Well its been a long time i wrote about one of the strangers from my elite list. When the thought struck to address one of them, it was hard to resist the temptation to remember "the li'l girl on the highway".
Li'l GIRL on the highway...
Every time while talking to people about my passion for photography, I am quick to recollect the story of how I found this girl on the highway, on our way back home from pondicherry.
I have always believed that this pic of the girl which i clicked on that sunny day in black n white mode in my Nokia N73 camera phone is still one of my personal favorite and best picture, that I've been able to frame till date.
I shall post the picture of the girl at the end of the post for my description of the girl and your imagination of the same will be impacted by the visual.
In fact I was shocked at the final picture, as I was clicking it with a camera phone and had to force see the frame on screen due to bright sunlight.
We were working at CnT at the time of this trip. A gang had already gone to pondicherry and it was an instant decision, like most of the times, that me n savan took, to travel to pondy on my bike. We woke up early and started our long ride, one of the earliest bike rides. We were on our way to surprise the rest of the gang.
I'll not be elaborating much about how we got there, what we did there, where we stayed, though the trip will be remembered for what happened to kiran [churan as he's famously known in CnT]. On the night when we reached pondy, Akbar suggested that we pack him up into a sack and bury him somewhere in the CnT campus. You must know that CnT is privileged to have a huge campus with lots of vegetation, more like a mini forest if you would like some exaggeration. All of us were stoned and high while Kiran was fucked up. . .
That's all about the stay at pondicherry. It's time to begin the return journey and meet the girl. Well, there's no hurry, She'll get to the place where we stop by to wash our car and bike, only once we reach the place. She's not waiting there. ANYWAYS, I cannot resist to be at the place as soon as possible. . . .
I must add a li'l bit about the fight to grab the handle of my bike by the members of the other gang. Me and Savan make a gang too. . . Mr. and Mrs. Patel were not interested in the bike as they were "the Santrowaale", the smart ones. That leaves only Akbar, Suraj and Kiran to fight it out. Kiran some how managed to get to the steering wheel of Santro and that sort of took him out of the competition for the bike. . . Now you must have had a clear Idea of Who, When I said "We" were still working in CnT.
Me n Savan were never willing to give away the bike to anyone, though our backbones were craving for those cushioned seats of Santro. So we decided one of us would always hang on to the bike. When Akbar was riding, Savan was inside the car and when Suraj took to the handle, it was Savan's turn to sit behind the Man. Where am I? ? ? I am either sitting behind Akbar or resting on the cushioned seats in the car. Quite obvious, yes, it is. . . . one of my silly pleasures, to simply confuse people.
While writing this, I realized that I was always in the illusion that I had taken the picture of the girl in My Nokia N73 but here I stand corrected, It was this picture that I shot in Akbar's N73 that inspired me to buy an N73, for the impression that the clarity of the picture made on me. This was the reason I have the pictures of the return journey from pondy and not the otherwise.
As I told you earlier, while akbar was riding the bike, I would take the pillion seat with his camera in my hand and shoot anything and anyone. . . . At 100kmph speed you don't expect clear shots, especially when you are sitting behind on a bike, that's not just going fast but flying low!!!!
Please don't charge of plagiarism, I picked that line about flying low on one of those days when I was stuck in a traffic jam. It was written on one of the bikes - hold your imagination rite there - he wasn't flying, remember the traffic jam. It was apt for this situation.
I think I'll just plug in something that I had written about photography sometime back, which was never touched after wards. Its about what I felt about photography and the frame that was captured. "Each shot framed tells me a story and the moment in the frame helps build a story before and after the moment. The picture itself tells the story that is beyond the moment captured in the frame. Each picture becomes a point of reference to the origin and the end of not just the narrator[cameraman] but also the subject.
Well on our way back, Mehul spotted this small water body and stopped over to clean his dirty santro. The man was good at that, I mean spotting these beautiful serene locales along the way. You see larger the surface, more prone you are to dust accumulation. It is here that we came across this girl who was with her friends, baring it all to the hot sun with only the modesty covered. I remember savan n suraj pulling my leg saying - there he goes to shoot his Kingfisher calendar for the season. . . . Well, when I did decide to make my calendar - I used her pic for my birth month. . . . .
What happened after I shot the girl and showed it to her and my friends, as they say the rest was history, Remember I told you earlier the picture is a point of reference between today and yesterday and the moment in between. . . .
That's for now. . . . :)
chocolates n a li'l money n volleyball net n wrap. . . one more session all that and more.
This is a small something written immediately after I wrote about the beautiful Muslim women. This couldn't have been added along with that, as both are very diverse in nature.The decision of writing was taken immediately after the series of events mentioned below occurred, it is only the last act that prompted me to write this. . .
While I was writing about the BMW, Mr. Raj walked up to me and said he was pissed off in his life. . . . He never told me the reason for being pissed off. He wanted to go and stay alone in solitary Isolation for sometime. Some disappointment was troubling him and it was seen all over his face.
In the mean, there were a couple, just the two of them, no friends for company were seated in the corner table next to the window. It was the girls' birthday and I could see the two struggling to capture themselves in the same frame. I could have volunteered to click their picture but I was busy capturing the BMW in black gowns in my imagination. She cut the cake, shared a bite with each other and cut the cake into pieces and shared it with everyone in the shop including me and Mr. Raj. We got our share and wished her a routine happy birthday complimented with a fake smile. . . Accepted the thanks and returned the same for the cake. . . .
With a piece of cake in our hands, Me and Mr. Raj continue to discuss the reason for him being upset. Still disappointed, while Mr. Raj thinks whether to share his grief with a near stranger somebody or not, I finished My share of cake and said to Mr. Raj - The cake is superb and delicious. . . .
Mr. Raj, still with that disappointed expression on his face, generously offered me his piece of cake and said - "Please have mine too". . . .
The offer was quite tempting but I resisted the temptation and said to him - "Whether you like it or not, you have to have your share for yourself. What comes in your share is yours". Maybe he got the message loud and clear, with a smile on his face, he ate the cake and walked back to the counter to attend his customers.
I am a self proclaimedamateur photographer as most of you known, who shoots anything and anyone, specially inclined at clicking pictures of anyone. Therein is a glitch, when I say anyone. There is one set people I may never dare to click. . . . They are one of the most interesting subjects of photography that I’ve come across. They speak with their eyes or I should rather be saying “their eyes speak”. . . .
With all the respect to the culture they follow, which forbids them to dress like others, I must admit that it is beautiful. It is this very same reason that endears me to crave to click their pictures. I am referring to the beautiful Muslim women draped in their black gowns from head to toe. All you see are those two twinkling eyes that speak a million words that I do not understand. . .
These women in black, with their eyes visible through the narrow slit, offer a fantastic frame to capture. There’s something about these ladies in black that stands out in every frame you can think of. May be it’s the black. As they say black absorbs all the light that falls on it, I would rather believe black dominates all else. . . Be it a colour photo or a black n white portrait, you’ll see the dominance of blackin every frame and that’s exactly what excites me to want to capture them. What’s hidden in those long black gowns never really matter to the onlooker; it’s the eyes that do the magic. The modesty is treasured within. . . . It is this aspect that their culture has, maybe, forced onto them, as few liberal ones may argue. Well I am not complaining, it’s the very same culture that makes these ladies in black stand out in the crowd. . . .
Why I say that I may never click these beautiful ladies is for a simple reason – the fear of a situation that we have created in our so called cosmopolitan society, that endears you to consequences that may not be dear to both, me and her. . . What you just read is the frame that I failed to click every time she walked past me, be it in a lonely road or a busy street. . . Now you know why.
that's a friend who posed naturally for me to click these few pics. . . .
I am just being stupid, like most of the times. I will continue to be stupidfor as long as being stupid is categorized into an act of crime.
Well, before writing the actual intent, I was thinking about writing how the reader has to perceive me to understand how stupid I can get. Then I’ll have to write whole lot of things, which I’ve mentioned at different times in different articles n stories. So anyone is who’s known mewith my earlier post will understand my stupidity and those reading it for the first time can either choose to read the earlier posts or believe their imagination. I suggest the latter, for it offers more masala. . . .
Coming back to the topic, “Take my breath away”, it sounds all very romantic, it does . . . But I am not. I deprive article an opportunity to be romantic. I am like always unable to grip things in an order, which can give a clear picture. Blame it on my poor command over the language I’ve chosen to interpret. . . In fact this is the best I can do in any language, so here is how I put together the loose ends in a not so romantic tale. . . .
With the li’l interpretation skills that I am blessed with, I shall try to build suspense in the story, once it starts. At any point in time when I fail to hang on to the suspense, I shall blow it all up. . . Nevertheless I shall try. I am pushing myself into the deep waters,though with strings attached, Just in case I sink to the bottom.
One day later, I understand there is a difficulty for me to get back into the groove, Time has passed and so has thoughts. . .What started as a thought yesterday, while I was looking out of the window at the coffee shop has now gone on to become a Memory.The story now is no longer an interpretation of the thought, its a recollection of the memories of yesterday. As nothing was scripted yesterday and all I relied on were the visuals of the scenes as they happened in front of my eyes, I have to now essay them as a canvas, painted in the colours of my imagination.
Even if I were to write what was happening in front of me yesterday, I would largely rely on my imagination to carve out a story.I am looking beyond what was evidently visible. In order to get myself back into believing this and to make my mind understand that lapse of time has not affected what was being penned yesterday, I had to think of all that You read. . . .Could’ve gone on to write a lot more but I guess this should suffice.
He stood there, on the sidewalks of the busy street in jaynagar 4th block. I watched his movements and all things around him from 14’ above the ground beneath me. I was sitting on the first floor, right on the edge of the window to grab a better view of things as they happened and cooking up my own fictional story based on visual realities.
Now while I continue to write, in spite of being in no mood to imagine, I start with things I saw. The road was buzzing with vehicles, each one competing with the other, may be to reach the destination. I could sense from the sound of the horn that each one made to the other, which was their way of saying “Get off my way”. None of them seemed to be enjoying the journeyor was it the people inside???
The coffee shop that I am sitting right now is exactly opposite to jaynagar water tank. When I turn my head to the right and look diagonally, I see a huge propped cantilever pipeat the same level myself. It’s an outlet pipe to refill the tanks to supply to the undersupplied areas around Jaynagar. Once the refilling is done and the truck is moved, you can see water trickling down the pipe, which should suffice the water requirement for a family of four for a day. Most of the times you see the water going waste, straight into the drainage but at times you can find the vendors collecting water for their routine chores. Passersby freshen up in the trickling water to beat the heat of on a sunny day. Though I am not sure on how many sunny days,water continues to trickle down. I wonder what they all would do, when the water stops leaking???
You also have the BDA complex adjoining to the water tank. You can see hundreds of people busy buying things. You get all things a typical middle class family in Indianeeds for their existence. You must just take a stroll by these shops to learn the tricks of Bargainand Trade. One who bargains gets the satisfaction of having saved a little moneyand yet the vendor makes his cut in spite of bargaining. I guess it’ll be party time for the vendorwhen a customer fails to bargain.
Then you have the street vendorsrunning behind you, if you were to be walking those streets, trying to impress you to buy their products. Some will be successful and some fail.Failure never stops them as, they continue to try and impress the passerby.
Oops, almost forgot to mention, The Police personnel who are out there to add more misery to the already miserable lives of the street vendors. Miserable not for the way they live, but for the way they are made to live. Either of them are always are always on the lookout for the other. Most of the vendors with shops have an understanding with the cops which gives them the privilege to flood half the side walk. They pay them on a daily basis – irrespective of the prospect of business. The vendors without the shops are the ones who are most affected. They have to lookout for the officer on duty and run with their make shift shop, at the first sight of him.I am not saying cops are bad people, they have their own miseries. Have you ever wondered where a cop would, take a leakor have his meal in the noon??? That’s what I am talking about. What we pay the cops is for the misery that they go through for us.
I think I’ve touched upon most of the things and scenes one would get to see, if they were to be seated in my seat and looking out through the large window opening to the setting sun. Although there are one more set of people, whom you see on these sidewalks and they are called beggars. Now I have come to believe that there are two kinds of beggars, the professional and the helpless. The professionals are the lazy bones, who are normal people just like me and you, making a living out of begging. They are just lazy but they ‘work’ as beggars. You see the money is unbilled and tax free. It’s hard to differentiate the two. The lazy bones are too professional, but the eye can spot the real ones from the other. The helplessness is evidently written all over the body and their eyes fail to lie. . . . Try this the next time you come across a beggar on the signal – look into their eyes. The helpless ones win you over and they make you feel helpless. He’s the real helpless one out there begging, I hate to use the word ‘beggar’. The helpless sounds better and so are we . . . .
The protagonist, the one who is standing on the sidewalk is one amongst the many,whom I’ve mentioned.
It’s been three days since I started writing this and I’ve not yet come to the point. I was just enjoying the journey unlike the vehicles or the people inside them, who seemed to be in a hurry.
He’s a hefty man, looking for people who’d be interested in some of the things he has. He’s one among the many street vendors. . . He sold happy things. Yes, that right. They are happy things. All things he sells are associated with happiness. That makes the things to be happy things, for when one holds them in their hands; it puts a smile on your face.
Today as I sit at the same place, where I started this story yesterday, I can see a family is bargaining with him. Yes, of course there are kids with them. Another family with kids stand by to see if anything is worth to buy. Whatever they pay him, will be worth the happinessthat’s associated with things. But maybe they have different understanding of worthiness and Happiness. . . .
Not all families that stop by buy happinessthat the man was selling. All things he’s put on display are very rich and vivid. That’s very necessary to pull the kids close to your stall and the Parents shall follow, leaving behind their window shopping – gazing at things that they cannot afford to buy, while the kid slips close to the toys on display with the man on the sidewalk. The kid begins to play with the toyson display, until the tall, dark, big man scares the kid with his imposing look . . . but looks can be deceptive, yet he sells happiness. By the way he’s a toy seller. . .
Not all things he’s selling are finished factory made products. There’s one thing which he completes standing on the sidewalk, looking at the people as they walk past him. What he does with this one thing is what entices the kidsto go close to his display. It is one among the many things that he’s put up for sale but this is the cheapest of them all . . . .
Few of them are already on display. They are colourful, bright, delicate andlight. They are hanging with their heads tied to long elastic bands. The elastic bands too are colourful. This time they are red.They move from left to right, to and from to the gushing breeze every time a vehicle hustles pastthe portable shop. As the vehicles rush past the shop off the road, the kids in the vehicles put their hands out and before they can tell their parents that they want one, they would’ve gone past the shop and reached a point of no return. . . . The road is a one way.
The cheapest happy things remains hung with their heads tied to the elastic bandas they sway to the light breeze and as it sways close to the people walking past, it seems to tell in their ears, - “Take my breath away”. . . . The breath of the tall, dark and hefty man, standing on the sidewalk of the busy street buzzing with vehicles – all in a hurry to reach the destination. The same breath of air that he breaths just like me and you. The smoke from the vehicles, smoke from the cigarettes that a few people blow out killing cigarettesinstantly before they kill themselves and the tall dark big man and me and you . . . .
As he breathes the air that I told you earlier, he runs his hand through a small plastic packet and picks up a colourful tiny sad thing. Well, you take that thing and give it anybody, it wouldn’t make them happy and so I chose to call it “a sad thing”.It needs something, that which the man will fill into it to make it a happy thing.
In his hands, the tiny sad thing is pressed and pulled at the same time, as he breathes the polluted air and puts the head of the sad thing in his mouth and blows the same air he’s been breathing into the tiny sad thing. As he breathes out the air, the tiny sad thing grows out to reach the break point, that’s when he stops blowing out the polluted air into the sad thing, by now the sad thing has grown out to be “a big thing of joy”. . .
It is this act of blowingthe tiny sad thing into a big, delicate thing of joy, that brings the kids close to the display. . . Each tiny sad thing as it grows into a thing of joy before its hung with its head tied to the red elastic band or bursting of over joy, it brings a smile on the face of the kid. . . .
Well its no longer a surprise that I was talking about the how the toy vendor is blowing out balloons,that he tied their heads to an elastic band as if to safeguard his breath of air, the very same air that converted the tiny sad thing into a big thing of joy. Finally as he hung each of those things of joy on display along with the other toys- the happy things, the balloons said the same thing that the man[master] wanted to tell the people walking past them, as they swayed in the breeze, all things said in the same vain – “Take my breath way” . . .
Yesterday while I started writing this, the man had competition from another man and today as I am about to complete, he’s standing alone with his little things of joy [happy things] as the balloons speak his words. . . .
some thing that Stuck me while sipping my bisi n strong coffee. . . . this word has all the vowels in it. and the word is education and no letter repeats itself. There was a thought running in my mind about how we can bring down the cost of education, the solution was pretty simple - Quit studying for an year and the rates would automatically come down. . . .
What would one do when not going to school, possibly spend time with family, earn some money for the household, live everyday and party every night.
Do not consider this seriously, I need some time to really think about it. for now its a fragment of my imagination.
No educational institution is ever prepared to run without students. . . . System would come crashing down. All the investments in the country is banking on the students who pass out every year. Say if there's no students streamlined into the industry with ambitious growth plans, the industry will crash. The freshers out of the college are the cheapest labour available in the industry. Seniors don't work while the older men are useless when it comes to doing donkey work.
Not being educated for year will not affect you much. It does not make you incompetent in the world. Nothing changes. Education always happens outside the school. But its important to be inside to learn to see the outside. As long as one is aware that it is to learn that one has to go to school, you don't have to. . . You can always learn on the outside.
I know there's only a hypothetical chance of it being a possibility. It all depends on our parents. not just our parents but all the parents. . . .
I am in no mood to write any further on this. . . . if possible download the same n see it as a slide show. . .
Last we saw him was about a week back, as he lay in the bed very much unlike his usual self. There was no hug, no punchin the chest, no squeeze of my tiny body in those huge arms, no advice to grow big. . . just a helpless self, breathing and still alive. Shook him to wake him up from his deep sleep and as usual there was a glow in his eyes to his kids. We spoke for sometime to cheer him up saying things are fine and everything will be alright and all of us tried to hide the seriousness of the time behind our smiles. . . We, who went there were Myself, Ullas, Thej, Arun, Punit, Malthesh and tyron. We all had our own reasons to be there and very strangely it was one of those rare times when all the reasons of all of us were more or less the same. . . . We shared time together.
Last I remembered him was last night more or less the same time when he chose to rest in peace. When I woke up in the morning I had a few missed calls n a msg in my inbox read - "Our Huchappa uncle passed away at around 2:30 in the night cos of heart attack".
I don't know why I am blogging about him now though I always wanted to. . . . I don't know if this is the right time or not, I am just feeling like doing it, so I am doing it. . . All his kids have been missing him. I would like to bring all the memories of the man into the same page just to show the world that we all loved him for the very same reason.
What you read below are the thoughts, memories,tributes,condolences to the man as expressed by his kids across various social networking sites. . . .
Yatish Vt : if god is someone who comes to your help when you're in need, I am quite certain "he" was god. . . .at least to a few like myself.
What if you wake up in the morning and you are told "the God is no more".
Sowmya Mysore : agreed.... we ll miss him as a parent we found in the dept... glad to meet him everyday.. and "he" was always there when we needed him.... WE WILL MISS YOU FOREVER...:(:(
Yatish Vt : If there ever was a man would knew how an educational system should work it was him. He knew keeping kids in school for more than 5years was worthless. . . .
He knew the real education would start once we walked out with those degrees in our hand, calling ourselves professionals, everyone will learn to live on the outside . . . They will survive irrespective of the grades. . . .
He helped many get out of the cuckoo's nest, I was one of them - at least I would love to believe that. U will be remembered for long long time. . .
Sneha Reddy : He was one person who had all the patience n calmness!!! huchappa uncle will surely be missed!!
Nikhila Nagendra :our unofficial HOD of Architecture Dept. ............................. can't believe the fact hmmmm....... i am sure all the architects form the dept. of UVCE will miss him...
Shilpa Javali : RIP Huchhapa uncle.. We will miss you :'( :'( :'(
Huchappa Fans Club.UVCE : Here is a club for all admirers and fans of HUCHAPPA, the backbone of School of architecture, UVCE, Bangalore.
He's is serving the Dept since 30 years and very popular among the student community for his efficiency and selfless service.He is the one and only all time HOD of our dept,and a real hero.
dear huchappa,
v ll always remember you. ur name is synonymous with the architecture department. you always helped everyone equally, greeted us with a smile (sometimes wit scoldings). v ll miss you immensely . may ur soul rest in peace and may god bless your family.
Adithi Swamy : Woke up early in the morning to read my msg on my mobile and that jolted me up....
'The Man' of the Dept of Architecture is no more amongst us... he was liked and respected by every1 in the dept....i always asked him if i would get my degree before he retired....and he always said 'Yes' wit ha smiling face ........ thanks to all his hel...p and his humbleness..... will miss u huchappa sir.
May His Soul Rest in Peace
Adithi Swamy : he knew every student By name and By register number and helped ever student like his own kid....
to all the marks that v have got on the borderlines...its all coz of him...
I totally agree to every word said here by u guys...
Will miss him..
Yatish Vt : he was the father of our institution. . . .
Adithi Swamy : Agree... not many wld have cleared without his help....
The Most honest man in our dept that i have come across....
God only can help the dept and the students now......
Nidhi D Tekwani : miss him.wish him all the greatness and peace wherever he is now.
Vidya Sagare :the welcoming smile every time v visited the dept, his assistance thru admissions, submissions, hall tickets, examinations, results etc etc.. the list is never ending! he literally ran the dept in all our academic lives!! a guide, a friend, he wil b dearly missed!! :( :( RIP Huchappa Sir!!
Dear Huchappa Uncle...
I wish you were there to give us our degrees..!
U were the charm of our dept.. and the most efficient person around.
Ur presence will be badly missed though u will remain in everybody's memories forever..!
Deepak Bharadwaj : the most important of all,we 06 batch would never forget this great person, from his support during the organisation of archiday-08 n even later on..... it was possible to get the refund for the archiday for the first time with the help of HUCHAPPA...
n the refund sum goes up to 25k...
n all the credit goes to HUCHAPPA...
wish him all the greatness and peace...
Ar Hamid :the only man sitting in the bangalore university office, who wasnt expecting money in turn for the help......may his soul rest in peace
Ar Jyothi Bhat : We'll all miss u... for what u've been to us, in our times - good and bad!!! :'(
Charithra Chennakeshav : ''god z som1 who coms 2ur help wen u're in need,'he'ws god..Wat f u wakeup in morning n ur told'the God is no more'.Dear Huchappa,2day
u leave us,May ur soul Find heavn,1 thng i'l alwaz
rmembr abt u s dat i recived my degre certificate 4m u.I
will mis d hug i usd 2.,!!He hd al d patienz n calmnes!!d man who stud by us ...durin our submsionz,vivas n in deepshit s no mor..RIP V wl mis u :(..'' C EVRY1 MISES U..:'(
