jayantiblogshere

This is a submission for the Photo theme for Thursday where the theme for this week is NIGHT" (Dark, Low Light, Twilight, Evening, Shadows, Long Exposure, City Lights,...)

Basavanagudi  walk Starting at the foot steps at the famous big bull temple in Basavanagudi the Basavanagudi Darshan Walk was a walk into the almost 500 year old history of the city that has now burst and expanded way beyond it seams for what was conceived by its then Cheftain Kempe Gowda. Ancient Clock tower built around 1537  With four clock towers connected by a mud wall that ran across marking the city boundaries legend had it that if the city expanded beyond the boundaries great misfortune will fall upon the settlement. Bangalore city - dubbed the silicon valley of the east ironically seems to have been blessed with fortune much to the disdain of the ancient legend. But Mansoor Ali our Tour guide conducting the walk thinks otherwise. Perhaps the city's mounting garbage problems, nearly  poisoned water bodies the maddening urban chaos are warning signals for the misfortune that awaits the city in the no so distant future, he says....

Catch ‘em young At the stroke of ten my door bell rings. I am not even half awake .  After all it was a Sunday. Alas !!! Vedant, James, Jessy and Shreya are at the door letting me know they are ready for the day.  That is when I remember and  hurriedly gulp my Sunday breakfast, slurp my tea conscious of the fact that I am keeping my  eco-warriors waiting. We have been a team for a few months now.  We pick up plastic, water the plants, plant seeds  and do whatever else that needs to be done to enrich the soil around the little patches of land left in our apartment.   The gardener appointed by the apartment management considered our company a  nuisance. We  persuaded him to stop growing the typical ornamental crotons  that are mindlessly grown in all apartment landscapes so that we could plants trees, shrubs, herbs and vegetables. He is still not a convert but our pester power has won him over and he lets us have o...

The Sambrani Man     The smell of the Sambrani incense wafts through the dingy dungeons of the nearby corner shop as the oppressing heat of the mid-afternoon blazing sun darts the eyes.  At the end of the row ahead in the shop the Sambrani Man  is collecting his ‘dakshina’ ( donation) after  having spread the lingering fragrance of his Sambrani incense through the interiors of the pan shop.  He will stop at the tea shop next before he heads to the Xerox and stationery shop.  This is the Sambrani man's routine everyday except on Fridays when he takes his weekly off.  His customers are the shopkeepers who donate a few rupees into this bowl as a matter of routine. Sambrani in English is called the benzoin Resin which is obtained from the bark of a tree. It is then dried, powdered and sold either in powder form or as blocks.   When powdered and put into charcoal fire it gives out a dense smoke that wafts through with a s...

WHAT WOMEN WANT... Where the streets and homes are free from harassment and humiliation, Where the woman’s body is not the punching pad for repressed frustration, Where access to equal opportunity is her birth right,    Where she does not have to strive twice as hard just to prove her might Where she is not killed even before she is born, Where she does not go on living wishing she was gone, Where her identity is more than being a daughter, sister, mother or a wife, Where in true spirit exists the freedom of choice,    Where she is free to decide what she wears and what she does not, Where she can choose to marry or not, Where she is not judged when she wants to opt out, Where she can be fearless when she needs to steps out, Where she is not treated differently based on whether her skin is fair or black, Where she does not care if she is called a skinny jack or a potato sack. Where she does not have to hang her head i...

In the modern world where environment conscious urban dwellers are trying to do their bit to invest in sustainable and eco friendly products, the Mudha weavers from Mandi Mirza khan find a high-demand and high margin market to sell their wares. Kanaiyalal is one such craftsman from Mandi Mirza Khan who makes mudha chairs and displays his finished products on the pavement and sells them to the urban customers. On the wide pavement near government high school on Vartur road in whitefield,  kanaiyalal spreads out his wares every single day of the week and is engaged in weaving a mudha chair until the next customer who comes looking ewinces some interest in buying his wares.    Mudha chairs unlike many other hand made products from India do not find an export market. The rustic raw material made of untreated Sarkanda grass has still not passed the stringent test of export quality and may be perceived as a threat to biodiversity of many nations. Thanks ...

Dum Lagake Haisha  ( Give it all your energy )  !!! The screeching wakeup call of the birds pierce into my ears while the rising sun’s light floods right through my closed eyelids creating myriad forms in various shades of orange and grey.    I have closed my eyes to focus and enjoy the moment. That moment, I do not know how long it has been. It might have been a few seconds or may be a few minutes. I am not counting time today.  Just enjoying and prolonging the moment for as long as I can. I am supposed to empty my mind. Empty my mind of all thoughts from the past and present, bitter or pleasant.  The harder I try, the more it oscillates. So I just let go. My memories take me to those days, and I relive the heartache and the struggle.  My struggle to hold myself up (actually down), my fears about falling flat on my face and my belief that at my age, I was too old to learn. As I look back my heart is filled with gratitude and awe for...

Mehmanbaazi - Indian style hospitality This sign board at the one and only pay and use toilet inside the Taj Mahal ( the original one in Agra) says it all. I fumed citing the injustice to the janitor who was obligingly rolling out toilet tissues to my American guest while I had to desperately hold my bladder while trying to fish out a Rs. 2 coin from my handbag. He apologised and said Indians did not know how to use public toilets, especially in the matter of using the toilet tissues.  Before I could speak any further he clarified that it was not the lack of civic sense among Indians that causes this notice to be put up, but plain economics. The foreigners pay Rs. 750 as entrance fee to the Taj, whereas Indians ( the legal heirs to Shahjahan) need to pay a mere Rs. 20 as entrance fees.  Therefore waiving off the toilet fee was only a justified freebie for the ' mehmaan '. ( Guest) This post is submitted for the Thursday photo challenge where th...

The insane and maddening traffic, Non-sense chatter over the FM...  Non-stop deluge of emails… Endless meetings…  Mindless presentations … Meaningless social networking …  Die-hard liars …  Desperate but illegitimate lovers …  Suicidal co-worker …  Senseless client calls …  Soul stinking ass lickers …  Sweat shops and slave drivers …  And a Stressed   out super mom … There was only so much she could take during the course of a day at work. Mentally exhausted, she  decided to call it a day.  Little did  she realize, all day she had left her mobile phone in the car. 18 missed calls from home.    Her heart skipped a beat,  her blood pressure went on a roller coaster. She was sweating and panting and tears rolled down her eyes . How can I be so forgetful? My bad, I should not be so careless. ..  She cursed herself as she dialled home to return the call.   Her seve...

A to Z reflections Four generations: Three continents: Two world wars: One village    These were tales spanning four generations spread across three continents in between and after the two world wars of people who set forth under different circumstances from one small village called Agaramangudi.    The story line traversed through different time lines, locations or incidents with no particular order. The only order being the alphabetical one – A to Z meant purposefully for the A to Z challenge.  This was my attempt at writing slices of what I one day hope to be a full fledged novel. Much as I love the magical art of the written word, I am a lazy, sloppy, pessimistic  procrastinator.  The reason I signed up to the A to Z challenge was that it would keep the lazy sloppy pessimistic procrastinator in me on my toes.  This year my preparations had begun since the new year.  It was a part of...

Four generations: Three continents: Two world wars: One village    These are tales spanning four generations spread across three continents in between and after the two world wars of people who set forth under different circumstances from one small village called Agaramangudi.    The story line traverses through different time lines, locations or incidents with no particular order. The only order being the alphabetical one – A to Z meant purposefully for the A to Z challenge. These posts can be read as standalone posts, but would be best comprehended if you read them along with their prelude provided as a link. Click here for the prelude A - Agaramangudi 2009   Zephyrs of change -2014 S P Thenmozhi – Panchayat President, Agaramangudi, announced the shining brass name plate at the immaculately arranged table behind which was a rotating leather chair. This was the office of the Panchayat President of Agaramangudi....