this moon

Tonight, the night is wearing her prettiest moon.
Not full, with the werewolf light you could almost read by; nor yet gibbous, with that asymmetrical plumpness that sets one's eyes on edge; nor even Cheshire, with all its connotations and annotations - no, tonight's moon is the moon of December two years ago, of moonlit night rides on the back of strangers' motorcycles, of T on her first real grand adventure.

It is this moon, and this moon, and this moon.


:)
And tomorrow, pictures of fireplaces.

winnowing worms: an unsavoury interlude

Probably not as disturbing as that old chestnut *click at your own risk!!!*, but please consider yourself warned.

The T spent a sizable portion of her Saturday evening picking these fellows out of the night's quota (and a little extra for fun) of rice.

There are 36 worms in there. My mother and sister were highly disgusted and squealed things along the lines of "Take it away take it away take it away" (sister) and "No I cannot enjoy the wonder of the worms" (mother). My father said nothing but, "They're quite big, eh?"
I was rather pleased with the whole exercise because:

1. They are worms that are NO LONGER IN THE RICE and it is ALL BECAUSE OF ME.
2. This episode reinforces my confidence in my ability to detect motion of the littlest magnitude when wonderful things are to be seen. (other reinforcing episodes all involved birds, e.g. the bird I spotted just entering its hole in the trunk of a tree when we were on a bird-watching walk in Whitefield. The chief ornithologist said, "Well spotted!", yay! Everyone seems to think birds are much cooler, but a bird is not 36 worms.)

Some observations about rice-worms:
The worms begin as hefty little fellows - a clear millimeter across at least - wriggling their way all over the container and performing feats of acrobatics that can entertain for hours.
Within ten minutes or thereabouts, however, they have lost their rotundity somewhat, and their energy a great deal more.
By the time the twentieth worm is found, therefore, the first few have reduced in size to minuscule versions of their former selves. Some of this size were actually found by me while winnowing. I am very proud of this fact, because they are tiny.
Each worm has some black spots near the front, and some legs. Perhaps they are not worms, at that. They have - wossname - striations? all along their length and look rather like light-coloured very small earthworms only with eyes. And they move like worms in cartoons, and are rather fun to watch until they reach the lip of the cup and try to get away.

I have very much work to do and my sister's off to college on monday, but I still *had* to make the time to create this. Enjoy!

*WARNING. MOTION OF WORMS FOLLOWS*

P.S. Kindly do not hate me because I do not agree with you on all the things you find disgusting.

The end.

not a love song

Oh, I do like my job. :)

It's hard and confusing and tiring and sometimes means I have to put off or cancel non-work-related-happy-events, but once in a while I wake up and realize that most people would pay to get this sort of exposure.

I've actually reached that stage in my professional life when I can't really stop talking about work once I get properly started. It's exciting, you see. It's been nearly four months, and I've already worked on close to ten separate projects, each of them almost completely different from the other.
But first! Perhaps a little background.

The T^[1] works for a firm that specializes in Landscape, Conservation and Research. (In fact, the boss has a Bachelors degree in Physical Planning, a Masters degree in Landscape Architecture and an M.A in Conservation Studies.) We are thus qualified to undertake a very wide range of projects,which we do.
At present, for example, we are

• the landscape architects for one nos. apartment building, one nos. residential layout, one nos. commercial warehouse and one nos. school campus in the city
  
• the landscape designers for the restoration project at the Mughal gardens at Pinjore
  
• the empaneled landscape consultants for the State Bank of India
  
• the Indian landscape consultants for the Delhi Airport project
• responsible for the publication of the World Heritage Site Management Manual for UNESCO
• responsible for the publication of Bangalore Lalbagh heritage maps
  

I have had varied level of involvement with all these, and the foreseen involvement is of a rather high order, and I'm rather excited. I might even be in Delhi for a few months to make the most of the opportunity to work on a project of a scale as large as an International Airport. Whee! :)
Besides this, the other partner at the firm specializes in interior design, and I've been working on her projects, too. The only thing getting to me was the fact that this was an office consisting of two bosses and a single worker bee, but I think the T needs some laziness kicked out of her before it's too late.

Our office is on the ground floor, and adjoining it is a little garden where I have my lunch. We have various visitors, including but not limited to the following:

A bird that you can see if you squint really hard and tilt your head a little and stare just exactly at the centre of the photograph.

A year-and-a-half-old visitor who wanders in and out at will and says "mamma" and "hi" a lot. A dedicated post on this visitor is in the pipeline. Perhaps with photos, if permission is so obtained.

Life is kind. :) Kind of.
One must add the disclaimer on account of things that are (still! still!) making the T mope around for all of her free time, but SHE CAN'T COMPLAIN.
Well, she had better not, at any rate.

1. Apparently I can't begin to recite facts except in third person. Whatever.

soon you'll know about the persian cats

We've been in Chennai for the weekend - mum and I. We went in our car, with one driver to go and another to return; and had two half-days to call a visit. On the way a road was being widened, and the buildings gaped open like dolls' houses in old television shows:


On Saturday the Rabbit and the T ate unhealthy fried things and sat on the sand at Elliot's Beach until half-past ten. They sat there until all the lovers had gone home and the dogs had wandered away because there was no food forthcoming. They lay on their backs on the seashore and got sand in their hair and sang along to songs by the light of stars that the Rabbit kept thinking were aeroplanes
(look, the orange one is flashing and moving)
but the orange one was only Betelgeuse, and all it did was twinkle at two foolish girls wishing for brighter futures by the sea.

On Sunday, the T had adventures!
(And she is very sorry she didn't see all the nice boys she'd promised to visit; but she hopes they'll all drop in when they move to Bangalore for their jobs.)
Someone I know from Some Blog lives in Chennai. His family does, at any rate. He lives in forn parts. Now once, when he had been to other forn parts from the ones he lived in, he purchased a book, which he then recommended to the T. "I'll bring it for you the next time I come to India and lend it to you when I come to Bangalore", he promised, all generous-like. That was to have been December, and the T was perfectly happy with the arrangement.
But suddenly the T was to be in Chennai when the Someone was not; but the Book was in Chennai at the same time as the T! So she got Someone's sister's cellphone number and the home address, which happened to be very close to where she was staying in Chennai. Weekend surprise plans!!!
(
yeah, you could come and pick up the book if you want
Oooh! But. That'd be weird
would it? But you're weird. :)
)
hmph. thanks a lot.

The plan was this: I would land at my aunt's house on Saturday, call Miss S, and then run over and pick up the book. All straightforward, yes? Except that I forgot to recharge my phone and had to call his sister from my aunt's home phone, which she decided not to answer because she figured it was some random person calling to waste her time.

Sigh. So T was stuck without a book and very pissed off until she went to the beach and got high.
She got back with sand in her hair, did a Facebook search (yay Facebook!) and sent some messages, and then went to bed.
On Sunday, she left the house at ten past eight in the morning to "go for a walk". What she meant was, "He's given me that address; he's got another think coming if he thinks I won't be checking it out." She walked down a large number of roads looking for 8th Cross street. She passed 7, went down 11, came out on 13, which then turned onto 14; and she realized she'd gone all around the park. So she asked this helpful gentleman on a bicycle, and he pointed her in the opposite direction.
But naturally, said T.
And she went down to the street she was supposed to go down and she found legends that said No 9 (Old No 5). Old Number what! said T. He didn't say anything about Old number and she turned around, and there was the number, with the name, and T said, "I think I might need to sit down." She walked up and down the road for half a minute and pretended not to look at the house, and finally decided to just walk home. She took the scenic route back, which in T-speak does not mean that she got lost, but rather that she found the short-cut with lots of trees that came out opposite the street her aunt's house was on.

Before she went home she went to the beach and stared at the sun, and the beach looked something like so:and T thought to herself that having her nose prickle with sweat and dust blow in her face was not quite as horrible when there was a warm bath to look forward to just a couple of minutes' walk down that-a-way.

(Later, of course, there was a Facebook message replied to, and a drive in the car; and tea in a wonderful old house, and The Brass Bottle, and many coincidences and "it's a small world after all" and an invitation to an arangetram and a "gem of a boy"; but I think it's better if I end it this way, yes?)

:)

advisory: disturbing content

I have a new phone; it was a birthday present.
(My birthday was a week and a day ago - the 20th of November. Make a note, will you?)
It plays music, has an FM radio and takes pictures.
My sister took a picture of me in one of those pre-programmed frames. It was a clown; I think it is funny.

Yesterday I had an imaginary conversation with you; it was about me. I said, "Yes, I know. I like taking pictures of dead animals I see on the street. I don't see what the problem is - they're dead, aren't they?"

Today, the power went out at home around eleven. The sister went out to check if the lift was working, because if it was, that would mean the power had only tripped in our apartment and not in the entire building.
She came back inside screaming and crying because she'd seen a dead squirrel caught in the wires in the lift shaft.
Why did it have to be right outside our house?

:'(

I won't lie to you - I took a picture of that animal. I hate when animals die because they stray into the path of bulldozing human "progress"; but a dead animal is something that my fingers itch to document. I took that picture even as my guts rolled and my stomach clenched.
I fear there might be something wrong with me.

I won't be putting up that squirrel picture any time soon.
Road accidents are not public entertainment.




That, however...
:D

and some wisdom...

That, m'dears, is the third molar that was removed this afternoon from my upper left jaw. Note the three roots and their perfection. Most molars at the back of the mouth have one great big root (or at the most two) and my having three perfect roots means the following:
a. I am very unusual. Yay, me!
b. I have a very good dentist. That's some delicate twisted tissue we got there.

When I walked back home I stopped at the medical store to buy my pain medication, and the teller happened to catch a glimpse of the tooth in my fist. (Oh, all right. He caught a glimpse because i 'accidentally' showed it to the snooty lady standing next to me. What? she was staring at my poor swollen face!)
First he asked what it was, and then he wanted to know if it was made of plastic. I showed him the blood and pointed out my extended cheek, and he was suitably enthralled.
When he was writing out the bill, he asked me to show him the tooth again.
I felt like the bearded lady.
:)


I awaits me some ice-cream now.

fractures

where are we supposed to go from here? emergency? it isn't an emergency? casualty? perhaps, but only of my own clumsiness. and how long do i have to wait here among all these people whose blood is all on the outside instead of where self-respecting blood should be?
wheelchair, downstairs, elevator to the OPD. forms to fill, and cards to fill, down stairs, down stairs, but Father, I am not 23 yet, and who's listening?
doctor, it has been two hours since I got here and an hour since the X-ray and the upstairs downstairs, is there nobody with this girl, and where is the man with the plaster cast? i have eaten my stale idlis in my hot sambhar while Father stood by smelling of smoke and am i surprised? and where? where is my bandage?
i have read all the charts, sister, and i have redesigned the administrative block, and i am dying for a bit of construction paper and a pair of scissors and could you get me some tape with that? and i watch you wrap those instruments in cloth and i ask, sister, are those to be boiled and you nod yes; i doubt you understood me, but you smile prettily, congratulations.
and sister, sister, o Nurse? see, i can see that run in your stocking.

it's up to three hours now, doctor, close to three and a half, and why must i pay an entire month's salary for a cast in fibreglass that will not even give me a canvas on which to get people to spout drivel to show their love for me, no substitutes i bet you get a hefty commission doctor, but so it goes so it goes, and i spend half my Sunday being ignored in a hospital and the other half being ignored at home
(no, i will not apologize.)
and Coventry is not such a bad place to be if you have the internet and a phone.

Really, it's not.
So. Someone call me, please?

me

inahat

altogether

"Who are you?" said the Bun.

Apparently Tangled hadn't been described very well.
Larger than you; and younger than you, the Bun had been told. Not very detailed.
Still, that's hardly an excuse.

assuage hunger.

There was a fog. All pervasive.


"What the fog!", said the boys. They said it at irregular intervals for at least five minutes. It stopped being funny after the first utterance. But when has that ever mattered with boys?


The first night, at dinner, Tangled knocked over her glass of water and inundated the table.
The second day, at breakfast, she jostled her glass and got water on her onion uthappam.
The second day, at lunch, she sloshed water all over the table while pouring it for the others.
The second day, at dinner, she tried to put salt in her soup. The lid and half the contents of the shaker fell in instead.
"At least it wasn't the water", said Wabby.
The third day, at breakfast, she jostled the table with her helmet and spilt the tea, the water and the coconut chutney.
"Don't y'all dare say anything", she said.



At every smoke-stop on the ride there, Tangled tripped over her own feet and almost landed on the highway.
She tripped over her own feet again in the underground Shiva temple.
"At least it wasn't the highway", said Wabby.



imbibe. so there.

"I want a picture of that cockerel", said Tangled. "Look at him, he's magnificent!"
"Did you know that a cock's testicles are below its beak?" said the Bun.


By the side of the road was a tree that was two trees.


"Oh, stop!" said Tangled.
She took pictures while the others honked at the echoes.
"Did you see that?" she asked breathlessly.
No one had.
"Never fear," said Tangled. "Pictures!"



prerogative. and again.

The Bun was worried about her hair. "Feel this part", she said.
"Is it Tangled?" asked the Crapper.
Chortle snort.

subterfuge.

"Watch out for the monkey poop on the balcony," said Tangled. "I stepped in it while photographing the sunrise."


"Aanai-kundi."
(hah, elephant's ass.
no, it's the elephant's asshole.
same thing.
err, not really.
well, same area.)
The rest, extrapolated.

pregnant with meaning.



Red Riding Hood returns.
"You won't be wanting the helmet, then?" said the Crapper.
"Probably, but I want something with a hood then", said Tangled.
"Oh, wait," she continued, "This has a hood already."
"Moron of the first order", said the Crapper.
"What?" said Tangled. "I can't hear a word you're saying."

Another rest stop.
"Parts of my body don't like me", said Tangled.
"Well, there's nothing we can do to make them like each other", said the Crapper.
"Oh, they like each other fine. It's me they don't like."
"TBisms", said the Crapper.


"I'm a late bloomer," said Tangled.
There was a moment of winking and blinking, and the Bun smiled all over her face.
"I'm not saying anything," said the Crapper.

"I confuse", said T.

The first day, the gang was to leave the bachelor terrace-pad at four in the a.m.
The three of them; the Bun, Tangled and the Crapper; retired to the room at half-past eleven.
The T and the Crapper then spent most of the night on the terrace talking. With some methi bread to mix things up a bit.
They slept at three. The Crapper was listening to Linkin Park.
"Umfwff, too loud, stop singing," mumbled T.
At three thirty the alarm went off. Tangled reached over and jolted the Crapper awake by jabbing him in the knee.
"Uhhh", he said.
"Shall we extend", she said.
"Half an hour", he said.
"Four o'clock", she said.
sleep.


number of times phrases related to bowel movements were shared: err.
so there were many. i didn't count.
would have needed more than the fingers on both hands.


The next morning the gang was to leave the hotel room to go to Hampi at seven.
"Wake us up at six for the plock," Tangled was told.
She woke up in darkness and realized it was half past four.
Sigh, she said, and wandered around the room. She sat down and wrote some really bad poetry before deciding to write letters instead.
"I write this sitting across thresholds", she wrote. "Thresholds of bathrooms in new hotels at half-past four in the morning while all others sleep."
She took a break to wake the others up.
"Half an hour," they mumbled. "Seven o'clock," they messaged.
She went out on the balcony and photographed the sunrise. And stepped in the monkey poop, but y'all know that part already.
"The story so far," she wrote.
When room service arrived at seven, she'd only gotten as far as Saturday morning.
"Letters fuel my rambling", she said.
They left Hospet for Hampi at ten.
"Told you so", said the Bun.




Another rest stop.
"Bleh bleh nonsense glah gluck cluck," said Tangled.
"What?" said everyone else.
"Nothing, never mind, it's just- I'm just-"
"You confuse?" smiled the Crapper.
"Huh." sniffed Tangled.


They flew under diamonds in velvet. Brought the tears to Tangled's eyes.
Then again, perhaps that was because of the fly which flew in.
Who can tell?



The Bun and Tangled were talking. Tangled did the Valleyspeak.
"Oh, stop talking like my cousin," said the Bun.
"Where's your cousin from?" asked Tangled.
"Philly", said the Bun.
"My cousin's from Atlanta, and technically she should have that Southern drawl, but she doesn't," said Tangled.
"But Atlanta's up north!" said the Bun.
"Er, no. Atlanta's in Georgia!", said Tangled vehemently. "It's a southern state! Full of rednecks and lynching of niggers! and I am going to shut up now."
"Oh I confused Atlanta with Alaska," said the Bun.
Tangled laughed. So did the Crapper.
"You spilt tea on your pants, and didn't even notice," said the Crapper.
"Half the self-confidence comes from nonchalance," said Tangled.
(All right. She only wishes she said it. What she actually said was, "I just pretended not to notice." See? The nonchalance line was much better.)
"You should change your nickname from Tangled to Spilt," said Wabby.


The Bun sat down at the table and shuddered, "Why do men like going around stinking of sweat?"
"Who?" said Wabby.
"That guy in there," said the Bun, pointing into the Coffee Day.
"You know," said Tangled, "Maybe it isn't that they like it. Maybe men just don't realize the extent of their own, er... unpleasant odours."
After a beat, two masculine arms were raised and two armpits discreetly sniffed.
sigh. boys. :)


"Have you seen---? Have you read---? Have you heard---?" said Tangled.
"Tchuh," said Tangled, "why do I even bother."



Tangled bought some Cadbury's Gems. She got four different colours.
"Look!", she said, "I've never gotten all four of different colours before!"
The Crapper got two blue Gems.
"See?" said Tangled, "they're always doubles."
"Maybe they're from Dublin," said the Crapper.
He turned to Wabby and added, "Your blog or mine?"
Huh. Too late.

pedantic.
How appropriate. :)

And now, one I didn't take.

(With apologies to the Crapper.
You take one hell of a picture, honey,
but I gave you
more than twenty four hours.
After that it's free-for-all.)

"Why, I've done such a lot of insanely funny stuff this trip", said Tangled. "I must write it out." Out came book and pen. Away flew book into the centre of the highway.
One for the road.

*sigh*
"You're being kidnapped", he'd said.
I wish I'd told him to do it and welcome.

hiatus

Very many things to say. Very many.
Life has been full and fun and frenzied and mad and merry and morbid. Too many things.
I need to take a little break before I overdose. And before I become an overdose. Will anyone tell me if I talk too much?

I'll leave y'all with some pictures in the meantime. Yes?

I want to find this kid and give her this photograph.










And I'm back at the first one. I want to be able to put them together.

bleady good

And it's been ages since I did the promised. Wonder if that's the reason I haven't seen hide nor hair of bleady anywhere. *sigh*

From a terrace quietly

street watching

slides

Spent the weekend at Bandipur with relatives: Paternal grandmother; her four children, with three of their four spouses; and four of the five grandchildren. It was an impressive gathering; the last time so many of us were together was upwards of twelve years ago. It was a very good trip. I shall not be elaborating. In words, anyway.

cousins
i like

road
i like too

the child
it makes a good subject

yes
:D

look-see, robin!

this tree

and me
this i didn't take


all done.

so say it, then

Words are much like all other good weapons - double edged.
Oh, how a word can be turned around and made to kick you in the face; how a word will start life meaning something and then get turned on its head entirely. With a little effort and a little attention, it is so easy to get just exactly the reaction you desire. Did you know how simple it was? But then again, is it only the words? And is it all an act? And if it isn't, then why is there this guilt? Why do I feel so dirty every time I use my words to pretend something so that I can make someone else feel better? Are lies as bad as they are painted? In the middle of the night, alone with your conscience, they too often are.
I despise how easy it is to use words to seem knowledgeable. I despair at how difficult it is to use words to say exactly, exactly, what you mean. I marvel at how close I can get and still be dissatisfied. I hate how sometimes the words aren't enough. I like how sometimes the words aren't necessary.
I love how it's people that make the words. I hate how it's people that make the words.
I love that I'm smiling right now. In the end, that makes it all worthwhile.


Song for today. Mmm-mm-mm. This one's gonna be in the head for a while.


P.S. Reunions are special.

otherside
how much this building begs photographs.