Impressing is your job, expressing is mine.

I have finally decided that my blog's tired and that she needs a new look. If you were, in any case, about to ask me why my blog's feminine, do the following. Find out from the Spanish why the Radio is feminine and cinema is masculine, ask the French why the glove is masculine while the tie is feminine, and you shall find your answer.
The idea of re-dressing (not redressing as in redressing a grievance) my blog came to me after I saw Kartick's. He'd done his up well, so I decided that the best way to do my blog up would be to ask Kartick to do it. He did it, and here it is.
Just to give it the finishing touches, I added the photo of the Dog shitting. (Who else could have come up with that?) And the line to go along with the pic.
Crap (popularly known as shit) and I have a long history. For one, I call out her name whenever something shitty happens.
(If you are asking me why shit is feminine again, consider this. Food is feminine in spanish, portugese and Italian, so processed food remains feminine, too, right?)
I am also very selective in her distributing her. Come to think of it, there are so many I don't give a shit to...
Incidentally, I also don't take shit from anyone.
So, isn't it only fair that crap should adorn my page?
As for the dog connection, don't even ask.
Apparently, Diamonds are a woman's best friends. A man's best friend... is a dog.
Who the fuck came up with that? That's gender discrmination directed against us!

We started off with a tour of the Elephant orphanage at Kegalle. The sight of elephants feeding and later, much to the joy of tourists, bathing in the river was delightful. The baby elephants seemed to be having the time of their lives playfully spraying themselves. As for us, we felt glad seeing them in an environment where they weren’t made to carry logs or overweight people on their backs. Immediately after that, we headed towards the South coast. (The Northern Side is where peril lies, so we avoided it altogether) It sure was a long drive but amazingly memorable. What took away our breath was the roadside view. We were driving along the coast, so there were houses by the road and their back doors opened up to the ocean. How would you feel when you are driving along with waves crashing 20 feet away from your window and the blue ocean stretching to infinity? We could, of course, see some reminiscences of the Tsunami- a few felled trees, a few broken houses here and there to remind you of what an ugly disaster hit this beautiful place. I shook such painful thoughts away from my mind and stuck my eyes on the window to soak in as much of the moment as I could.

(Abaauw: A view of the coast from outside the car window. I repeat, Roadside)

As we neared Ambalagonda, the view kept getting more beautiful and the twenty feet that separated us from the ocean grew increasingly painful. Sensing our temptation, our driver (who in total knew four words in English- van, late, OK and beer) graciously stopped and we ran out. It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen a beach before. It was just that we hadn’t seen such a clean beach. The only thing lying on the shore was a single rose with a red ribbon somebody must have rejected, or left it there to tempt Neptune to come pick it up. We climbed rocks, chased crabs and I was lucky enough to fall down and hurt my toe- giving me something to remember the golden moments by.

Next stop was a turtle conservation center where we played with turtles of all shapes and sizes. One of them even managed to whack me with its flippers. And believe me, they sure aren’t as soft and vulnerable as they look!
It was getting pretty late so we hit a guest house and before we could even keep our bags, we rushed to another beach. The sun was setting, and the feeling was incomparable. It was like us and the sun on two sides of the ocean. As we dropped clothes and ran into the waves on this side, the sun sank into the ocean on the other side. After exhausting all energy we had, we lazed on the shore with the ocean washing our legs and filling whatever clothing we had with sand. And as I looked into the ocean (it was grey now), I realized how small I was, how small and powerless we all were. The tiniest of waves could wash us two meters away. The full fury of the ocean was unimaginable. It suddenly struck me that if nature wanted to, she could finish us all, including the mightiest of men and the tallest of buildings without having to waste a tenth of her energy. And as I walked back, I suddenly felt this growing respect for the seas.
That night, we ate from a table that seemed to have a menu that was as endless a the Ocean itself and dead cheap, considering the complimentary beer that came along with it.
The next day’s trip started with a visit to Maduganga- a huge backwater lagoon near Ambalagonda. The three thousand Sri Lankan Rupees (Twelve hundred in our money) we paid was worth every paise and more for the hour long boat ride on the green water that included two stops- one at an island temple (where giant squirrels came kissing our camera lenses) and another at the famed Cinammon island. As we passed under canopies, we saw huge, powerful and smelly water monitors lazing on the rocks. We also were lucky enough to see two crocodiles ambushing just below the surface with their eyes and nose made visible only by the air bubbles bursting around them. (Abaauw: A water Monitor, Still more abaauw: Maduganga Boat house)
By this time, we were all wondering why we had chosen to live in such polluted, crowded cities where the only wildlife one can see is stray dogs when there are indeed such beautiful places still on earth. In the same frame of mind, we hit Hikkaduwa beach. It was pretty crowded with a lot of tourists, most of them from inland Germany (and two breathtakingly pretty ones probably from Korea) soaking up the sun. We hired a glass-bottom lake and rowed (not exactly, it was a motorboat) towards the horizon.
A hundred meters from the beach, the water was still as clear as crystal. And right underneath our feet, was a sight that beats every Discovery show hands down. Brightly colored coral reefs grew from the bottom and black striped yellow coral fish darted in and out of them. They were so close to us, all we had to do is look outside the boat and we could see hundreds of them swimming fast and random. The boatman gave us food to feed them, we dipped our hands into the water and the little yellow beauties came and licked it clean from our fingers. (Now you are getting jealous, aren’t you?). Just to make the Discovery show complete, our boatman (I wonder how long he had been in the business to predict the animal’s routine) steered our boat right on top of a probably century old Olive Ridley turtle. We stood transfixed, our eyes not leaving the glass bottom. Sir Olive Ridley did not even notice a boat above his head. He just swam about non-chalantly.
Resisting the urge to go scuba diving (which could have proved financially suicidal), we headed towards Galle, the ‘Capital of the South’. We drove along the coast again, this time the view getting only better. At Galle, we went to an ancient fort that the Dutch had built sometime in the 16th century, to protect against a possible Portuguese attack from the sea and locals from the inland. The fort is today a free tourist spot and a lover’s paradise. Dozens of couples sat along the fort walls, covered from the world by their umbrellas and least bothered by tourists around. We had on one side an aerial view of the city and on another of the never-ending Indian Ocean. We wondered what the next stop would be if one started swimming along towards Australia. (We were, of course, joking. It’s humanly impossible)
We took a long ride back to Tholangamuwa, stopping at Colombo for a brief while to shop for our loved ones back home. (The fac t was that we were so engrossed in the beauty that we missed very few people, but we didn’t want them to know that).
I had to leave the next day. I came back and went to work directly from the airport. My friends were lucky enough to spend another three days visiting the most beautiful places in Sri Lanka while I was taking in the pollution. Three long days where my body was in office in front of my comp but my mind was back with the rest of them, in Sri Lanka, driving along clean roads, running along its beautiful beaches and jumping the waves of the godly Indian Ocean.

Jon messages me at 1 in the night (evening for people like us) and asks me 'Dude, you awake?"
(What am I supposed to reply? No dude?..lol). I asked him if if it was another PJ- it usually is- it wasn't.

Jon tells me bout this chick's blog that he really likes n can't stop describing (the blog, dammit- think straight) so I decide I might just look it up coz I ain't sleepy.

I do- it's Pink !!!! I'll never go through this, i tell myself. But I skim through, coz I have to mesage Jon (he's on Gtalk now) and give him some feedback, make it sound like yeah, I read it n stuff. Then I start liking what I read. I like poets who write from their heart, I like intellectuals who write from their head. (I can't stand people who write from their head and try make it sound like it's comin from the heart, but that's off the topic). Well, this girl writes from somewhere in between- personal stuff with an intellectual touch n the other way round.

Then, it catches my eyes!
There's this list of things she's drawn up that probably she likes n stuff, and in it there it is- a few lines about rain.

Now rain's got a pretty negative connotative meaning for me since I've come to Hyderabad (exept for memories of college being called off)- dirty streets, wet jeans (or cargos, or cotton, or whatever you wear, man), leather sandals being ruined, no autos etc etc.

Then I remembered rain back home. And in Sikkim- and I got nostalgic. I messaged a few things rain reminds me of to Jon. He posted them as a comment on her blog, but dammit! that was only a fraction.
So I get up from bed (I'd gone back to sleep), take my chair out and sit on the balcony after I find a notebook whose origin I can't seem to remember and start scribbling stuff bout rain and providing nutrition to sons of bitches mosquitoes.

Here's a what rain reminds me of, what it means to me, or rather what it meant to me before my eyes went redder than Sunny Deol's blood and the mosquitoes drank up more blood than you donated to the SBI Blood Bank scheme, if you did that is.

The smell of wet earth. Nothing, just nothing, in all of creation compares to that smell- not even the drifting chicken in the air when you are passing through a neighborhood on a hungry stomach, or the smell of your girl's shampoo when she's really really close to you- nothing!

The wet blades of grass

Dead leaves on those wet blades of grass

The way they stick on your legs when you walk on the grass.

(And the wet spider webs, with a few droplets of water shining on them)

Watching the rain hit your window pane.

The rain hittin the front portion of your balcony and a little puddle gathering just below the railing.

Running your hand across that railing when it stops raining- that cold touch of the iron, and the way the water drips down your palm/fist.

Simply watching the droplets hanging on to the bottom of the iron rod and dropping down, to be replaced by another droplet.

The cool feelin when you touch the front walls of your house after they become wet.

Wrapping yourself up in a blanket and watching a movie- and drinking a coffee (or a hot chocolate, or bournvita, or horlicks, whatever makes you happy)

The puddles in front of your house

The joy of splashing around in those puddles.

That numb feeling in your wrinkled toes after splashing around.

You sit inside and look out the window, at the ground to see if it's still raining and you don't see the rain, but you see those tiny ripples on the puddles, and you know its still drizzling- one of the best sights of mundane lives.

The platter of rain on a tin roof.

(When I was in the hostel- the top floor. It used to bloody POUR- noisy as hell, but the most soothing lullaby ever. Going to sleep listening to that noise after a long day,,,,)

The feeling when you sit near an open window and tiny drops fall on your skin- ones you can't see but just barely feel. The joy it gives your skin

Those inspiring times when you sit down to write a poem about rain, and you realize that the only words that ryme with rain have a negative evaluative meaning... Pain, Drain, Slain, Chain etc..

Then you get the brilliant idea, and you replace rain with 'showers', and your next line ends in 'flowers'. And then when you need to write rain again, you're fucked.

You give up on the damned poem and go back to watchin the rain.

Sitting on a bench or on a bike after a shower and letting those drops wet your ass- that cool pleasant feeling...

Cycling through a puddle.

The earthworms that come out, you touch them with a twig and they roll into discs.

Sitting with your friends, in the dorm, wrapped up in balnkets and eating- doesn't mater what- and talking bout the lengendary notorious characters in the history of the hostel and the fights they had.

The times you share an umbrella with your friends (eight months of rain in Sikkim) on the way from hostel to school and back.

You spend the first few minutes trying to find out which direction the rain's coming from.

By the time you reach school, the right side of your trouser's wet
Your friend's left side of the trouser's wet too.

Water drips down your pullover/cardigan sleeve.

The way the brown cover on your botebook turns a dark smudgy brown when the rain hits them.

The way you hold your books inside your cardigan to save them from the rain when you are in class six or seven.

The way you hold your books to save your cardigan from getting wet after you reach class nine or ten.

Cheering your football team in the rain.

Playing football in the rain, wearing canvas shoes that you were supposed to keep clean for saturday.

Falling while playing football.

You gather all your shirts during the week and wash them on sundays, hoping they dry because you don't have another one for tomoro.

Skip your bath coz it's too cold (You'll connect with this only if you have lived in a boys' hostel in a hill station)

Drinking tea in the dining hall, while the rain lashes outside, dreading the thought that study hour is twenty minutes away.

The wet footprints all over the staircase, and the corridoor.

Get into your friend's blankets, sit on their clothes, drop food all over threir beds, and they don't mind- coz next time- it's your bed!

The way your socks get wet and your legs freeze inside your shoes, and the relief you get when you open them.

The mud all over your shoes, and the way they don't shine when you polish them the next day.

That cold feeling of your wet shirt sticking to your body.

Pine needles after the rain.

Running in the rain, holding your atlas/ geography notebook over your head, coz only they are large enough to cover it.

And the best game- walking under the trees, and you jump and pull the branches and run and the water falls on your friend. He gets mad and wets you next and you chase each other all the way back to the hostel.

The way water flows down the road.

Damn! I miss Pakyong (Sikkim), I miss the hostel, I miss home (I'm actually more homesick about the hostel than bout home, if it makes any sense to you)
I miss Rajiv, Rohan and everyone else I shared umbrellas with, while walking from the hostel to school in six years of life in Sikkim

Biswas, Sandesh, Karan, Ankit- sitting with them in the dormitory, wrapped in blankets and talking stuff we already talked about a million times.

I miss washing my clothes when it rained, watching cricket when it rained, and million other tiny things that a six inch wide column on blogspot can't do justice to.

Now that things are going good, and I'm actually starting to understand lenses, I've started shooting stuff other than flowers and at times other than before sunrise, (wat was described in the previous post's comment page as 'graduate') though i hardly dare go beyond the first hour and half of the sun.
Mistakes keep happening and I end up deleting more than three times the number of photos i keep. And some can be frustating- because while they look mind boggling on the LCD, they move the photographer to tears when viewed on a larger screen.
And by now, I need to learn to take multiple shots of the same object rather than look at the pic on the display on the first try, smile and move my tripod to something else.
The first photo I'm putting up today is one that blows my mind off on the small screen but then the object is completely out of focus, when actually seen big. But I swear to the spirits of all amateur photographers before me, I'll take that photo again, and this time, I'll bring it out good.
This is the one I'm talking about



And ya, anyway,
here are the better ones...

(This one's in front of our P.G block... Incidentally, I saw it for the first time when I shot it, in all my three years and a half in Loyola)

(Someone told me this one's got no story, but wat the hell.. I like it)

(This is one from that family you saw up there. Honestly, I'm publicising my neighborhood)

(My day's favorite, taken just before I packed my tripod for the day. Taken from one of the most cared for gardens in my neighborhood)

Next post: do I even need to say it?

The wanna be photographer's struck gold!