Tuesday, January 30, 2007


Model - me
Photographer - me
Concept and Styling - me

*All photographs have been taken on a Cannon PowerShot A85 4.0 Mega Pixel digital camera.

Gladioli - I

*All photographs have been taken on a Cannon PowerShot A85 4.0 Mega Pixel digital camera.

Gladioli - II

I simply love these flowers. They're my second favourite after lillies. Carnations come third.
I have beautiful flowers. *grins*

*All photographs have been taken on a Cannon PowerShot A85 4.0 Mega Pixel digital camera.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Of Blue Blood and Purple Robes

The King was king,
For many a year;
And was as senile,
As the
infamos Lear.

The man was young,
And quite well read;
But his words kept pace
With the thoughts in his head.

The man and the King,
Through dark
chance met;
A meeting that led each,
To his untimely death.

The man managed skillfully,
To piss the King off;
The Royal Guard was alert,
The King just
had to cough.

The man was dragged.
To the large stone block;
And to the city square,
The people began to flock.

The man lay still,
Weighed down by the chains;
The King mounted the elephant,
In his hands, the reins.

The elephant was well trained,
And was quite old;
And on that fateful day,
It did as it was told.

The King rode up,
And the words, he said;
And the elephant, well trained,
Stepped on the man’s head.

What happened next,
Was rather a blur;
But it was
To cause quite a stir.

As the skull exploded,
A large, sharp shard,
Pierced the elephant’s sole,
As the
skull is quite hard.

The elephant reared,
And the King fell off;
The people later said,
“He died of a cough.”

The King lay on the street.
Dazed, as if under a spell;
He didn’t see the elephant stumble.
And on him, it fell.

The elephant died,
From the shock of the fall;
The King died too,
From the irony of it all.

The Royal Guard did appear,
In neat and
ordered droves;
And pulled the beast off the smear
Of Blue Blood and Purple Robes.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

You, me and a homosexual bear.

While skating on the ice one day I came across a bear.
She looked so cute, that oh my God, I could not help but stare.

She looked at me and lovingly, she blew a little kiss,
And then I blew one back at her but all I did was miss.

The kiss which missed, it flew away and landed on her dad,
It smacked him on his little butt which made him really mad.

He looked at me and said “You creep I think you’ve lost your mind.”
I winked at him and licked my lips and patted his behind.

He winked right back and held my hand and kissed me on my cheek,
It was so frightening that’s why I ran to take a leak.

And in the loo, I looked at you and gave a little sigh,
The polar bear it was too cute for me to say goodbye.

So back I went, I was hell bent on making this thing work,
I gave him candy, After eights, and Dairy Milk and Perk.

But then his daughter walked right up and slapped me on my face,
She raved and ranted on and on and called me vile and base.

He turned around and walked away
As if he did not care.

And so we end the story of the homosexual bear.

By Maurice and me, in a moment of boredom.

Friday, January 19, 2007

It isn't goodbye to Alice in Wonderland yet...

*All photographs have been taken on a Cannon PowerShot A85 4.0 Mega Pixel digital camera

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

About yesterday...

Today was fun…completely different from what I expected it to be. All plans haywire.

And I was hungry like the wolf, sweet smelling fruits… A pity we didn’t make it to Oxford. And the art gallery…too late, too late. Some other day beckons for that.

Eleven bucks worth of heaven, synthetic leather for my seats, a pity we didn’t talk to the Green Planet guys. I still feel bad for having to brush them off like that. A bit of a walk, and some talk and a taxi ride for a while. And to a glass shop, and mirrors all around. Oh what fun…mirrors. Sneaky shop keepers, devilish ideas of letting loose a crazy ball in the shop…shattered glass all around. They deserve it.

And off to find an eyehole. Back to the road after. And an argument over hundred bucks. Keep it. Hey bhagwan, I have a card. Plastic money. Still, nothing like cash. *Where’s the money baby?*

And an auto ride home. There’s nothing like an auto ride. It would have been faster to take a taxi. But it’s an experience in an auto and less burden on my conscience when it comes to paying. The cold breeze against me while they race past and try to fit into every nook and corner. And we’re stuck. Some traffic jam. And I’m sure there’s no reason for it to be jammed at all. We wait, and wait. He puts on the blaring radio. I need to be home soon. We wait, we wait. The cars move a bit and we take a detour only get stuck again. The radio’s blaring, and they’re playing loud Hindi songs, from classics to Rang de Basanti.

Something clicks, and I begin to sing, and the traffic doesn’t matter anymore. And I’m happy. It’s a good day. And the cool breeze comes while he maneuvers the auto, and every lane has its own scent and smell. The sights and sounds, and smells and feelings are an experience you can’t get in the cushy comfort of your car. We pass the market and I see this man with such an expression of distinguishment on his face that he could have been a lecturer at Cambridge University. Only that he was sitting on the edge of his rickshaw waiting for the next customer to pull on. I wish I had my camera. There are so many things I’d have liked to capture. And I go on singing.

Another auto ride, and a short walk and I’m home. I meet my old art teacher, an artist. Smiles, smiles. They’re all so sweet and genuine. Unlike many others.

Smiles, smiles.

It’s all good.

A wonderful day.

Nothing especially notable.

But a wonderful day.

Anyway, ho hum.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Saturday, January 06, 2007

The morning sun pours in...

*All photographs have been taken on a Cannon PowerShot A85 4.0 Mega Pixel digital camera.

Thursday, January 04, 2007


The brat sits across the table. Slurping loudly with the noodles.

The other brat, older, sits next to him, just as loud as always, sometimes even louder than the other brat.

A chair is pulled out, empty, waiting for someone to occupy it.

I sit opposite, trying to make no noise with the fork and plate, as if I didn’t exist at all.


"Hallo, Pooh," said Rabbit.

"Hallo, Rabbit," said Pooh dreamily.

"Did you make that song up?"

"Well, I sort of made it up," said Pooh. "It isn't Brain," he went on humbly, "because You Know Why, Rabbit; but it comes to me sometimes."

"Ah!" said Rabbit, who never let things come to him, but always went and fetched them.

"But it isn't Easy," said Pooh to himself... "Because Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is go where they can find you."

~The House at Pooh Corner

Well, I was never much of a Pooh fan. I was always more into the Disney Princesses. But the other day, I was introduced to the original Pooh by A. A. Milne and Ernest H. Shepard [I was told it was later sold to Disney], and I’ve loved it. It’s delightful. And so I thought I’d share my favourites here.

POEM written by Eeyore in a Quiet Moment

Christopher Robin is going.
At least I think he is.
Nobody knows.
But he is going-
I mean he goes
(To rhyme with "knows")
Do we care?
( To rhyme with "where")
We do
very much.
(I haven't got a rhyme for that
"is" in the second line yet.
(Now I haven't got a rhyme for
bother. Bother.)
Those two bothers will have
to rhyme with each other
The fact is this is more difficult
than I thought
I ought-
(Very good indeed)
I ought
To begin again,
But it is easier
To stop.
Christopher Robin, good-bye
And all your friends
I mean all your friend
(Very akward this, it keeps
going wrong)
Well, anyhow, we send
Our love.


Oh, the butterflies are flying,
Now the winter days are dying.
And the primroses are trying
To be seen.
And the turtle-doves are cooing,
And the woods are up and doing,
For the violets are blue-ing
In the green.
Oh, the honey-bees are gumming
On their little wings, and humming
That the summer, which is coming
Will be fun.
And the cows are almost cooing,
And the turtle doves are mooing,
Which is why a Pooh is poohing
In the sun.
For the spring is really springing;
You can see a skylark singing,
And the blue-bells, which are ringing,
Can be heard.
And the cuckoo isn't cooing,
But he's cucking and he's ooing,
And a Pooh is simply poohing
Like a bird.

Monday, January 01, 2007

The crows meet at dawn.

*All photographs have been taken on a Cannon PowerShot A85 4.0 Mega Pixel digital camera.