do the double

in a country far from here, nestled in towering mountains, two little girls with strawberry cheeks giggled as only little girls can. and pulled at each other's hair. looked at me from their mountain walls, whispered little nothings into each other's ears and continued to giggle. here's hoping that they are as happy as i found them. :)

R.I.P.

Joybubbles passed on.

the grand old man of paro

having stumbled down the slopes of taktsang, the air's a little thicker. from the log cabin's chimney the smell of thukpa and wai wai hold out a steaming promise of a well-deserved meal. beer bottle caps pop in the background. a prayer wheel on a mountain stream measures its every runaround with a peal from a centuries old bell. a hundred birds hurry home and the furry black dog paws the soft earth hidden away under a throw of pine cones. and the woodcutter marks time with his axe. in slow arcs his old weak arms work a fallen log. an unfailing rhythm. the wind blows taktsang's holy dust into the many folds of his face. his handmedown jacket flutters in surrender to the evening chill. little chunks of pine fly off into the sky. he stops for one moment. time stops with him. all of time is slave to this weather beaten woodcutter in a handmedown, by the thukpa, wai wai log cabin. and when he smiles, the world smiles with him. for he is the grand old man of paro.

a whole new twist

i've nurtured a fascination for HDR (high dynamic range imaging) for quite some time now. but that annoying psy-debate that plays out in your head between classical and modern thought, for most part in my case had classical thought triumphing. but now i've seen enough. HDR is the new benchmark and i've decided to take the plunge. while my first experiments are just that - experiments, the future seems bright and promising. clear blue skies and vivid foregrounds. the first step was the software - big thanks to recho here. next up is a lot of clicking on auto bracket. i dredged up the only bracketed pics i could find immediately for these results. and they might not seem all that amazing. but watch this space. it's a whole new world.

The Junkyard of Photography

Link Of The Day - July 19

(look at what all i try to be cyber cool)

Incredible collection of images from the recycle bins of photographers all over the world. As neatorama says "But for some reason, the error-as-art conceit sort of works."

And I should add, it's a strange albeit very satiating kind of voyeurism.

zubesco

parveen babi's bodyguard in amar, akbar and antony softly padded his way into our lives this last week. meow.

das saal baad

it's been 10 years since the first blog came along. woooh. and what a ride it's been.
hurrah for our online lebensraums. forever in awe.

one little devil

kuttichatan, loosely translates as little devil. one former vice-principal's name loosely translated as the devil in the coconut-grove. thing is, in god's own country, the devils arent particularly frowned upon. and are even welcomed with endless cups of tea, marie biscuits, berkeley cigarettes and headless chickens.

historically kuttichatan is siva's consort. like my pa says, an agent, somebody the lord chose to outsource certain responsibilities that he couldn't be bothered with, to. kuttichatan mainly concerns himself with fire, arson and the like. if you've been a good kid this year, umm... sorry, we don't have santa in kerala. but if you've been a bad kid, kc will come huffin and puffin and burn your house down.

HOHOHohohohohohohohohohoho.
that part madonna part harlot, happy sad evil laugh will echo in my one functional ear forever.

kitschking

standard kolliwood scene has a bunch of sweaty thugs, all rushing at the heavily powdered, respected and adored rajnikanth. before they have a go at him with choppers, cycle chains, medieval clubs, swords and the odd country made pistol, THE BOSS waves them to a stunned halt and declares -"pigs always come in groups. but the lion roams alone."

predictably he proceeds to decimate the pigs, swallowing bullets and dodging sword swooshes all the while finding the time to mouth more cult classic dialogues.from bus conductor to record breaking marquee fame - basha, the boss, padiyappa, the names are many, but the truth is one. as 'lavanya auto stand friends' will swear, there is no other like rajni."sollitte!"

avail

it's coming down officially now. umbrellas - black, yellow and green, foldable and unfoldable, torn, patched and new, are all out in full strength. i'm digging too. in the far corners of my cupboards for rain gear. and there's a squish in my shoes.

cats, dogs and the odd hippo coming down. you can bet your mummy, it's the end of summer. end of summer equates the first of the annual trips to hampi. the memories in spite of our adled beyond repair brains, are flooding in. ruins bathed in evening yellow. the million goli sodas. monkey hill. sanapur. the boatman with the cool aviators. the itch. oh yes. it's back.

a prayer for the road

all over, perfect squares of red, green, yellow and white mark themselves out against a blue sky. cheap block prints by the millions sending out prayers into the universe. riding on himalayan winds. the almost murmur of prayer flags fluttering in mountain air is a most becalming sound. second only to a pedal type sewing machine.

to get carried away in buddha country is fairly easy. a strong gale, sudden idealism, inexplicable feelings of belonging - the possibilities are infinite. faced with that, some of us weaker souls hang on. desperately to whatever we've known and most importantly - rationalism.

how for instance is this string of prayer flags here? across an impossible gorge. somebody shot the string across on an arrow? maybe the monks have a trained falcon that flew across with the string? a radio controlled plane - you know the type: petrol engine, 2 channel remote? a giant kite? between browne and me, we had a handful of watertight theories. turns out, somebody walked around the gorge with the string.

i'm a believer.

he who shuns the light

the drummers are frenzied. black lean arms blur into the still of the night. lamps flicker. incense hangs in the air. hundreds of eyes expectedly dart around. beads of sweat are wiped. and then the sound of a centuries old anklet rings the night. satan himself is in our midst. mephistophilis. quid tu moraris?

one pulli nest

taktsang - tiger's lair

a very long time ago, one tigress - standard specimen of the genus tigris, although this one could fly - decided to make the trip. from tibet to bhutan. and carried on her tawny back the precious load of saint padamasambhava or guru rinpoche. and the exact spot she chose to touch down, a 300-nugultrum-cabride away from paro is bhutan's ground zero. druk mecca.

all these centuries later, a more incredible sight does not stand. perilously perched on a 1000 ft tongue of rock, is an 8th century temple founded by guru rinpoche who chased away all the pagan spirits and introduced the way of the buddha.

up in the clouds, bhutan's middle finger to vertigo also traditionally promises the easiest channel straight up to heaven. but taktsang itself is nowhere near an easy climb. from 1000 ft above monks and raptors smirk as you begin a painful ascent. almost immediately all those years of smoking creep up on you.

thermal undies are both a good and a bad idea if you're walking up to heaven. it's cold. sure. but around every bend you break into a sweat. so you strip. and then the sweat freezes on you. ladies and gentlemen. we have a vicious cycle in our midst.

as always sheer human will triumphed over nicotine, impractical dressing and what i suspect were the beginnings of altitude sickness. to present the most spectacular holy place on this planet. gives you a big lump in your throat.

a windswept string of prayer flags arches across to the opposite hill face. in between a wooden bridge hops over a waterfall that plunges onward. giant prayer wheels churn away. a strange beautiful red bird shrills the thin mountain air. oh. oh. oh. heaven is on the near.

burn

went for a walk down a long and winding neural connection. turned left after a particularly stinging memory of five days spent starving. and chanced upon this huge fire. how many years ago was it?

chorten chronicles

reliquaries are bound to be interesting places, one can tell. from outside a chorten is a deceptively simple rectangular building with standard royal bhutanese govt. issue doors, domes, spires and buddha's eyes that look out in all directions. but you know from your cheap travel guide that a chorten is build to commemorate kings, saints and monks.

consequently your brilliant deductive mind will inform you that this rather unassuming building is also probably a container for holy relics or the physical remains of a saint - bones, shreds of clothing, etc. and there you have it - mystery. behind the whitewashed walls is the dragon kingdom at its mythical exotic best!

brilliant deductive minds are in supply apparently. and so some brilliant deductive minds got together and robbed a few chortens when we were there. even with buddha watching out in all directions, quick hands, remain quick hands.