Musings...1

A dusty corner in Old Goa, a place that left me breathless, enthralled and filled with a sense of satisfaction and wonder. A place that popped out of my wildest of dreams and unexpected thoughts.
The perfect place for me to get away from it all.

Photoshoot 1

Photoshoot in college, when we were still kids and had absolutely no idea what to do. Still, it was great fun.                 Model: Rohit Verghese

Way of the Cross

I wonder if I can be excommunicated, for voicing my opinion and displeasure about some of the dogmas that still plague the Catholic Church. I don’t think religion can ever progress, if it does, it does not qualify as one. There ‘must be’ something archaic, traditional when it comes to worshiping God…it just needs to be. No questions asked. It seems more of a tyrannical reign than a relationship with someone who frees you in spirit and love.

A close associate once told me, “Religion should a very private affair. One should not even ask someone regarding it. It shouldn’t affect anybody.”

And I think that it is true. Who I pray to should be none of your business.

The death of the 31-year-old Savita Halappanavar has obviously taken the world by a storm of critics. The Catholic Church, will no doubt, face some heat. That too, in a time, when the Pope has called for the Year of Faith to be reinstated across the globe.  I can talk only for myself. I wish that the Church could accept abortion as a practice when medically required. Not after the mother has passed away. In the hope of not committing a murder, the Irish doctors now have their hands stained by Savita’s blood. An eye for an eye? What happened to the mother’s right to live? That was grossly unaccounted for. Why must the world decide on the fate of a woman’s body? It is hers to decide. Why should men pass judgement over things they can never understand or experience.  

In view of the increasing trepidation of protests against the Catholic Church, the Pope (to me) seems to be reigning in the last few desperate attempts to unite the believers in Christ. 

To a Catholic’s eyes, the blood-thirsty noveau vampires of today may seem to very cannibalistic and uncivil. But when after the mass, you see the high and mighty powerful members of the congregation mix around only with a select few, you know there is politics everywhere.   

Here, I mock not the Gods, but question the institution that Man has created. It has now changed past recognition. There are opposing verdicts in the Bible too. But what can I say. I’m too young to understand the ways of the world or pass judgement about anything. However, now I see that this can be an apt project, which will be put up here from time to time. Let me just put it this way…that I seek to know the Bible better.

 
In view of my opinion, do not mistake me to be an atheist…yet. 

Sci-fi after such a long time!

Its been a while. Since I watched a sci-fi film. Worth its salt. Directed by Matt Reeves, Cloverfield blew my away. You might think it was not that great, but then again I am a sucker for all movies sci-fi. The movie is typical in many ways, and yet atypical in others.

Though the narration had the protagonist, Rob and his group of friends, I prefer to refer to the hand held camera as the narrator. Apart from screening bits of Rob & Beth’s day out in Coney Island, the way the filming has been done has lent a character to it. The movie seemed mundane to begin with. A farewell party, and the irritating cameraman ‘Hud’. But with the earthquake, the entire movie took a turn.

As I mentioned earlier, some of the aspects that I felt were typical  was the ‘Damsel in Distress syndrome’. It accounts for the ever heartbreaking separation of lovers or could-be lovers. And then the little group of friends had to brave the onslaught of the creature, its little ones and move in the opposite direction. Not to mention the Brooklyn Bridge scene which took place somewhere near the start instead of being the climax. Filmmakers and script writers love to tear down the largest of large infrastructure, like kids ramming their cars over the Lego building tops. Some fascination.

Some bits left me stunned, looking for an explanation. They managed to climb 57+ levels, barged through the floor without resting for a bit?! How could that be? Or the fact that, (as my co-watcher pointed out), how could Beth run and hop around despite having been impaled by the construction rod? Beats me. Her guess was as good as mine.

But the bits that I really liked, was the monster in itself. I don’t know what they called it, but its features set it apart from all the humongous monsters we have seen earlier. The smaller parasites that fell off its body was brilliant. More like the Alien concept. The underground scene was exciting, since it had me flapping at them and urging them to ‘run faster’. I always do that. Makes me feel like I’m ‘there’. However, when Marlena was bitten, and the army personnel grabbed her away and shot her, I wondered why. What would have happened otherwise. This was a loophole that they had left gaping at the audience. In Alien or even a certain spider film, the human bodies were the bearers of the alien larvae. But what happened here? They should have put it.

Overall, a wonderful film to watch, especially when there is a paucity of films that match ‘Godzilla and Jurassic Park’.

Thoughts of Divinity, Reason and Impure Blasphemy

God creates Man fresco in the Sistine Chapel. (Google)

Religion. This word holds different meanings for so many, yet nothing to others. My head was set, drifting in the clouds, above the dusty earth yet miles from the pearly heaven. Trained, taught and accustomed to the Catholic way of life, I slowly started to loosen the hinges of my mind. But still restrained, controlled and in the verandah. Gazing out at the fields and the numerous fences that encircle it. I viewed the happenings, as objectively as I could. But the nagging little voice inside, kept saying, “Does evolution trump Eden’s denizens after all?”

I will still stay truthful to my faith, but one wonders, does percentage matter? Picking and choosing as I wish, will God forgive me for gluttony and condemn for another? My head is heavy in the clouds, wondering what to do and which path to take. You may accuse me of faithlessness, but I seek to search truth in the larger space.

Till date, I wished to study theology, and delve deeper into the relationships of Christians, Jews and Muslims. But over the past few months, atheists, agnostics and hypatia has bombarded my pea-brain like anything. I respect science, but had never dethroned God because of it. I had made up my mind and I was fine with it. Why now do I question that decision again? Does death affect it? Have I been written off for the devil for good now? Who is there answer my questions? Who can solve the puzzles in my brain. If God dwells in me, why should I look elsewhere. If he is in me and you, why is there the need for a temple, mosque or church?

The divine beginnings of God have been greatly marred by the actions of Man. What is, what remains, what is the truth and what is twisted is unrecognizable. Will not just our good actions not be enough to guarantee a place in the eternal everafter?

Somewhere I hope that God is not listening. For I don’t want to meet the Devil to see the light in God.

In loving memory of dada – Rana Martin D’Rozario

I am writing after a mighty long time. My brother, older to me by 11 years, with whom I share the family blood is no more. After suffering from Meningial Tuberculosis for nearly three years and three months, he passed away on the night of August 7, 10 minutes to 11. After months of pain and suffering, all that is left with me, is the hope that he is in a more peaceful and safe place, free from mortal pain. I generally prefer not to dwell on my most intimate emotions on this blog, but this is so much more than just an emotion. I had never fathomed that there could ever be a world without my dear brother to guide me in the right path, chide me when I go wrong and support me always. The shock that followed had numbed me, like anasthesia freezes the senses in the nerves, but now, slowly sensation creeps back in and like a frozen hand thaws, it the hurt inside increases. This post cannot be called a dedication, but in time, I shall be able to give my brother’s memory a tribute that befits him.

Narnia…a Revelation

Before I say anything, I must thank my friend because of whom I was able to enter the magical land of Narnia. You may scoff at me saying, ‘What a pig. How difficult is it to buy a book,’ but then I would have said, ‘Is it worth it?’
I had never read any of the Narnian collections, and even when the films had been released, the childish context would put me off. I still have not seen the movie, and I think that is how things will remain. When I was gifted the entire collection for my 22nd birthday, I was gracious enough to say ‘thank you’. But I really was questioning myself on the inside…”Will I be really reading that?’

So with much bias and uneasiness, this month I finally picked up on from the box. ‘The Magician’s Nephew’. I stared long and hard at the cover picture. It was not very flattering, just three intersecting rings a lion’s face at the bottom. Whatever.

When the story began with a certain Digory Kirke and Polly Plummer, I was thrown off. Where did the two brothers and sisters had gone? What is this? (You see, I had seen certain snatches of the movie, and though I knew they were from the second and fourth book, I expected them to same throughout the seven books.) Like any boring day, I trudged through the first few chapters. Initially I found the concept of jumping in and out of the pools a little irritating. It really made no sense. But the beauty was that it is not supposed to. When my cousin told me to read the book, keeping in mind a parallel world, I did so. And that was when the shackles of adulthood gave way to pure imagination.

And as Narnia sprung forth from Aslan’s song, my interest bloomed. And since then these books have been literally unputdownable, where I have been picking up the next as soon as I finish the current. The Horse and his Boy is my second favourite till now. (I am yet to read the last one.) Following their journey through Tashbaan was such a rich and brain stimulating part. It reminded me of ‘The Mummy’, the movie where they travel through the sandy cities. And even Prince of Persia, where splendour was seen in abundance. It took me back to the days I spent reading Arabian Nights. Harem pants, horses and caravans, curved footwear, wine being served from slim flasks and so much more.

The book that caught my attention the most (till now) is The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Like an enthusiastic adventure reader I enjoy my sea voyages. And to pair that with their separate island hopping excursions that take them down different paths, both divine and hellish. As the ship breezed through the waters where a kingdom could be seen underwater, I too felt as if I was on board.

Now I am half way through The Silver Chair, and with every book the twists and turns that spring up at me, leaves me wanting for more. Now I don’t even know what awaits me when I will be picking up The Last Battle.

But in retrospect, the story of Aslan sent my mind spinning. Like an good practising Catholic I have been taught by my mother, about God, His love for us and the Bible. And in the first chapter, Genesis, God created man. That is the birth of all creation on this planet. (Lets not get into a debate whether science trips religion or vice versa.) Similarly, Aslan created Narnia. Other similarities then started to crop up. Remember the tree from which Digory had to get a fruit back to Aslan? Just like the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. Digory was tempted to eat, but he did not succumb.

When God called upon Noah to build an ark, He told him to choose a pair of every kind of animal. And so did Aslan, when he chose only the talking beasts. Towards the end of the book, Aslan sacrificed himself for the sake of Edmund. Just as Jesus did, and then they both rose from the dead. Aslan because he was innocent (and as per the rules of deep magic) and the other, well we know that already. In the fourth book, Prince Caspian, in the land of Narnia many, many years later, some of the creatures refused to believe in the existence of Aslan, just like us when we are in trouble. Even when Aslan attacked Shasta and Aravis so they could meet and join forces, similarly we see God working in His various mysterious ways.

A chronicle that talks of much more than just for children. With greed, betrayal and thirst for power, these books made me look at myself in a different way. It made me want to hold on to that inner child and never let her go. For if she did, the gates of Narnia will be forever closed for her.




All pictures have been sourced from google.



‘That Kitchen Goddess’





When it is five minutes to ten at night, I gear up for one of my most favourite cookery shows – Nigella’s Kitchen. Be it Nigella’s Bites, Nigella’s Express, I am a BIG fan. To watch her cook is like a stress buster for me. And with that gorgeous smile on her face, as she whips up cake after cake, cooking does seems less stressful.


The joy in watching her in action is because she is not ‘perfect’. And she does not claim to be one either. You see her snipping the tomatoes into smaller pieces with a pair of scissors as they sit on the blazing pan, I mean how many professional chefs would do that. That is the key.

A person with no professional qualification, she is mightily steered ahead with pure, naked passion for food. When she adds icing to her creations, she mostly prefers to draw in soft peaks and hypnotic swirls, not your usual flat and pristine icing of a pro. It makes one feel comfy in the kitchen, not getting one’s nerves so high strung. She makes me feel that is it alright not to fret if I can’t produce a cut, chop and slice that is immaculate. And I thank her greatly for that feeling. When she roughly chops up the herbs with her crescent mezzaluna, it gives the cooking a beautiful rustic feel. Remember how sometimes we crave for ‘ghar ka khana’? Nigella’s cooking is just that. My cousin does not take too kindly to her. “She is so.” She prefers your pristine kitchen, mostly like Donna Hayes (her’s has to be the one sans mess). Aah, but who argues. To each his own.

Nigella has the most amazing way to get her kind of cooking across to the masses. She does not patronise the viewer as she attends to her meatloaf with care. However, when she talks about it, she uses phrases which convey that she too had to battle some problems in the kitchen, but not that they could not be sorted.


Everytime, she drops in a huge chuck of butter into the pan, or throws in oodles of chocolate, my mother will always shudder and get upset.

“Look at the amount of butter she uses. You would think she had nothing to worry about!”

It is said that one should not trust a skinny chef, and that is was I told my mother last night. She eats heartily and of quality ingredients. Maybe that is why she is still so radient at her age.


Many have accused her of indulging in food porn, but who cares when you see the food she whips up so effortlessly. Good food is also meant to be savoured with the eyes, and her food delivers it without a doubt.


Short cuts is also one of her methods. But, sometimes when facing a time crunch, it is practical. One has seen her add ready made green curry paste to a mixer filled with green peas and cream, or quickly empty a packet of gnocchi. But that is alright in normal life. It is not the Masterchef kitchen, where using packet custard would be like a spear through Gary’s side.


And last but not the least, as the credits roll at the bottom of the screen, you see her inevitably reaching to her fridge at night and slipping the last slice of meatloaf between bread and digging in. That is what I relate to the MOST!

Visiting the breathtaking Himachal, yet again!



The hot chocolate at Garden Cafe in the Tibetan colony near Bir, that both comforted as well as disappointed me. The weather was perfect and as we sat all cosied in out jute chairs, our hands curled instinctively around the cup. But, a sip laid bare the disaster and deceit of serving Bournvita in the guise of Hot Chocolate. Nevertheless, with the chill in the air, we sipped the warm beverage dutifully and gratefully.




The mega pasta served in layers. The tomato sauce was very 'rustic' and the herbs used were whole and grainy. The thick strips of cheese were delicious and the crowd of sliced black olives was a treat for the eyes and the taste buds.



Me and my friend, on our way to the Tibetan colony, taking a shortcut. The path was blissful and enchanting, however when a stray dog decided to follow us, pretty closely, taking turns to sniff our hands, both of us got pretty wary.

The Tibetan prayer flags that brighten the landscape.



Tibetan writings/prayers chiselled into stones, painted and embellished. They adorned a peepal tree set in the heart of the entrance of the monastery.




A facade of the monastery. The bright colours stood out amidst the grey sky and looked every bit as enchanting as Shangri La would have.

 It is a pity I could not take my camera on this trip. The pictures have been taken from my phone, a humble one. Nothing fancy and hi-tech. So if the pictures seem a little blurred and pixelated, forgive me.

That pungent bulge

My obsession with garlic is never ending, and this soft pastel sketch of the same is proof of it.

Riveting yes, but a little too rigid

This was my first, 'proper' horror film I saw in the theatre. And quite an entertaining one, I'll say. The trailer manages to instill enough spook into a person, and the accompanied rhyme just adds to the creepiness. The trailer opens with a shot of toys, with no voice over or background music and a sinister rhyme follows:

‘During afternoon tea, there’s a shift in the air,
a bone-trembling chill that tells you she’s there.’


There are those who believe the whole town is cursed,
but the house in the marsh was by far the worst.’


‘What she wants is unknown, but she always comes back,
the spectre of darkness, the woman in black.’


This reminded me of the catchy rhyme that is often repeated in 'Dead Silence', which went something like this – Beware the stare of Mary Shaw, she had no children, only dolls. If you ever see her in your dream, make sure you never ever scream!


Well so much for Dead Silence, onto The Woman in Black.
I will confess, I was intrigued to watch Radcliffe in this role. Not that I had plastered his face as Harry Potter (December Boys helped clean the slate a bit), but I wanted to see if could really carry the role forward. Playing the role of a lawyer based in London, it took me some time to digest that he has a 4 yr old boy. C'mon, he just left Hogwarts! My friend, with whom I went to see the movie, expected him to swish out his wand anytime! After the success of Harry Potter, Daniel will really have a tough time breaking through the mould. But this movie, should make things a little easier.


The movie opens with a chilling shot, of three little girls at a pretend tea party. Out of the blue, as if they were being directed, they just walk right through the window. This definitely leaves the audience baffled, creating a sense of curiosity. Cut to London, where Daniel or Arthur Kipps, is getting ready to leave. With the death of his wife during childbirth, he does portray an image of a father who loves his child, but cannot help being a little distant. With an unshaven look and crusty sidelocks, I almost saw Hugh Jackman in him. I just could not help comparing their likeness (not the body, obviously).

When he arrives at the little dull and drippy English town, the locals seem mystified by him. The local innkeeper gives him a queer look, trying not to provide him with any accommodation. However, his wife puts him up at the attic. The minute you see her open the door, you realise that this was the children's playroom, from where those girls took a leap. I felt bad for Arthur, who even in the face of danger plodded on with his work due to pressure from his boss, and his debts.


The drive to the mansion are pretty, however haunting they may look. The single path is flanked with marsh on either side, making the mansion a little island when the tide is high. My friend once strayed into a 'marsh like' area on the beach in Daman, so I am pretty much aware how dangerous they can be. The mansion is the locus of the enigma that hangs low over the town. A perfect setting for a horror film, its draped in creepers. Here, Arthur first sees the 'Woman in black' in the thick of the woods, nearby.

Definitely, Arthur reaches the town a rattled man, however, he is still oblivious to the entire mystery behind the deaths of the children.


The sightings of the woman in black are few, but it does send a tingling chill down your spine. Especially her sighting in the mansion's nursery, when Arthur looks out of the window and she floats into the frame...downright creepy!

The movie is entertaining, worth every rupee I spent and am even contemplating to watch it again. Daniel had a lot of responsibility in the movie. However, I felt that in certain spooky scenes, though his eyes had the fear in them, his face went very rigid, his jaws clenched and everything was so stiff. But, other than that, The Woman in Black is definitely a must watch!

The Death Knell

Amidst a series of pending official work left, my roommate and colleague whisked me off for a visit to the parlour. A meeting that had been long pending. At 3 in the afternoon, in the hot sun, we walked. Ugh...imagine my frustration.


Anyway, while she was inside getting special services, I waited in the lobby, watching other customers get their share of 'feminine' treatment. A mother-daughter duo walked in. They were locals and were not of the upper class strata. The beaming woman sat next to me, while her giggling girl stood against the recently-done wall cabinets. She was ebony-toned, dressed in garish green salwar-kameez. (I do not discriminate on the basis of colour, just merely describing the scene.) Another client had been in line, but the owner attended the girl first. “Shaam ko ladke vaale dekhne aa rahe hain,” her mother said. Are you serious! It had been near 15 minutes and no one had even heard her speak! Jeez! Politely, the customer who was due stepped aside and the entire conversation changed to marriage.


After a few questions and quick replies, I realised that she was just 16! And already she had people coming over to see her. What is it with the world? I obviously looked the other way, careful that no one see my shocked expressions. (I have often received criticism for my expressions. My mother says some make me look very snooty. Whatever, I'm actually a different person inside. Very genuine :))


But that was not the end of the topic for me for that day. When I reached office, and settled into my little corner, my boss read out a status of a former professor and dean of my college. Summarised, he spoke of how it seemed he wasted hours teaching a student, who worked briefly in a media organisation, but now has been taking care of her husband and child. Point noted, so the only conclusion I draw, is that, does marriage ruin everything? Also, when one does enter into matrimony and build a family, then there are two possibilities that come up. Either she works hard at her job, then people allege that she neglects her family or she is made to choose one over the other. Why?


When people cannot handle the drama in their lives, they should just delete the number of characters.

Why I am warming up to ebooks

One sits listlessly in office, swatting at flies no can see, catching a few winks in between chai breaks. This was something I did not perceive would ever occur to me. Like everyone else, I dreamt of a profession that pays, sends you on trips and possibly kept you within the confines of an office, as little as possible. And I still dream on. Journalism. Sounds like a snazzy job to be doing, but truthfully, part of it can become quite monotonous. Resting your bum on a chair, for 6 hours! Heck I definitely did not dream of this.

And just as sure I was about my job, I was about ebooks. They suck. I was never in favour of new technologies like the Kindle. I'm pretty old school when it comes to books. For me, the touch, the feel and the flipping of pages added to the entire experience of a book. Every time I bought a new book, I plunged my face within its pages and would smell the pages. If it was a second hand book, then the yellowed pages would draw me closer. It was just something else you could not argue with.

But with spending six hours in front of your office desktop, wasting atleast half that amount felt criminal. Till, I discovered the real joy of reading an ebook.

I had started Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie, but something better came along the way. Do not misunderstand me. Do not assume that I am degrading Salman Rushdie, its just that his book was not ideal for an office environment. One must ruminate, ponder over and patiently digest his words. But, for me, Michael Crichton, or Stephen King can be gulped down. They hold your focus, till they suck the life force out of you. And before I knew it, I had finished, Pet Cemetary and The Shining by Stephen King, and Sphere and Airframe by Michael Crichton, and currently reading Disclosure by the same author. Where earlier I had thought that office had killed the insatiable thirst for books, I just discovered a way around it. The link below is a treasure trove of long lost books! And the book 'Do Androids dream of electric sheep' is available!!!
http://www.freebooks2u.com/

In the SPHERE and back

After near 5 days of being buried in an ebook, during office hours, I feel like a baby just out of the womb. I feel vulnerable, yet am able to retract into that space, that place inside, unknown to me before. I slip back into the SPHERE, where even I lived for the past 5 days. The movements around me, people and their reactions seem like a motion picture to be seen through the porthole. Everything is silent inside, but the noise hurts the ear when woken up from the dreamless phase, the seamless world of the ocean. I wonder if the book helped unlock an inner state of being, a place I always wanted to reach. I thought meditation would help, funny what a book, a submarine and the endless ocean brought me.



But then again, people say its easier to lock oneself in another realm, ignoring the present. Why not? If it helps to better understand the present, to better cope with the difficulties or even brace for the future. The mind knows not what it can hide, surface, resurface or never disclose. A maze of endless possibilities? My world hides in there, and so do I. Like drifting in the ocean, a floating buoyant object, drifting away....staring at the sky above. Swimming through space. Where emotions don't matter, complicate or even bother. A passive motion, effortless without pain, or even stoic instincts.


However, I will snap to the present, the gravitational pull of the current spaces, of the energy of the bodies around me will bring me back from my stupor. I wake up. To the present, the so-called known and the pain. Is it worth it you ask? To live a dreamless yogic life as opposed an impassioned world of emotions, anger or anxiety. Open up yourself to another person, open to get hurt, or even face extremely frustrating times. To fall back against a wall, smash your fist through it...but the pain never ends. But ITS WORTH IT. Every bit.


I may contradict myself, but who doesn't. There are times you like an apple, there are times you prefer that melon. But its necessary to be true, to what you feel then and there. Time changes, its not static, why should you? If you do, is it worth it? If it is, then hang on to it.

A close friend in her many quirky moods...

This one's for me!

I hate being the centre of attraction, and shy away pretty easily but I wanted to explore my way with the camera. Self portraits give me the heebie-jeebies, average looking girl like me...what aspect must be played on the most? The shots may seem a little blurry, that is because they are and I like it that way. The mirror is not very clean and thus gives a very grainy look. Well, life in a PG is tough. 

Timepass on the terrace

The ordinary gravel took on the beautiful golden colour of the setting sun.