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Yes, I, along with another friend, am starting an online magazine!
Here's the bandwidth heavy version and the low-bandwidth version.
And if you were wondering, the name's 'Renaissance 21'.
Do send in your contributions by 20th October for the inaugurative November issue to mailtoeditors@gmail.com! Visit the links for more details.
Yes, I, along with another friend, am starting an online magazine!
Here's the bandwidth heavy version and the low-bandwidth version.
And if you were wondering, the name's 'Renaissance 21'.
Do send in your contributions by 20th October for the inaugurative November issue to mailtoeditors@gmail.com! Visit the links for more details.
8
Its long since anything's been posted here. A good many things happened in between too. For starters, I finally moved out of my nest. To a bigger city, free of the confines synonymous with small town life. To the state capital. And as evil omens go(READ: rains, rains and more rains. Oh, also an influenza epidemic at cousin's house where we lodged up), life almost began on the wrong foot in the Capital. A PG cum dungeon reminding one of Charles Dickens was in store, along with ace characters as fellow cellmates. A nosey cookwoman and the 9 year old irritating mass of bones whom she acknowledged as her son, who also is the youngest pervert known to my existence. A calculating, cunning, evil giant pretending to be human acted as our warden who was never there in the PG anyway. A ghost fearing recent convert to Brahminism who doesn't believe in Evolution and Darwin, chats with Khuda through meditation and studies law at the University. Huh. The 'Rendezvous With Weirdness' stories'll need a separate volume of their own. The saving graces were the friends one got to make there. F, A, M, T, R, B, V. Those're the faces I'd miss.
The Dungeon
The empty left side was my part of the cell
Good news is that the jail was violated mercilessly and yours truely managed to escape, along with two other friends, after much dramebaazi and ado. Now we haunt at a flat with a clean bathroom and ample space and privacy. And good food. And the reason as to why this post seems rushed, well it is rushed. No 24x7 net connectivity like before.
The new flat
View from the terrace
View from the terrace
Life in the big city is good. No Big City Blues for this staunch supporter of (moderate) materialism. The kishmish on the payesh're the fabulous bookshops, which the mothertown miserably failed to provide. And what I loved even more was my eureka moment of discovery of the secondhand bookshops. Secondhand bookshops exist in reality! And not only that, but a whole locality filled with such shops!
*insert smalltowner gawping emoticon*
Okay, I forgot to photograph all the good books in the excitement
The staircase we've to climb to get to our coaching centre
when the lift refuses to work, which is often
My life completed its first 19th years sometime back too. The first birthday away from the parents. Also the night after was the first time the offerings of the barley and the vineyard were partaken with kinsmen (and a woman), with Nirvana as the background score of choice. Even later at the night, I also discovered that my prejudice against smoking didn't hold true under the effect of sufficient daru.
Am I happy? I don't know for sure. What I know? I miss my parents. My bed. My cancerous computer. The friends, rivals and soulmates. All those people I liked having around. Nahaz and its overpriced fried junk goodness. Jhalupara and its irreplacable momos. The legendary addas. I'm not homesick and dying, but the yearn is still strong. Like they say, all good things come to an end. Must come to an end.
And the choco-crusher at KFC
The Dungeon
The empty left side was my part of the cell
Good news is that the jail was violated mercilessly and yours truely managed to escape, along with two other friends, after much dramebaazi and ado. Now we haunt at a flat with a clean bathroom and ample space and privacy. And good food. And the reason as to why this post seems rushed, well it is rushed. No 24x7 net connectivity like before.
The new flat
View from the terrace
View from the terrace
Life in the big city is good. No Big City Blues for this staunch supporter of (moderate) materialism. The kishmish on the payesh're the fabulous bookshops, which the mothertown miserably failed to provide. And what I loved even more was my eureka moment of discovery of the secondhand bookshops. Secondhand bookshops exist in reality! And not only that, but a whole locality filled with such shops!
*insert smalltowner gawping emoticon*
Okay, I forgot to photograph all the good books in the excitement
The staircase we've to climb to get to our coaching centre
when the lift refuses to work, which is often
My life completed its first 19th years sometime back too. The first birthday away from the parents. Also the night after was the first time the offerings of the barley and the vineyard were partaken with kinsmen (and a woman), with Nirvana as the background score of choice. Even later at the night, I also discovered that my prejudice against smoking didn't hold true under the effect of sufficient daru.
Am I happy? I don't know for sure. What I know? I miss my parents. My bed. My cancerous computer. The friends, rivals and soulmates. All those people I liked having around. Nahaz and its overpriced fried junk goodness. Jhalupara and its irreplacable momos. The legendary addas. I'm not homesick and dying, but the yearn is still strong. Like they say, all good things come to an end. Must come to an end.
But some good things remain the same, like my rockstar nephew
And the choco-crusher at KFC
2
Summer has come, with all its neck-burning glory. A step outside means being charred to death and inside, the slow moving fan makes a whirlpool out of the hot, dense air. Bonjour, l'été! But the hot sun also brings down sudden outpour of rain, which I don’t care for in normal circumstances, but now it gives a few hours of bliss. Also, Summer means most of my favourite fruits're in season too! Also, its weird but I see prettier and more numbers of flowers blossoming in Summer vis a vis Spring. Wasn't Spring supposed to be the season for flowers and all that jazz?
There're these two trees in front of my apartment building and they currently fall under my most beloved trees' list. The building has just 6 flats and is a relatively intimate affair. Also just opposite to it is the colonial-era Circuit House building. Once upon a time, the world's first Polo Club was established in a place 1 minute walking distance away from me, down the road, and the world's first competitive Polo match was played in this huge Polo ground. Then Independence
I get off topic so much but what I wanted to say is that the Sahibs and their Memsahibs used to live in that lovely house (I’ve a thing for all things old), and from what I can make out now, they used to be the only firangi people living in this area and their nearest neighbours were some 100 meters away from them. Sadly, their neighbour's mansion was torn down a couple of years ago and now an imposing housing building stands in its place. But the one I'm babbling about still remains, having been conferred the 'Circuit House' title, which I guess means something. So, coming back to the topic, the whole road is lined with these big, old trees which're quite distinct from any in other parts of the town. These may well be the oldest surviving cluster of planted trees in this place. When it’s Summer, a few of these trees're ladened with flowers red and yellow, and when its winter, a few become full with flowers of the silk cotton tree.
Simul
Amaltas
The bigger of the two trees in front of my building is Bombax, a cotton tree, locally known as Simul. This really exquisite red flower blooms on it which falls down like fruits when it gets too heavy and a few weeks later, everywhere you can see little handfuls of cotton flying whenever the wind blows. The other, skinnier tree, Amaltas, which almost has no identity of its own in other seasons, blasts with yellow in Summer. Beautiful yellow flowers fill its branches and when they fly about in the wind, haye Allah, its gorgeous! And one can see the flowers up close from the terrace. But it sure means extra hard work for the sweeper to clear the flowers off the driveway every morning!
