’s always quite something. the station as usual has chaos all over. Calling the railway enquiry number was also something - you can now book food for train through phone! But something was off when i tried to check the train arrival/departure time. Indian rail always amazes me with the tech they use, and today was no surprise, you enter the train number and the telephone code of the city which you need the details for, and voila! Although, I couldn’t listen to it properly, but man, the tech at play... 

Entering the station, the mess is familiar. The auto wallahs trying to ask for random sums of monies from strangers- strangers to the cities, eXcept that many weren’t and they would give a quick rhetort back to the autowallahs, people hurrying towards the metro gate, only to be told by the guard there that there’s no entry from there and gate number five is ‘आगे से right’. The coolie arguing with a potential customer for the amount that should be settled in - thankfully the amount is a negotiation between 200 and 250 - at least there s semblance of a decent amount. As you go further in the mess of the infrastructure is presented bang in your face, with construction work all over the place, the LED display board not displaying things properly because several lines of the LED are not working. 

It is important to say that this was much better than the Old delhi station, where toh I was told by this platform ticket checker that the govt had taken off all the boards, and she then directed me to the platform where the train was anticipated. On my way back, I again encountered the old dilli station, and with me was this himachali fellow who was so so overwhelmed by the whole situation. It is completely understandable, but what is excruciating to see is all these ppl who will give pro advices, that you could have gotten off there, and taken that train, and you would already have reached, and 

why don’t you get down now, and take the next train in that direction,

where should i get the tickets from? 

it is a short distance, you can just go... 

and the horror on his face. Delhi man, and the big city - how absolute ppl think it is, and really don’t have an imagination beyond. I walked with him to the metro station and explained him the direction and all, just that I myself got it wrong where the tickets would be available and ended up misdirecting him. :( He would have had to walk an extra 5-10 minutes because of that. 

I didn’t have to bother with the ticket counter of course - I have a metro card, and not just for Delhi but for Blr and Bombay too. and now that I was catching a train from the New Delhi Station, I was looking forward to the aloo puri dinner. Not as good as Allahabad station, but what the hell. The chaos one wades through a station of the scale of New Delhi is sort of incomparable. A coolie who had lost his commuters, and was waiting for them, a set of commuters who couldn’t really keep along with each other, the mother shouting at the rest of the gang. You couldn’t locate the ticket counters if you wanted to, and one wonders why the inquiry counter is actually literally hidden away. The huge sign board that says ‘may i help you’ is an empty counter - somehow it is like delhi itself. Everything around it broken and you reach there through the construction rubble, and it is after all all empty. 

‘You may help me’, please?

But things had improved. Of course every luggage had to be scanned through now. The two cops who were apparently checking the screen, were more busy chatting with each other. But just after the scanner came the comfort of the escalator, ‘स्वचालित सीढ़ियाँ ‘. That’s an interesting name for what escalator is. सीढ़ियाँ जो स्वयं चलती है। Would the conveyor belt things, called स्वचालित ज़मीन? Had it also been imagined by the hindu mythologies and sciences ages before the west had even reached the point? I do remember that in Mahabharata there is a floor which can’t really be seen or something like that. The Kaurava was unable to see that it was water actually and had embarrassed himself, triggering off things which would later lead to the greatest war ever. Well, see... we had imagined a war of that magnitude before the west arrived at it too, only in the 20th century. Chemical weapons, drone like arms, et al. 

Anyway, focus ujjwal, poori aloo... station wali. My friend asked me as to what was so special in that? And how does one explain it? How does one explain it to ppl who haven’t really traveled in train like that? Of course it has to do with nostalgia, but also with the taste, also with the dirt, also with how one used to look forward to it, and how one does look forward to it now. But man, things had improved... The escalator had speakers blaring how to use the escalator. But there were a few people at any given time who would be fumbling over it. I tried to help one or two, at least to not let them fall. But one guy was interesting. This drunk person was climbing up the escalator going down. Not in like a competition, or play or anything - it seemed he was genuinely trying to climb up and frustratingly his speed was also fast enough to not let him be pushed back to ground, but keep him to almost the same level. Had he found his rock, that he had to roll up the hill?

Maybe this is why they don’t let people who have had a drink on to the metro. It is amazing to have witnessed that - a young man and his friend being scolded at Botanical Gardens metro station to shoo away. ‘��ारू पीके आते हो और मेट्रो पे चढ़ना है?’ hahahaha. How dare he? The clean sanitized metro, is only for who can afford of course, and also for those who are able to live up to that idea of cleanliness, who have no big luggage to carry - only things of specific size, or who can speak a language in which the guards can be persuaded to lax the rules. Would they dare stop me after having a drink on the metro? I really doubt it. I can of course afford it. And that s public transport for you - For everyone, till they can afford it, and meet up to the moral criteria of accessing such a ‘wonderment’ as the metro. And that makes sense, we have to keep it clean after all. 

Reaching the station platform, it was also quite clean, one must say. There were dustbins also! This was not a New Delhi Station I remembered. And not much of it was remaining now. Now there was the RO water was available, a himachal fruit juice stall, and one food place. Which had only got rajma chawal, and burgers to eat and no aloo puri. And rajma chawal was around 40 bucks! Packed in plastic of course. No egg even available! It is interesting how the organic plate aloo puri stalls and so many other things on the platform had been clinically cleaned up. The organic plates and the aloo puri I am sure will come back, but something as exotic, and priced at premium. It is sad how reductive this idea of cleanliness and design is. When will we really start designing for the people, and not on the people? And how is sanitization, a solution to anything. We are all supposed to now eat burgers, is it? Of course, the thing now is that you can order food on your berth now. But what of those who don’t have a berth? 

And what is with the train numbers? There are four numbers on every train now it seems. I thankfully got in the right train, after having a chicken fried rice packed from just outside the station, sadly. The only other place as an option of course was Burger King, and I did consider it for over a minute - the longest I have considered any of these chains in the past decade or so. 

Having seated myself in the AC three coach, the girl in the lower berth (i was in the middle berth) asked for a meal - of course only veg available, like the entire New Delhi Station. We have of course ‘developed’ and now have burgers! After she was done eating, the sardar ji opposite her, opened his meal. And offered it to the other two guys there, and then the girl,

and then, he turned to me... 

Khaana le lo tussi

nahi sir, thank you...

at least this was some of the train i remember, and back to that familiar place. Having said no, I did take a peek into his dabba, and there was really lovely looking paneer, matar thingy and ghar ke triangle waale parathe. yumm yumm...And there was enough for more than for him, he had to get off early morning also, so the offer was genuine, but... damn, the politeness. It wasn’t just the stations that had changed, but so had I, it seems.

{epilogue: All the romanticism apart, when he snored at night, and at the level he did, it was quite something. No exaggerations, things were shaking because of that - and in his gaps, one of the other two guys was filling in a much more somber fill.}

[uj453]

winter is coming 

21/12/2018 

0 Comments 

winter is coming... 

On the last day of my Vienna in this stint, or rather this semester, I went with a dear friend to an apartment just opposite a park. The park had a small urban garden project happening too, and there were basil plants in it. It was not as cold as it had been but there was quite a wind blowing through, and that was really chilly. We were planning to pick out the Basil leaves, letting other people’s labour bear us fruit, or rather bear us some spice. 

We were exact on time for our appointment, and over the next few minutes the plot thickened, our plans were going to be quashed it seemed. It had been quite something - these past few months and the last year overall for me. Same for my friend, in very different ways. We aren’t the closest of friends, and I won’t say too much for the fear of jinxing it, but having met her a couple of weeks back, we did hit it off. And I don’t think either of us were clear about how we both were there and cooking up plans like that. What we knew for certain in this moment was that it was sinking. 

And sinking it had been. Transitions are difficult, and however much of a nomadic person I might or might not be, with age it does become more and more difficult. No wonder this blog is now named with the number to a place which was home. It’s been a bit since I left that place, and have been yearning for for home since. It’s not yet been. But it has been quite a ride. 

House hunting, I met a person, who was working on a drone project at UN. We discussed the fucked up politics of United Nations, and despite his own UN project which revolved around drones in a country in Africa (that I hadn’t even heard about, and don’t even remember now) being an interesting one, how in the larger scheme of things, even that was fucked up. 

There was a flat I applied for which had 150 applicants (the chances were more difficult than the PhD program I am enrolled for!!! :O ). In another appointment, I met a couple of smokers, who were doing multiple rounds of interview for their flatshare, and the second round of interview (which I was shortlisted for... yayyyy!!) was basically having a joint with them (and was then rejected... blah!! well, the joint was so good, so i guess that counts for something. 

At a few places, I was told directly that I couldn’t have the place because I wasn’t a european, in some other ways, more subtler hints of racism were used - at least they were taking the effort. I met a person who was into japanese thingies, and had a rice cooker which had options of settings for the kind of rice that one wants to cook - sticky, balmy, i don't even remember the rest of the options. But she served me a lovely tea.

One had gone through a miscarriage, and her mother was detected with cancer, and wasn’t sure about living with her current flatmate, also because maybe if things went well with her new boyfriend, they might have been moving in together.

I met another one who drew me a bath the first day of my moving in, because there was a family emergency and after keeping my stuff there, I was just flying to India. And, then later after I was back I had come back, we went to a small intimate concert, we went to the christmas market, so on... 

My cousin who lives in Lille (in France), asked me what it meant when I said Austria is richer, and how does it translate and so on. We were also talking about how white Austria is and the society could be quite insular, and with the language barrier, it becomes more. I was telling her that the public transport system is great, they don't even bother having ticket checking machines on entries to metro or the tram or the bus or whatever. They just don’t bother.

But did I tell her that the public transport system in Vienna is completely accessible? Did I tell her that the cars stopped for people waiting on the crossing? And generally how life on the street becomes softer. I wonder if we discussed what it meant not to having ticket checking machines like in Paris. Did it mean that not regulating people flow like that, not disciplining the crowd like that, had some implication in the larger scheme of things? I don’t know if we discussed all this. But I was discussing with someone how is it good to be poorer in a richer country. And Vienna has a lot of that. It’s of course not easy for the poorest of poor, but when you are doing work like I do, and earn like I do, all the public services you can get is welcome and great. 

Being in such a weather is also something. I used to feel colder than it was, because I was also constantly told, that this wasn’t cold enough now, and that it will get colder. In anticipation, I would shiver. And had started talking like yeah, it ain’t that cold - it’s 1.5 degrees. hahahhahaha... Cold Vienna can get-in weather and otherwise. But the beggar near my academy U Bahn station always smiled and greeted me. I had just once given him something, and that day was something else itself - otherwise I really don’t break the rule. 

Another evening, a frustrated lonely one I was on the U Bahn by myself, and this old person came sat right opposite me and just smiled and me. He very obviously didn’t know english, but we did share that smile. When I got off, incidentally he also did, and then he turned to me and in the broken english said - have a good day and left. Made my day :) 

Last evening I went to the Kebab shop close to the academy. I had only once been there before but today went I asked for a falafel box, the place had become a chinese place!!! That guy said he kept switching between the two cuisines. And I don’t know why but he gave me a free extra beer, and a fortune cookie. My fortune cookie read ‘tonight destiny has something special planned for you’. Having gutted down two beers, and a noodle with crispy duck and teriyaki sauce, when my friend called in I was like let’s go for a drink. 

We went to a place called cafe benno. She apparently had a history at that place. And it was interesting how in a twisted way that cafe had had intersections with her life. Sometimes in ways in which she hadn't even gone there. And sometimes not reaching there was what was the cause of things. It was also very interesting that these happenings and non happenings were seen by my friend as ‘new beginnings’.

This evening we did reach, and there we met a couple at the bar, who were very intrigued by this indian man, who had long hair, beard, and ate beef!!! The one drink turned out to be a long one, and we reached back only by four! And here we were the next day, at this flat getting our plans shattered. I had earlier in the day gone to the library, where the librarian didn’t take a minute to process my request for having books for two extra straight months because I was traveling for research, instead of the scheduled month long issuals. That day things were supposed to go well, and fine, and not the crisis that we were caught in this moment. 

The street where the park was, the urban garden was called max winter plaza. The door of the apartment had a notice saying ‘winter is coming’ - a signage basically for the door NOT to be left open. It really felt like the winter was now coming. But maybe winter is not such a bad thing after all. Look at this landscape I am flying over - all snowed in.

Now, I can’t wait to come back in March, and see the story unfold. 

The Winter is surely coming, and it is NOT a bad thing at all. 

Maybe the summer will come soon too. 

Here’s to winters, summers, and cafe bennos... :) 

[uj453]

no wonder cage did 4’33” 

3/12/2018 

0 Comments 

about a hundred musicians, one conductor, and compositions by some classics...

i have never understood how musicians do it. play to the tunes of others. of what kind of commitment that is needed by the percussionist to wait for their turn to bang the symbals. and wait they do. they sit, they text or whatever people do on their smartphones, take out the score of the next composition and wait they do. for the time to hammer the instrument that makes sound like a church bell. for the triangle, for the harp. all to create a beautiful ensemble of sounds, that sounds like music. music as we know it, the classics, that one has heard in one form or the other. in all it’s poise, in all it’s predictablity, of rhythm, of harmony. with it’s full effect and force.

standing there at the door of the hall, a hall which was just large enough to have the about hundred musicians (of course the viennese architecture with its really high ceilings and so on help), i was standing right next to the percussions, couldn’t help but think of that beautiful film in which we only see the drummer of the orchestra who is dozing off, looking into the camera, and so on, but continues playing (how do i not remember the name of the film). the conductor in all his glory of being the conductor, with his wand, was swaying away for the music. I guess considering the orchestra was mostly of very young people, also not taking himself too seriously, and being soft, friendly and funny, was still listening to the notes that he needed to.

isit the same thing, being in a film crew as in being in the orchestra? if so, then i kind of get it. but film shoots @re so shitty, so dirty, so ugly, whereas this right here was beauty, in all it’s conventional understanding beauty, thing that will emotionally move you, and take you to with its musical curve, where it’s going.

what was missed by most in the hall, also because they were part of it i guess, is the endings of each of the compositions. and the gaps in between the plays. most of the compositions designed in a way, that it ends with a high, for applause. i could hear the applause, almost as part of the composition. But they never happened. It was a rehearsal after all.and there were sounds of relief, sounds of people losing the poised positions, keeping their instruments down, putting on the new composition, but of course sound of the conductor telling them their next thing, correcting what needed to be, and so on. but that right then was what made it so real, so out of the musical bubble that was being created. no wonder cage thought of 4’33”.

i never knew harp was so beautiful. to see those things there, and imagining them being carried in, brought in, was all lost when it was being played in all it’s heavenliness (cliche yeah, but that’s how the idea of heaven is conditioned in, so well...)

it is all about the timing. which instruments get in at what point, and what loudness and so on. to some extent, i do understand what and why there’s so much tall about cage and the composition of 4’33”.

i wish the conductor spoke more english. he was quite fluent in it, but i think because most musicians were germans, german made more sense. maybe it was also nice to not know what he was saying. the musicians all had the music notes and so on, as the common language. at one point, half an hour two of them walked in with plastic bags and were unabashed (to my surprise) at arriving late. they had actually got stands for notes, for people who didn’t have it already. post that composition, many went and picked one up, getting access to the notes. even as the trumpet man was making marks of highs and lows on his. having stood there for about a couple of hours ‘observing’ (and with so many filmic ideas) stepping out, i could hear better. the sounds of the tram, of that roads, of the footsteps, and so on. no wonder cage did 4’33”.

thanks Emily (my former flatmate who is a cellist in the ensemble and told me about the rehearsal)

leaving with this image of cage’s composition of 4’33”.

[uj453]

snowflakes...

19/11/2018

0 Comments

well, it snowed...

and it is snowing. and i see it out of the window.

It is NOT heavy snow, it is NOT like the whole place is white.

It is still light, at least for now.

The building opposite is white, or whitish but the windows are dark, so i can see the flakes against the window. It is falling in a seemingly random manner, where while the overall fall does have a particular direction the flakes don't seem to be following that very stringently..

You can see through the snow, not entirely - they aren't transparent, but they aren't opaque pieces of snow either - they are exactly what they are called - snow flakes. And they do look like the ones Pamuk describes in 'Snow'. They do seem to have a geometry to it and so on. Although I need to do a much closer eXamination of that to be sure.

Somehow waking upto it was such joy.

And somehow, it was like i am here. i was tempted to write i am home, but NO, maybe NOT yet. i am here though, truly. And not saying that in a bad way, in a good way.

These flakes seem uncatchable, as if they will disappear as soon as you hold them. And across the window, also a bit unreal, because I can't feel the cold that it must be out there.

A very dear friend of mine messaged me this morning, about things that seem to be uncatchable, and untenable, and un-reconcible. I am very responsible for the 'uns' in the situation. And it is sad, it is disappointing, it is hurtful, and it is painful, and I never wanted it to be like this. I really don't know why we are where we are.

But there does seem to be a sense of being at this point right now.

of having arrived. of being here.

And then, there are things - real, tangible, catchable,

And then there are snowflakes.

[uj453]

453 lives on as a blog...

7/10/2018

I renamed the blog 453.

I hadn't realised how important a place can become, a home. 453 was just that. I hadn't for a minute imagined when I had moved in, it would be so difficult to move out, move on, to let go, and am still yet to know what it will take to disconnect. While I do like to believe that I am nomadic, vagabond-ish and so on... but that doesn't make it easier!!! Au contraire.

The whole process happened so fast. and so abrupt. and thereby more difficult. I don't know if it was letting or snatching off.

Yesterday I met this person here in Vienna, who is letting go of her 'home', her home for the past over two years, and she was letting go... Giving away things, and going back to Brazil... and the uncertainities there of.

I have been wondering 'what am i doing here', really... Don't know what's happening. How the past few months have worked out, it's really like jumping in front of a running train. One thing after another. Being here, is just one more of those things. Student registration, looking for a place, and the first time to everything ever again.

Sarai is a hindi word which means rest house, literally. But is more like when places where travelers could break their journey, and be there, to recoup, to rejuvenate. While 453 was a home to me, I like to believe it was a sarai to many others. It was that kind of a space, where people could/would come in, for a talk, for a cook, for work, for crashing over, for drinking, for living, to begin their bangalore journeys, or just to be. At least I thought of it like that.

I am sure this blog would never be that. or anywhere close. In fact, as bad as I am with updating/maintaining this site, I don't eXpect much to happen here. But maybe this is one way of just holding on... and still letting go.

Now here, at this person's home, I was wondering if that would be my neXt home. And if so, what kind of place that would be.

Here's to new beginnings...

(the shot of the first coffee and cigarette here, please don't mind the shaky camera - took it off my laptop, and was balancing it with one hand.

https://vimeo.com/293780540

[uj453]

453 lives on as a blog... 7/10/2018

I renamed the blog 453.

I hadn't realised how important a place can become, a home. 453 was just that. I hadn't for a minute imagined when I had moved in, it would be so difficult to move out, move on, to let go, and am still yet to know what it will take to disconnect. While I do like to believe that I am nomadic, vagabond-ish and so on... but that doesn't make it easier!!! Au contraire.

The whole process happened so fast. and so abrupt. and thereby more difficult. I don't know if it was letting or snatching off.

Yesterday I met this person here in Vienna, who is letting go of her 'home', her home for the past over two years, and she was letting go... Giving away things, and going back to Brazil... and the uncertainities there of.

I have been wondering 'what am i doing here', really... Don't know what's happening. How the past few months have worked out, it's really like jumping in front of a running train. One thing after another. Being here, is just one more of those things. Student registration, looking for a place, and the first time to everything ever again.

Sarai is a hindi word which means rest house, literally. But is more like when places where travelers could break their journey, and be there, to recoup, to rejuvenate. While 453 was a home to me, I like to believe it was a sarai to many others. It was that kind of a space, where people could/would come in, for a talk, for a cook, for work, for crashing over, for drinking, for living, to begin their bangalore journeys, or just to be. At least I thought of it like that.

I am sure this blog would never be that. or anywhere close. In fact, as bad as I am with updating/maintaining this site, I don't eXpect much to happen here. But maybe this is one way of just holding on... and still letting go.

Now here, at this person's home, I was wondering if that would be my neXt home. And if so, what kind of place that would be.

Here's to new beginnings...

(the shot of the first coffee and cigarette here, please don't mind the shaky camera - took it off my laptop, and was balancing it with one hand.

https://vimeo.com/293780540

[uj453]

January 28th, 2013 28/1/2013

So, i have been trying to make films...

documentary??? fiction???

does such a difference really eXist??? i doNT think so... cinema is cinema...

like a great man once said... Shot 'A' + Shot 'B' = Meaning 'C'

and that is true in any form of cinema - staged or unstaged...

and construction is inherent part of both staged/unstaged forms...

what i am NOT here to do is to tell people the truth...

what i am NOT here to do is to show the world how to be, who to be, blah blah...

am interested in perspectives...

we all come with our own sets of baggages and to be able to see the world through with these baggages is beautiful & craZy...

it can be bizarre that  a film on the 'chaiwaala' (the tea store) outside can be made in million different people in a million different way and each being able to see beauty in a different aspect of it...

also, interesting is the way we are ready to eXposing to the world how we see what we see...

thereby stripping ourselves... it is interesting how art does that and becomes eXpressions...

so that s what we at kanishka plan to do... via films or otherwise...

[uj453]

Kanishka Films! 3/7/2011

Kanishka films... a venture one has been trying to work on since quite some time now. In fact having already made a film under this banner, actually launching it out now is just a tad too late. the idea is to be able to make films and help make films which one is proud of. The final film, I believe, is just a by-product. The filmmaking process itself is too much. its just too much to learn on just there.

The point of this blog post was to probably just be able to define what one wants out of this label... i doNT think i really know what one want s of it... it is basically part of a journey, a journey to try and understand cinema, and everything else that s coming on way...

interestingly my blog is called busy doing nothing... i believe that the best things happen and understood when we are doing nothing... and when you are busy with that... its like train journeys... its craZy... you spend the whole time in the middle of nowhere, with no one, not connected, in between... just yourself, and landscape passing by... people coming in, going out... that s a space i feel very comfortable in... would love to lead life like that... in situations where the destinations become really just the side products of the "journey"... kanishka.co.in & kanishka films are an attempt to that... to be on a journey... where all are welcome... i am open to all ideas, films, or otherwise... if there is something that anyone wants to do that comes from within and the reasons to do are logically/rationally difficult to do, and I can help, I am on...

for now, its films... would i always want to make films??? i doNT know... it seems like that but i doNT think it works like that, does it... films sort of saved me... they sort of rejuvenated me, and helped me re-discover myself... in a new light... from a loser stuck in the "educational system rut" to be able to proving not only that system but many around myself (including myself) wrong, it has been a bloody good journey... and NO i doNT want to sound like i have reached a destination.... ha!!! no way... the journey has just begun... one is finally daring to go on journeys and accept that destinations bore oneself out!!!

by the way kanishka is a popular hindi name... it was the name of a king... the word somewhere in its roots can be traced back to mean "gold"... it is also the name of a person i knew... the person had the guts to take flights... and wanted to fly away... i will never be able to take the flights the person was able to... this is my limited attempt to fly as much as i can and see what happens... what happens when you let open the seat belt... when you let go... so lets see what happens....

yuri link

12/7/2012 01:09:41 am

Great site, did I read this right that its free from Weebly?

Reply

Sarita

23/2/2013 03:56:08 am

U are brave person,I never had the guts to accept the truth,I really don't know what to say????????????