The Self-Titled Photography Syndrome

With the advancement of cellular technology and the mobile camera megapixel race, the odd camera phone has eaten its way through the wallet into our precious behinds. And it is indeed a pain in the ass. And the phone leading the charge is Apple’s iPhone.

Earlier the Juvenile “Photographer” (That’s a polite synonym for Noob, Lame, Hopeless) atleast needed a decent enough point and shoot to be able to boast about his pictures however horrible they may be. Now we get to see blurry, noisy pictures uploaded on websites and now as the trend catches on, even on Facebook and Flickr.

Buying a DSLR and clicking pictures on Auto Mode doesn’t make you a Photographer. All it does is make you a very crappy snapster. And then either you crap or snap, not both.

Anindo Basu, a friend of mine who completed studying photography from the National Photography Academy, Kolkata has the following to say, “I have been trying so hard to overlook it, but cant. The cut in the price of digital camera made every other person a photographer. My say is; It’s good to take pictures of the gala time u had with your friends, but please don’t start bragging about yourself as a photographer then on!”

While Rahul Lal, one of the prominent Concert Photographers of Delhi says ” It’s all BULLSHIT! That’s what i think of all the people opening up self-titled photography pages. If tomorrow you buy a stethoscope, doesn’t mean u become a doctor and open a clinic. Everyone just gets a camera and thinks they are a photographer and they should earn in millions! Complete and utter bullshit!”

Learning about Megapixels or ISO or even knowing the full form of DSLR doesn’t even remotely make you a photographer. It just makes you a camera enthusiast. There is a huge gap between being a camera owner and a photographer.

I don’t understand one thing the most. Canvases, Acrylic Paint and Paintbrushes are even cheaper than cameras. Why don’t all of you buy those and become artists? Its takes guts and skill to paint, as it is an art form, right? Well then I have news for you. Even Photography is an art form. And you can only fool yourself for a very short time by pretending that your photography is art.

In Linchpin, Godin says:

“Art is a personal gift that changes the recipient. An artist is an individual who creates art. The more people you change, the more you change them, the more effective your art is.”

 

It’s not a crime at all to learn about Photography. Everybody is an amateur at some point of time, but the thing that separates Photographers from Camera Owners is that they don’t boast. No photographer opens up a photography page on facebook or tags everyone in their pictures the day they buy their first camera.

I handled my first SLR way back in 2003 in the jungles of Jim Corbett National Park. I never thought until last year that my photography could get me acclaim and I could pursue it as a profession. I knew a lot about it. I kept reading and reading and reading. Ansel Adams, Daguerette, Henry Cartier Bresson, Chris Walter and so on. I could at their pictures with starry eyes and a wish in my heart. That maybe I could click like them. I don’t know if that would be possible or not but I am trying.

That’s how most photographers come to be. Every Photographer has a story like that behind him. No good photographer will ever tell you “Ohh I decided to buy a camera and then I became a photographer”, simply because the eye for photography is a god given gift. Some people are born with it, and no matter how hard you try you can’t acquire it even with years of fumbling around with cameras.

Processing a horribly taken picture and adding a million effects to it only shows how shallow you are. If you can indeed click Photographs and not Snaps then your pictures will speak for themselves. Processing to that degree is frowned upon in the photography circuit. More and more Camera Owners are taking away jobs and work from Stock and Art Photographers. They go for family vacations set a camera on auto and click away. And then one day they decide to upload them on a website. Now due to the DSLR and the DSLR alone, the images somehow come out good. Companies looking for stock end up buying these images for cheap and ruining the stock photography industry.

Even in the field of photojournalism there are so many so called photojournalists who just shoot in auto mode and submit their pictures to the magazines and get paid. There is no real need for actual photographers anymore.

Even point and shoot owners click pictures of a girl dressed up and call it fashion photography having no idea what is the deal about fashion photography or know anything about lighting or the camera. It’s all a bloody sham and disgrace to every notable photography legend and every living photographer worth his work.

So it’s a noble request to you all, the unworthy camera owners, be humble, click for fun, don’t try to become famous in a month with your Juvenile photography which even my 10 year old brother can better. Atleast he knows a thing or two about the camera.

There are a lot of things I bet you don’t know about photography or even about your camera. I wish the camera guides came with a Statutory Warning “This camera or the images produced by it does not make you a Photographer.” But I guess that it would be bad for business. At the ending I would very meekly try to define what according to me a Photographer is. And I will follow it with a questionnaire which will help in pointing out to you how it is or what it is in that you’re lacking.

“A photographer plays with light in an educated manner. He has proper knowledge of what he is doing and he knows how a small change in the settings would affect the picture. He should be able to see daily life in the form of still images stitched together. He should be able to love the camera as his worthy equal. And most importantly he should be humble, confident and very artistic. Whilst a camera owner is just a tourist with a good camera. “

 

“Learn the difference between a Picture and a Photograph. A Photographer knows WHY but a camera owner does not.”

The Rape Of The Capital

8^th March is celebrated as International Women’s Day. In different regions the focus of the celebrations ranges from general celebration of respect, appreciation and love towards women to a celebration for women’s economic, political and social achievements.

A woman’s essence lies in her innate ability to care, love and sacrifice for the other. She plays an all-enveloping character of a mother, daughter, wife and sister as a friend, nurturer, guide and partner from time to time. Emotional and vulnerable, sometimes erratic, sometimes serene, she displays a wonderful range of emotions from being patient to being extremely courageous in times of crisis.

Tormented and subjugated throughout all times and ages, women have fought their way through exploitation, harassment, and have managed to secure their rights in the public domain. In spite of continuing exploitation and injustice against women both in the domestic and work sector today, several milestones have been achieved in terms of education, freedom of choice and liberty, equality etc. With growing literacy and financial independence women feel more empowered today to assert their right to a life of dignity and self worth.

The International Women’s Day celebrated on 8th March is a universal day for all women around the world. It endows them with a sense of honour, dignity and self respect for being the person that they are. This day marks a celebration of the economic, social, cultural and political achievements made by women over the years.

Yet the plight of Women continues in a Global City like Delhi. Women are raped, murdered and thrown on sidewalks in body bags. And the public blames the police and the judiciary system, but I see a different truth through my eyes.

It is not the Police or The Judiciary System that rapes and tortures Women. The perpetrators of such acts are people who are often counted as the public who blames the Police and the Law and escapes scot free.

Implementing more task forces or other law enforcements would not guarantee the safety of women. Neither would restricting the freedom of Women. They have every right to live their lives as freely as any man would. She should have the right to have a walk at night and feel safe. The constant worry of harassment, rape and such should not keep worrying her at all times.

The male mind needs to be blamed for most of the uncomfortable situations a Woman finds herself in. Constant ogling, passing lewd comments, touching her body parts at any given chance are all signs of how the men are faltering and falling to the level of dogs.

What most men who initiate such acts never fail to realise is that the same can happen to their Mothers, Sisters and Daughters. The culprit today can become the victim tomorrow. Such horror mongers are often motivated by the silence of Women. When women choose to ignore such Animalistic acts they become contributors to the crime. They are to be even blamed.

It is understandable that you feel threatened to take any action in situations of eve teasing but never stray from calling on the public or the men who care about you. These mongrels need to be treated like the scum they are and be blown off from below the gutters of the society.

WE NEED CHANGE. WE NEED IT NOW. MEN AND WOMEN NEED TO ACT TOGETHER. THE SOCIETY NEEDS TO CHANGE. THESE ACTS AFFECT MEN AND WOMEN ALIKE. DON’T BE A MUTE SPECTATOR. SPEAK UP. BE THE CHANGE.

Here Anshul Tewari provides safety tips for Men and Women alike.

Good Death or Endless Suffering?

In Greek Euthanasia means ‘Good Death’, but is it?

It is derived from the Greek word εὐθανασία meaning “good death“: εὖ, eu (well or good) + θάνατος, thanatos (death). It refers to the practice of ending a life in a manner which relieves pain and suffering. According to the House of Lords Select Committee on Medical Ethics, the precise definition of euthanasia is “a deliberate intervention undertaken with the express intention of ending a life, to relieve intractable suffering.

Much debate has been raised along the two different chains of thought; as to whether it should be considered as a “Voluntary Suicide” or “Involuntary Murder”. It is the most active area of research under Bioethics.

The first textual reference of Euthanasia is made by the historian Suetonius who described how Emperor Augustus Caesar, “dying quickly and without suffering in the arms of his wife, Livia, experienced the “Euthanasia” he had wished for”

Euthanasia basically can be classified into three main branches:

1. Voluntary Euthanasia – In this case the Euthanasia is cinducted with the consent of the patient. It is legal in Belgium, Luxemburg, Netherlands, Switzerland and the USA.

2. Non-Voluntary Euthanasia – Euthanasia conducted when the consent of the patient is not available is called Non-Voluntray Euthanasia. This basically includes the ‘Groningen Protocol’ which terms Euthanasia of Infants as legal.

3. In-Voluntary Euthanasia – Euthanasia conducted against the will of the patient. It can also be termed as homicide.

The most notable case in India where Euthanasia is being considered is the case of Aruna Shanbaug.

Aruna Shanbaug, a nurse from Haldipur, Karnataka has been in a ‘persistent vegetative state’ for the past 37 years after being sodomised by a Mumbai hospital sweeper.

On the night of 27 November 1973 he attacked her while she was changing clothes in the hospital basement. He choked her with a dog chain and sodomized her. The asphyxiation cut off oxygen supply to her brain resulting in brain stem contusion injury and cervical cord injury apart from leaving her cortically blind. The initial medical examination to verify rape as the crime found that Aruna had no vaginal bruises and her hymen was intact. She was menstruating on the day and therefore the rapist did not penetrate her. Subsequent medical reports proved that she bled for days together from the anus.

The police case was registered as a case of robbery and attempted murder on account of the concealment of anal rape by the doctors under the instructions of the Dean of KEM, the late Dr.Deshpande perhaps to avoid the social rejection which might break her impending marriage to Dr. Sundeep Sardesai.

Speechlessness following a rape can go deeper. Aruna Shanbaug’s continuing silence is not the outcome of fear or shame: she cannot speak at all. Since the assault, she has been in a vegetative state. On 24th January 2011, the Supreme Court of India responded to the plea for Euthanasia filed by Aruna’s friend journalist Pinki Virani, by setting up a medical panel to examine her. However, it turned down the mercy killing petition on 07th March, 2011. The court, in its landmark judgement, however allowed Passive Ethunasia in india.

The judges disagreed with Virani’s plea that the Shanbaug was already dead. Not feeding her any more and letting her die shall not amount to killing her. Shanbaug was in PVS, which was different from the medical state of brain dead (which is irreversible), they said.

‘Even when a person (patient) is incapable of any response, but is able to sustain respiration and circulation, he cannot be said to be dead. The mere mechanical act of breathing, thus, would enable him or her to be ‘alive’,’ said the judge. Stating that there appeared little possibility (of Shanbaug coming out of PVS), the judges said: ‘The question now is whether her life support system (which includes feeding) should be withdrawn, and at whose instance.’

 

Lend your voice to Aruna’s Plight!

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 12^th 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 50^th 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!

 

Love In An Erratic Thunderstorm

Love and Thunderstorms have a bond that spans beyond chains of time. Nothing beats sitting on the balcony in a wicker chair; listening to the clasps of thunder and the erotic patter of raindrops.  The splashes made by the children jumping in the potholes and the cars swishing by. The old geezers cussing the weather gods and the young couplets holding each other close, not to let the warmth escape. The street lights flickering and casting long shadows into your room as you slowly dim the lights; letting the flickering red lights emit an elysian glow outlining your form. You slowly extend your hand and bring your loved one close to you. You hold them in a tight embrace. All worldly matters seem so distant; it appears as if you exist in a bubble.

*Tring*

The phone rings and it’s time to say goodbye. The heart never agrees but the goodbye is a compulsion. You walk down the stairs with flying kisses and a heavy heart. Suddenly the rain seems so harsh, so unfair. You stand in the rain waiting for a mode to transport your butt from the roadside to the comfort of your home. The cars swish by, splashing muddy water all over your clothes. You cuss the cars and the old geezers call you a loudmouth. You continue on your dreary path until a benediction rids you of your bother.

*Tring*

You enter your house looking exhausted and quite disheartened at the goodbye. You wish it could have half an hour more, an hour more or maybe even forever. The dispersal of thoughts from your troubled mind rid you of grief momentarily. You go stand in the balcony and listen to the rain again. You wipe your fingers and your world drenches in high notes and guitar wails.

 

And thus be the facets of the Storm. Many faces yet untold.

You were supposed to write me something. Yes i did.

Today the 26^th of January, 2011 completes my 6^th month of being in a very stable, interesting and amazing relationship with a girl I’m just too crazy about.

All the celebrations are in queue but right now I’m in a pondering state of mind. With a certain level of experience in relationships now I can’t help but wonder who actually coined the term ‘Relationship’.

In a very clichéd sense the dictionary meaning of the word turns out to be, the state of being related by kindred, affinity, or other alliance. Kindred means Kin, Affinity means Attraction and Alliance means a state of being allied to someone. My question. Is a relationship really that simple?

If someone were to offer me a million dollars to fish out of me a definition of the word ‘Relationship’ I think I would pass. I possibly couldn’t fathom the enormosity of the word. It is almost limitless. A relationship has a lot of pros and cons. It frightens me.

Were you reading all of that with utter sincerity? Oops. Fooled you. That is utter bullshit. Nothing is true beyond the first paragraph. I shall mend my ways now. I’ll write the rest of the blog sincerely. I promise. Here goes.

I had always been very curious to get into a stable relationship which had the potential to go all the way. Unfortunately I tried the same approach over and over again and it failed miserably. But that hardly matters now. When you find the right person the past seems so irrelevant. And yet you want to know everything in it. Not because you’re scared of the skeletons in the closet but rather because you fear losing the one you love. You fear someone from the past pointing a finger at you, questioning your love.

Sometimes you feel so guilty that you want to end the relationship. Not because you’ve had enough rather because you think that you’re suffocating the other person. Sometimes you’re so afraid of what the future might bring that you lay down your arms in the present.

You laugh. You cry. You caress. You cuddle. All different forms of endearment. But somehow your hearts get entwined. You subconsciously start thinking about the other person. You feel helpless. You feel restless. You want to be with them now. Just now. Oh god please!

You sometimes question yourself to see if you are worth the love that you are being showered with. There are certain faces when you see yourself as a pitiful tramp and sometimes you see yourself as a gallant king. The king is confidant but the tramp tries to push away the love. Trying to build a cocoon of self respect.

Matter of factly the things I said after the first paragraph did turn out quite right. A relationship is not child’s play. Neither does making out in parks count as a relationship. Relationships are tough my dearies. A girl or a guy simply doesn’t have what it takes to build a relationship. It’s a job for the men and women, for above all else relationships require high amounts of maturity, emotional stability and the willingness to share. A relationship is giving, taking, sharing, caring, loving, and so much more. It is all that I wrote and it is also all the stuff that I didn’t.

You just cannot define love or relationships. No way. But from the past 6 months if I have got any idea about relationships to build my own definition, it will be this.

“A relationship is not about doing the obvious. It’s about doing things that are not obvious but expected. It is about bunking lectures to meet that special person and yet getting scolded by her. It is about being late and yet telling her that you’re almost there just so that she gets mad at you but not as much as she would have been to know that you’re running late. It is about doing things for her and not letting her have even the smallest clue about it. It is about telling what’s wrong by just looking into their eyes. It is all the above and so so much more. But most importantly it is about having the most amazing, the most beautiful, the most charming, the most intelligent and the best woman by your side. But me, I’m special. Most of you just get women. I found my Lilypad!”

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Lilypad!

You’re special!

You’re amazing!

You’re a necessity!

The things you do,

The things you say,

My deepest worries,

All shy away.

I think I’ve found it,

True bliss they say,

Yet when I see you,

I feel it’s far away.

 

 

A Tribute To My Grandfather!

It was only the other day that I was wondering that I hadn’t written a tribute on my blog. Both ironically and sadly it was somehow intended to be my grandfather.

 

On the 8th of August 1928, my grandfather Mr. Paresh Chandra Misra was born into one of the wealthiest zamindar families of Bengal in undivided India. I do not know much about his childhood or youth but from what I have heard he played an active part in the struggle for Indian Independence following the leftist communist ideology. He was an avid follower of Jyoti Basu, one of the most famous politicians and leaders in India.

 

He later joined the FPI and settled down in a job. He became the deputy director and was shifted to the ministry of Food. He was a man of such strong will that he used to walk 10 kilometers home every day from Fresco Street to Raja Basanta Roy Road. I don’t know much more about him in the days before I was born so I shall go ahead to what I remember.

 

I was the first child in my generation in my immediate family. And 3rd if the extended family was considered. So needless to say I was pampered beyond my wildest dreams. No would could scold me, no one could hit me but if they did it always Dadai (my grandfather) who took my side and scolded the person who took my case.

 

I was the only kid who had the guts to go into his room and play around with the antiquities hanging on the walls. The others were just too scared of him. Even most of my relatives; and I’m talking about my grandma’s brothers the youngest of whom is 56 now; called him Tiger which aptly suited his persona. My dad still remembers how the entire road on which our house stands used to empty as soon as he was seen on the corner.

 

My Ammi(grandmother) told me how Dadai single handedly provided the financials required to marry off her sibling. He was a man for whom respect came naturally. So strict and disciplined and yet such a noble man.

 

When I first joined South Point I used to go to school in the morning by a van and Dadai always used to bring me back home. It used to be an adventure every day, crossing the busy roads of Gariahat, getting on a tram in the middle of the road and then walking from Deshapriya Park to my house. I used to have lunch and then sit in his room while he smoked his Cheroot. He never said much but I always saw his eyes follow me around the room, a playful smile in his eyes as if he wanted to join my play.

 

One day while returning from school, I jumped onto the steps of the tram. A 3 inch long piece of iron went into my knee. Dadai tried everything but my pain wouldn’t lessen, he even tried closing the wound with his finger but it just pained more. As soon as I got down from the tram he picked me up and carried me home 3 kilometers. That ended our little adventures, he was termed as too old for the duty of bringing me back from school. But I wasn’t ready to give it up. I pleaded and pleaded but to no avail. I was put on the school bus. That somehow increased the distance between us.

 

A month or so later Mom got transferred to Delhi and I moved to. Now I could only see him only for some days in a year. But he had grown old and kept sick most of the times. I remember fighting him for TV time and my mom scolding me. Then I saw my brother fighting with him for TV time and quite naturally it was me who scolded him. Then came the time when he himself let go of the TV and wanted us to watch. He kept growing weaker day by day and yet every time I talked to him, whether face to face or on phone, he always said ‘God bless you my child!’ He loved his grandchildren like crazy and nothing we did ever could be wrong.

 

He was very fond of Fish Fry and Sandesh and he always wanted to be amidst lots of people. He loved having people around. Yet his luck was such that his entire kin lived far away from him.

 

Last time I came to Kolkata in October, I could not give him my full attention as something was ailing my mind. Yet I tried to spend as much time with him as was possible. I held him up, made him sit, something he hadn’t been able to do for months. Seeing his son, daughter, daughter-in-law and his two grandsons gave him the strength and will. He wanted to live beyond a 100.

 

I met him before I was leaving for the airport. He had tears in his eyes and yet a smile on his lips. He looked at me and said ‘I wish you luck in all your endeavors. I know you’ll make me proud. Best of luck my child.’ He touched my cheek and looked out of the window, he was too proud a man to let me see him cry. And he didn’t see the tears in my eyes either. I got up and left, not knowing that I would never see him again.

 

He breathed his last on the 19th of January, 2011 at 12:45 pm. He was 83. All the organs had failed and he was suffering from severe septicemia. It was Dad who called to let me know. His voice was shaky. I along with my mom, brother and aunt took the 7:45 flight to Kolkata. The proceedings in Kolkata were waiting for us. We received the body of my grandfather. And there on his face was such a blissful look, like he had attained peace and no one had to worry about him anymore. I brought my brother to see him one last time. He was silent. He didn’t cry but he was silent. I put my arm around him and asked ‘You know what happened, right?’ He calmly replied that he had.’

 

Then we headed to the crematorium while my brother went home. He quietly asked mom ‘Where have they taken Dadai? To heaven?’

 

Mom replied ‘Yes!’

 

With a smile on his face he turned back to watch TV. I guess that’s how life goes on. And we need to learn that from him.

 

Rest In Peace Dadai. All is good here down below. We are all happy that your suffering ended. May your blessings be with us forever. We all love you.

 

I LOVE YOU.

Thank You Mam!

Being brought up with 5 girl cousins and many more aunts who are just a few years older than you; takes quite a toll on a guy. I mean, he could basically start getting along with and understanding women. He could potentially be the biggest threat to feminism or even possibly the biggest womanizer ever.

The kid was me and I guess I am not at either of the extremes. Now you would ask why I even mentioned the first line of the post if it did have no effect on me. But it did. Maybe just not so much. I am not Mel Gibson from What Women Want and neither am I Barney Stinson. I just had the uncanny ability to get insights into a woman’s mind which was considered impregnable and quite hostile, the mind that is, not the insights. Turned out it was a very nice place. But there was a pre-requisite to that; a woman should be able to trust you.

I spent endless hours listening to women pour out their hearts to me and it started from a very young age. It was nice to hear them talk, to build upon the trust. I had no ulterior motives never did.

Oh! Wait! I think I did once. But hey, it never worked out. That was the fallacy. Most girls would be pretty pissed by now.

How dare a guy say that he understands girls so much? Who does he think he is?

Well girls, for one you are gravely mistaken! I have no clue what a girl thinks! But I sure do have some idea about what a woman does!

I wanted to write this a thank you note! To the few ‘Women’ that I have or will encounter in my life someday! The girls just don’t matter! All I can say to you is ‘Grow Up!’ because it’s as they say both Wine and Women grow better with age.

Thank you Mom for giving birth to me! You are possibly the woman I’m the most indebted to!  From waking me up every morning to that goodnight kiss on my forehead, you did it all and most perfectly! If I ever want a woman to be absolutely perfect then it’s your fault. You sky-rocketed my expectations. Love you mom!

Papa! Though you are my Aunt! But you’re almost like another mother to me! But maybe cooler! You were understanding throughout and always a very good friend! You help me through every up and down of life! If I ever start depending on a woman instead of it being the other way round then it’s your fault!

The countless teachers who have taught me valuable lessons in life! If I expect a woman to be always there for me and to always guide me through then it’s your fault!!

And finally the woman I will marry someday! You will be a unique woman a perfect mix of everything but quite unlike any of the women mentioned above. You have to be all of them and yet be yourself too. Yours is the toughest job of them all. And if I start thinking of you as the best thing that has ever happened to me, then it’s your fault!

Respect Women! No guy would be anywhere without them!

And to quote one of my favourite teacher’s – “A woman will always be the CEO of a man’s life!” And somehow I do not seek to let that be any different in my case.

So.

Thank you Mam.

The Pleasure Of Pain

 

We walk in endless pathways of silent existence, swim in depthless waters of merciless tears, yes, we often desire to feel pain, to get hurt. We feel happy, we feel hurt. The want to express never goes away. Do we ever feel silence?

The mind plays many games with us. It deceives first; then acts as a friend. And all we do is revel in the hurt and call it our own brilliance. But then when you come to think of it, (Well not you, only I do that) does pain act on its own accord or do we force it on ourselves, like a torn condom?

According to the psychological definition, Pain is defined as an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage. People often keep saying that alcohol helps in easing pain, hell since when did alcohol start repairing damaged tissues? It just breaks some more vital ones.

But my post is not about alcoholism. No. It is about the need to feel hurt sometimes. I’ve started believe that pain is something we believe in. Something that we need to revisit once in a while to set things back in motion. Why else would we keep pushing at things till they hurt us?

Sometimes we purposely spoil things or get into arguments that we know would hurt us. And then we sit back and revel in the pleasure of things and look back with a new perspective. We act as if the world has turned against us, we look out windows with anger, and we carry a fire in our eyes. But there’s always a string that roots us to the ground, which brings us back to reality. We keep a check on ourselves, not to improve upon pain, which is the right thing, but rather to antagonize ourselves even more.

In generic human behaviour when we are pissed at someone else, we try as hard as possible to make the other person pissed off too, thus beckoning a round of physical violence. Violence never solved anything, but as for pain, I cannot truly say. It has its benefits.

What then about people with CIP (Congenital Intolerance to Pain)? Don’t they get hurt by anything? Are they always smiling? Laughing? Cheery? I’ll tell you when I meet someone like that. Till then adios.

 

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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. ‘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.