What Blogging Means To Me
Quite matter of factly I started blogging just to catch attention of people, to be noticed and maybe to be even taken seriously. I never quite caught on with the phenomenon of blogging initially. I just wrote different kinds of things, poems and all and posted it. I had always fantasised about being known and renowned for my writing ability. I was a clear cut wannabe when I started out on the blogging circuit; I actually thought blogging would impress the ladies, hard luck there. I made a blog wrote some poems and forgot about it, after some time I read a blog and the spark ignited again but I had to make a new blog. And like that I was never constant with one blog. A few posts and I got bored and left. This happened over and over again. Until I struck upon the idea of the Prince of Prose blog.
I declared the blog open with a very proud and whimsical introduction. Aptly followed by a very dark poem about a beggar. It was quite a disturbing and hopeless time in my life. The 12th Board Exams had just gotten over and I was struggling with college. It suited my frame of mind and hence I made the blog. I poured all my angst into it. Sometimes creativity, sometimes thought sometimes just someone else’s Apricot. Then college began, along with the journey of fiction, I wrote two incomplete novels at 12000 words each.
I’ve missed writing in the blog for 3-4 months at a time but I’ve still stuck with it. So on the occasion of my 50th post I thank you all for sticking with my blog, my long obsessive and flowery writing and my irregularity. Thank you all, I’m very much indebted to you!
Food, Adventure, Worship, Love – Chandni Chowk
Food, Silver, Love, Worship, Moonlight all have a common synonym, Chandni Chowk. Translated to English it means Moonlit Lane. Whether it’s your first time or hundredth, Chandni Chowk will always leave you in awe. The crowd, the traffic, the rickshaws travelling at breakneck speeds almost over your head, the intoxicating amalgam of smells good and bad, that is indeed the true essence of Chandni Chowk.
Chandni Chowk is the most major street in the walled city of Old Delhi, which was originally called Shahjahanabad. The walled city, which includes the Lal Qila or Red Fort of Delhi, was established in 1650 AD by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. It was designed by his daughter Jahanara Begum Sahib, who also made significant contributions in the landscaping of her father’s new capital.
Chandni Chowk runs through the middle of the walled city, from the Lahori Darwaza (Lahore Gate) of the Red Fort to Fatehpuri Masjid. Originally, a canal ran through the middle of the street as a part of the water supply scheme. It was initially divided into three sections:
- Lahori Darwaza to Chowk Kotwali (near Gurdwara Shish Ganj): This section closest to the imperial residence, was called Urdu Bazar, i.e., the encampment market. The language Urdu got its name from this encampment. Ghalib noted the destruction of this market during the disturbances of the Indian Rebellion of 1857 and its aftermath.
- Chowk Kotwali to Chandni Chowk: The term Chandni Chowk originally referred to the square that initially had a reflecting pool. It was replaced by a clock-tower (Ghantaghar) that was damaged and demolished in the 1960s. This section was originally called Johri Bazar.
- ‘Chandni Chowk’ to Fatehpuri Masjid: This was called the Fatehpuri Bazar.
Chandni Chowk is easily accessible via Car, Bus, and Metro. Situated near the Old Delhi Metro station it is also very easily accessible by Rail.
We got off at the Chandni Chowk Metro Station and walked down towards Chandni Chowk heading towards Red Fort passing by Gurudwara Sis Ganj to our right. About around 150 metres we turned towards our right, heading into Dariba Kalan, the world famous silver market. We were welcomed into Dariba Kalan by the smell of the world famous jalebis of ‘Old Famous Jalebi Wala’ who has been making them at that exact place since the 1850’s. Costing Rs. 250 per Kg they are a must have when you visit this place. The address being 1795, Dariba Corner, Chandni Chowk.
As you head into Dariba Kalan, you’ll see Silver Jewellery shops on both sides; innumerable silver trinkets hang on every wall and decorate every display window. Amidst all the shiny silver a handcart stole our attention; it had a very interesting item for sale, a speciality of Chandni Chowk known as Daulat Ki Chaat. This incredible little dish seems made up almost entirely of air, as it is essentially just milk froth. They start making it at about 2 o’clock the night before, and insist that their only contribution is to churn some creamy milk and whip up its froth – the rest is the magic of the winter dew. This whipped froth of milk is set in a large brass pan, and some khoya and finely sliced pista are sprinkled on top. The entire delicate ensemble is brought to the market in the morning on a khomcha (a cane tripod), where if you ask nicely, the man will scoop out a generous portion of the froth, powder it with bhoora (unrefined sugar) and khurchan, and hand it to you in a little leaf bowl. A spoonful of it just vanishes in the mouth, and has a very sophisticated, understated sweet taste to it. Any reasonable person would demand a princely sum for such an ethereal treat. Yet in the by-lanes of Shahjahanabad, a dona of Daulat ki Chaat sets you back by exactly 10 bucks!
Heading further down Dariba Kalan we stopped at a shop selling about 50 odd kinds of Crispies, I tried a very spicy one and having liked it I bought about 250 gms of it. (They are so spicy that 2-3 leave me teary eyed.) As the Dariba Kalan road came to a T-point we took a right turn and headed towards Jama Masjid. Even though I’ve ventured into Chandni Chowk a couple of times, I never got a chance to visit the Jama Masjid. The time was enough and the company was perfect, I had no intention of leaving with this monument still undiscovered by my lens. It cost me Rs. 200 to get my camera inside which I found extremely stupid because most monuments which only charge for video cameras but in Jama Masjid, the charge for all cameras was the same.
The majestic monument was brilliantly lit by the sun peeping through an overcast sky, the diffused light and shadow lessness made it an amazing atmosphere to click portraits. I felt blessed to have my camera around and the sound of my shutter clicking felt almost like a waterfall. We exited the Masjid complex through the Meena Bazaar side; we stopped to buy some Attar and Soorma.
All the walking had left us very hungry and we decided to head to the famous Karim’s of Chandni Chowk. We exited from the Matya Mahal side of the Jama Masjid complex and headed straight down the road to Karim’s. Very sadly there was a lot of crowd outside Karim’s and we couldn’t get a place to sit, hence we had to go to a neighbouring restaurant called Al-Jawahar. We ordered Mutton Barra, Keema Naan, Palak Paneer, Chicken Ishtew and Butter Naan. The food was not par with that of Karim’s but it did serve the need, it satiated our hunger.
We headed out with renewed zest and vigour and decided to walk the entire length of Meena Bazaar. 300 yrs ago this bazaar catered to the luxury trade of the imperial household, specialized in exquisite carpets, rugs, jajams and shatranjis; takia-namads and quilts; shahtus and pashmina shawls; costumes; velvet pardahs and chiks; embroideries with zari and brocades; and a wide variety silks, woolens, velvets and taffetas which the Mughals used in their daily life; precious stones, exotic jewellery and indigenous ornaments; gold and silver utensils, fine wood and ivory work; brass and copper wares; fine arms and armaments; coloured ganjifas and indoor games; jafran (saffron), kasturi (musk) and other spices; and innumerous other stuff which could not be had even in the adjoining Chandni Chowk market, and it was privilege of the king that this rare and precious things were available only in the ‘Fort market’ for their exclusive choice. Now all that is available at this market is merely cheap junk, third class items and other oddities. Sad.
There was so much more to see but alas we were almost out of time. We had to head back home; our everyday lives were calling out to us. With heaviness in our heart we headed back home leaving behind the glory of Chandni Chowk with a promise to surely return one day.
Questions Of Self Discovery
I’ve had many chances to introspect in the recent past. I took them all by the throat but I didn’t make much out of it. I’ve seen fleeting glimpses of my childhood in my dreams. Almost as if the universe is calling out to me, telling me something. It’s difficult to listen to the Universe when the volume of other things in life is turned up so high.
Everything has fogged up once again. I’ve been trying to find my strengths for the longest time, yet something or the other just slips by. I have no clue where I am and even more confused about where I am headed. Is life this difficult for everybody? I have seen people with predefined careers, heck even a predetermined life. I have seen people jot down their life in a graphic timeline on paper. I was just left in awe. If someone were to ask me to do that. I’ll merely doodle a lot of question marks on that sheet of paper. People always keep saying Life is like a game of Chess. Damn. Suddenly I remember all those chess matches I lost. I was never any good at it. The future just keeps eluding me.
Your future keeps clawing at your head and feet. Asking you to take the prescribed path. Prescribed not by you but by others who have seen life and don’t want you to make the same mistakes they did. But what is life if not a scrapbook of mistakes, regrets and lessons learnt? I bet the misdoings and grievances tally higher than the happy occasions in anybody’s life. Do you, Can you always be guided by your conscience or rather the moral voice in your head? Which, I daresay is nothing but a collection of the years of unnecessary advice that is shoved down our throats.
Since I’m almost incapable of summing up what I’m good at, I’ll merely take a dig at seeing what all I am absolutely horrible at. I do not mean talents, hobbies or even sports. But feelings, emotions and decisions. I am going to discuss the things that I think may be wrong with me.
I am known to make the stupidest of decisions. Countless people give me oodles of advice regarding Dil, Dosti, etc. I ask for even more. But at last, in the fag end I do what instinct tells me to. I don’t care if it’s right, wrong or even morally sound. I believe in listening to my heart. I feel that it’s better to cope up with a mistake than regret not having listened to your heart. As far as I think, Regret is the worst thing to have in your life.
I’m overtly emotional about the smallest of things. The minutest of things leave a deep impact on my mind. I simply don’t have the heart to see sorrow around me. It pains me to see others cry. I try to help others with everything that I possibly can. But mostly people take it in the wrong way. Some think that I’m being over clingy while others just ask me to shove off. And this has happened so many times that I’m now afraid of actually caring about someone. Even if I feel bad about someone and even though my heart tells me to go talk to them, help them, I try to keep my distance. I try to keep my bubble from being burst by others.
I’ve always been the first one to gel with new faces around but I’m never able to change that into sound friendship. Somehow in all these years I’ve made many wonderful acquaintances but rarely have I made very good friends. I know I’m bad at keeping in touch, I know I get diverted to other things very easily. But why must it be always my duty to work things out. I’ve tried and failed, once and again, rather too many times. I’m just too afraid to try again and lose all hope that these people who I call(ed) friends never bothered much about me.
I’m known to be majorly confused about what I want to do in life. When I was small I wanted to be a fighter pilot, I grew up slight and wanted to be a research scholar, I again grew up, now wanting to be a pianist. The list kept growing and growing. I tried new things, I liked them, I found out that I’m good at them and I kept doing them. People say that I’m too confused. Dad says that too many abilities spoil a man. Proverbs say that one can only be a ‘Jack of all trades but master of none’. But why? Why can’t someone desire to excel in more than one field? Is it others feel threatened? Or is it really that important to stick to the status quo? I shall never know.
Photography was finally able to define my moment of existence, my need to hold on to the past, my chance to revel in the beauties of nature, my desire to be cherished. The nostalgia, the science it all fascinated me and for a change something was able to take ME by the throat. I’ve decided to take the toughest decision in my life. I’ve decided not to let my life direct my photography but rather I’ll let photography direct my life.
I have the most wonderful people by my side right now. People who understand me. People who see through my charades of happiness and tell me on my face that I’m wrong. The fake care and belonging is gone. I have finally found friends who appreciate me, believe in me and I’m sure they will stand by me too.
Ishan, those battles of wits, those unnaturally humorous comments. They make life so much better.
Arpit, the more confused you get, the more I get a chance of actually pointing out what’s wrong and actually being able to care and help someone after a long time.
Abhinav, those Milds and Golds are bad but they open up my mind, 2c and 3 would be boring without you.
Vanya, my soul sister, our wavelengths match at every point, the love for nature, the inability to tolerate fake people, the guts to carry on. And so much more. Heck, our dads even had the talk. Thanks sis for unknotting my mind. I don’t think anybody else could have.
Jeeshan, for being the first person in Amity who I could talk to, for the Cool Blues and the car rides. For finally mustering up the courage to let me drive your car.
Devesh, for being a privy to our talks, for constant entertainment, its fun to take your case. 
Sargam, for clearing some long withstanding doubts in my head, for doing the stuff I can only dream of, for blazing a new path and showing me that is possible, for sharing the inner turmoil of the mind. The talks, the frequent conversations, the infrequent exchange of ideas, the exchange of dreams and the love of photography.
Lilypad, for changing me for the better, for making me able to see myself in a better light, for having faith in me when I had none, for supporting my craziness, for putting up with my whimsies and mad desires. I know it’s too soon to say but yes, you are like a pivot in my life. I can hold onto you and let go of everything else, I can be free. You almost taught me to be free; you are more than a friend, more than a lover and so much more than an angel in my life. You make me want to be better than myself; you make me want to improve. You bring out the best in me.
But still many questions remain. Questions that have come to stay for longer than what I’ll be comfortable with. I have everything a person could dream of yet questions are all that my life has come to be composed of.
What do I want?
What should I do?
Where do I go?
Is this wrong?
Is that right?
Is Insanity a trait of normal human existence? Or is it just my bane?
Answers anyone?
Mahisasura Mardini
The 19th Common Wealth Games gave me a vacation of almost 18 Days in the wee days of October. Dad had made up his mind already about visiting Kolkata in these few days. It had been almost 15 years since Dad had been to Kolkata during Durga Pujo. That and the fluctuating health of Dadu almost made it impossible for me to say no to him. I had friends here in Delhi, I had people to hang out with and I had the love of my life. Kolkata on the other hand would have been boring. No friends, lots of crowded places and unreasonably long traffic jams. But the decision was already made.
I found myself on a plane to Kolkata on the 6th of October. You all might think I’m bluffing, but i swear i saw the festive fervour from the air. I landed at the Netaji Subhash Airport after being made to fly around the Airport for 45 minutes. The congestion was horrible. The scene outside the Airport wasn’t pleasant either. The area around the airport almost looked like a fair. It took me almost 3 hours to reach home, a journey usually completed in less than 45 minutes.
People had already taken to the streets with no regards for traffic or rather anything at all. The ambience was almost enough to set anybody’s pulses racing but we were Bengalis and it was our festival. I reached home to find my Dadu on Oxygen, the sight was enough to bring tears to my eyes. It took me back to the times when I used to live in Kolkata, around 1998. How I used to go around seeing the different pandals with him. I came out from the trance and saw him touch my head and mouth the words ‘God Bless You’.
I had already decided to take this opportunity to write a blogpost but on the flight i decided to turn it into a full scale photo essay. The rest of the trip was quite monotonous even though very hectic. Hopping from one pandal to another, eating one delicacy after the other and walking for miles and miles.
Infected
There was a time when I used to think that my destiny was within my grasp. But whether that time has passed or not, I don’t know for sure. A lot has been happening in my life. Ups and downs and twists and turns. It has been painful at times but has made me that bit more willing to fare the drudgery. I wanted to be a computer engineer and hence I chose Computer Engineering. Now I do not know why but my heart’s not in it anymore my heart just keeps telling me to write and shoot. And that is precisely what I’ve been doing. But that has affected my performance in studies which in turn makes my parents angry. I’m closed in from all sides. Clueless as to what path I should take. Photography is my true love but then taking it up professionally is risky. There are a hell lot of photographers out there. And with the betterment of cameras even the amateurs can shoot like pros. But then life is all about risks isn’t it? I still can’t figure out if I should take this risk or not. Somebody help me.
My Romance with Photography
Some blame my genes for my love of photography. I blame my obsession with nostalgia and the need to capture every single frame that was once projected into my eyes. It began not a very long time ago. But then again I may be quite wrong. As far as I remember I was always the one who was handed the camera to take all the family pictures. I don’t know if it was a subconscious trait I had or my family’s blind trust. But hey, I don’t remember ever clicking a half-headed picture. Maybe I had the eye for it, but I can’t be too sure and resort to vanity can I? Humility is what I believe in.
It was not until my first trip to Corbett that I held a Single Lens Reflex camera. It was the Nikon FM2 on of the best camera’s ever made by Nikon. Of course it belonged to my dad, who was almost into photography for 20 years by that time. Still he never pursued it professionally. As he had told me, his first camera was the Pentax K1000 which got stolen around 1991, the year I was born, and hence he had to lay off his favourite hobby for 10 years because he just couldn’t afford another camera. I still remember the first shot I ever took with that camera; it was a burnt tree, savaged by forest fire. It wasn’t exposed enough but it was crystal clear and mega sharp. And since then I couldn’t restrain myself from taking pictures, irrespective of camera make, model or type.
I have shot with Nikon Automatic Film cameras, Olympus Automatic film cameras, Nikon Digital cameras and what not. My dad always had the fascination for cameras and hence he kept buying more and more. Then finally he bought the D80 and it was love at first sight for me. I remember cuddling it to death the first time I ever held it in my hands. I don’t have any suitable words to describe the feeling. I almost felt like I was touching blissful oblivion. I was in a trance. I snapped out of it, opened the lens cap, switched on the camera and pressed the shutter. And after that I never could stop myself.
Seeing my love for photography Dad bought me my very own first camera, a Semi-DSLR the Nikon P80. From thereon I just kept clicking and never let anyone else hold the camera. I became as possessive about the camera as the Gollum had become about Sauron’s Ring. It was my own, my precious. I carried it everywhere I went, experimented as much as I could with it, I still do. It was one of the best phases of my life. But then Dad bought the Nikon D90 and that was overkill. I was speechless, had no words. I was totally at a loss, of words, of emotions and even fell short of tears. I started clicking with it, started putting the pictures online for others to see. People started appreciating my work; it gave me the motivation to better myself. I uploaded more, people liked it more. And I kept fighting with myself to make myself better. To outdo myself, I do so every day.
Some of you may think that most of these are falsifications, think what you may I believe only in the outmost truth, and this is it. Finally after uploading my pictures on public forums for such a long time I have decided to give Photography a shot as a possible career path. And I need help from all of you guys. It’s a very humble request to all those reading this. Please spread the word about my work and also my page on facebook. I thank you all from the farthest reaches of my heart for being there for me. Love you all.
Archie Misra Photography : My Facebook Page
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Delhi Photo Walk #1
The Delhi Photo Walk was just playing upon an idea or rather a dream of sorts, which I had long ago. It involved getting people, who are interested in photography, together and having a long discussion of sorts without the confinement of a room. It happened almost like a sudden freak storm.Suddenly one day I asked Dhruv how the idea of a mass photowalk seemed to him. He got as excited as me with the idea in his. ‘Let’s do it?’ I asked him and pop came the reply, ‘Yes’. And so the journey began.
We got to spreading the word about the walk on Facebook and Twitter, the two most notable social media giants of this day. Then came the questions, some criticism and surely some people trying to push us down by calling our initiative a debasement of the ethics of photography. But a rebel spark had etched itself onto my skin and it wouldn’t quieten down quite as easily. Day by day the number of confirmations I received on Facebook, Twitter and Phone began to grow. It had almost hit double digits and it began to worry us. ‘Where and how the hell are we going to organize so many people?’ But we had a reassurance that not everyone who’s confirmed their attendance actually turns up, so we assumed a measly 50%. But even that summed up to 50 odd people. We had to keep ourselves calm and in running order.
Finally the day came. We had reached the place, Central Secretariat Metro Station in time but there was a massive problem with the parking. The only place to park was around a kilometre away from the meeting point. With no other option left we parked our two cars and decided to walk down that one kilometre to meet everyone else. The one thing that we had missed was an Ice-Breaking session and that made the initial phase quite boring but then as most humans we eventually got around to talking with everyone involved. And then all went as smoothly as possible. The walk ended two hours later and I can quite surely say that it was a success.
