wutheringheights

  I never knew Narendran Nair maintained a blog till I ran into ‘Thoughts’ hours after his death. He never liked the idea of even chatting online. A totally different character very few people could understand. He was often misunderstood by colleagues, but he didn’t bother much. Our friendship started with migraine way back in 2005 when he joined Express after quitting his job in Bombay. We both were suffering from that serious painful disease for long time. I don’t know whether he liked me, but he used to talk to me a lot. I still remember the day he left The New Indian Express and joined The Hindu. Many in Express thought Narendran would never find a job in Hindu , but he got a good, a senior post with the paper’s Madurai edition. After joining there, he used to call me from Madurai to share his displeasure with the former organsiation. The conversation went on and on. When I went to Madurai to cover an official event three years ago (I was Deputy News Editor with the New Sunday...

I don’t remember when I met Sunil. But I remember the day I took some photographs of him, using my favourite Pentax K1000. The year was 1999, soon after we finished our journalism course at Press Club, Trivandrum. One evening, Sunil handed over a roll of Konica and asked me to take his pictures in different angles. I took him to first floor of the Press Club building and started clicking. Close-ups, medium shots and long shots followed one after the other... Finally, we both went to Babas (a famous studio) and got it developed. Sunil didn’t tell me what was the purpose, and I didn’t even ask him. After two days, Sunil told me that the pictures were sent to London. For a moment, I was shocked. London always evoked a kind of nostalgia. It was my dad’s favourite place. The smell of London always surrounded him although he left the place when I was seven. The chocolate bags, toy planes and post cards… Everything he brought in from London had a smell of the town. So London was always a ...

I recently read a photo feature on Manuel Alvarez Bravo in an old issue of The Massachusetts Review. A set of eight pictures was featured, each documenting his native Mexico's archeology, spirit and aesthetic. A boy who grew up witnessing the violence during the Mexican revolution, Alvarez was keen on the culture of his country. The landscape, people, rituals...the unending list of what makes Mexico Mexico...

Two days ago, I read a poem "The day I got the news" by Cynthia Snow from an old edition (2009) of The Massachusetts Review. Not my kind of poem, hihi..but liked it...Here's the full version... My heart rose up through my throat and skittered away like a Lucifer hummingbird. I reached out to grab hold but you know hummingbirds fast, featherweight, short on trust. I couldn't stem the exodus. I'm not the Messiah though I did want sun streaked white clouds, brightness everywhere. I could only watch the smallest blur of wings, a stop motion gaze -- eyes on me, eyes away, body away, away, away, gone. And here at the kitchen window a sponge soaked with sugar water. And here, at the dining room table my hands, in the umbrella stand, six tidy, geometric holes. And here, in my throat, nothing but want of sugar.

  I didn’t know what to do with my business cards when I quit my job for good six month ago. There were three boxes, each containing 100 cards. I neither wanted to throw them into dustbin nor leave them unattended. Finally, when I cleaned the cubicle, I took them with me. At home, they found a safe place in my bookshelf. One day, I saw my six-year-old daughter Mihika building a castle using them. It was nice to watch the light-blue cards falling one after another. Not a great fall, but a fall indeed -- caught between the vibe of blue and white. When she was not in creative mood, Mihi would throw the cards all over the floor. The first two letters (highlighted) of the two-word name of the company would stare at me from different angles. A kaleidoscope of   ‘I’ and ‘e’. One day, I was surprised to see the old cards finding a place in my card-holder, replacing all the relevant ones. Here too, the ‘I’ and ‘e’ stared at me from each page. Mihi’s game with cards at times end...