Godavari

The expansive sand dunes, the azure bay, The palpably soft portraits, the cool moon rising from a placid lake, the leaves, the dew, a minute before it drops. The greens, the reds the blues, the colours, the contrast and the texture. And sometimes, you sigh and remark “man!! if only I was there, if only I had a camera….”

Then there are times when you forget to take your camera, or you realize, with a camera in hand, a relieved resignation that you are actually a pathetic photographer with a gross shooting acumen of all movie thugs in a chase sequence. Then there are other times, when you have a great camera, you are a reasonably able, and you can probably capture what is in front of you but you stop yourself. The scenes before you have been captured 1000s of times from 100 different angles. There is nothing left to tap from it. Or, you are just plain tired/bored and your hands just refuse to move.

There lies a road that connects Rajahmundry and Amlapuram. It skirts the Godavari, skipping across the river once before the destination. Additionally a small rivulet streaks parallelly along the road, encouraging a thick growth of shrubs and small trees. On a warm morning, the breeze that blows across this road is so polite that the rickety bus feels regal. As the bus shuffles along at bullacartesque speeds, you don’t feel pressed to take out your pen or paintbrush out. You just sit there, enjoy a good meal with excellent service and feel happy, satiated. A straight road, small settlements here and there, the green growth lining the road, a bridge, a concrete bridge majestically spanning across Godavari; they don’t scream at you for attention. The sights seep into you, subliminally soaking you in the weird wonder of commonplace beauty.

So what is it? Should I plan another trip? Take a dozen photographs? Probably not; no, ‘plans’ are for other places . Places that yearn for your eyes and lenses. Loud places. Vain places. No. this trip should not be planned. Another time, another day, when work calls me there, I will trace this route again; the beauty -- unobtrusive, calm and mundane.

KT 1: chilli

So friends, there is another blog out there. A "well tried" food blog is up on blogger to chronicle random stuffs that i cook, eat , like etc. you are welcome to check it http://thcosh.blogspot.in/  :)  (no post as of now, but you are welcome to check it later).

KT is basically Kakinada times: short posts every now and then about things that amuse me here.

So people in AP ( Andhra Pradesh) are known for their spicy food. After 4 months here, I have got a handle on it and now I'm pretty comfortable with it.We, two others of the same age group live in an apartment. I was the last to join the group and by then the system was already in place a maid would cook and clean and us, eat and whine. The trepidation I felt biting into the red cauliflower on the first day was not misplaced. My eyes watered and the mind played strains of violin, sad and ominous. I smiled. I cried.

In time though, it was ok, that is as long as I avoided biting on a chilli piece directly. This is probably what i would call the second phase of acclimatization: Play mine sweeper with food . I mastered the expert maze set by the indomitable beans in one month. 

We all get bored of our routine. All of us singing paeans about "mom's food" really did hate it at some point during our school days. So after mastering the mirchi, I decided the time was ripe to make my life miserable again and try my hand at cooking. Cooking, here, would mean preparing small dishes that compliment or add life to the existing meal prepared by her. (no, not adding salt and pepper). The plan was either cooking up a light breakfast say upma, rava dosa etc or a second subzi or a rasam in the afternoon etc.

So here I was, a fine Sunday morning, back from a walk, fresh, sunny etc. etc. The vegetables are bought by our maid, we don't have a refrigerator as of now, so she buys on a very day basis & we pay her monthly for those. I was still confident of finding the usual stock of "back up veg's"  or the essentials like onions , potatoes, tomatoes etc. . . so after some calisthenics in front of the range, I proceeded to check my inventory. 

No onions, oh my! no tomato too, ha!! 2 potatoes. good. what?? 3 handfulls of green chillis!! what.....

Hair

Venky on why he keeps going to the barber every quarter and how to make the barber earn every penny he gets.

In the 1900s lot of people have said great many things about hair. I will allow you to pick your favourite/inspiring quote from this list prepared by a reputed agency . You can also do a quick Google search and move to the 100th page first to get a better quote (people rarely go beyond page 3)

http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/hair

Hair is everything your life is . Fickle, failing and unreliable. Hair , so strong today might just come off with your comb tomorrow and you wouldn't even feel the prick. In no time the coiffure adorning your head goes bald. Importantly, it reminds you that you are always a slave to time.

Haircuts for some are a prized escape from the mundane and for others it is a pilgrimage (Tirupathi, Pazhani). An hour’s wait at a barber’s shop may seem like an eternity while the ten minutes after that would pass away in a matter of seconds. You come out of the shop, a better person; well rounded, close cropped, smarter and with a reduced rate of hair fall. In time the drudgery of life depresses you once again and you decide to get a haircut. The Barber calls and I must go

On my first trip to the barber, I had prepared my exposition to the last detail, to get the hair done tastefully. The barber patiently heard me out, looked at my father (who nodded surreptitiously) and continued with what he had gleaned out of it; the nod, not my exposition. This episode taught me diligence. It instigated a deep determination to grow up, build stamina and to cultivate a deep voice before I had my say in such matters. I ate my mom’s food, oiled my hair, and had ‘oil baths’ and monthly haircuts while I grew. The frequent haircuts always induced ridicule during my early morning yawns (I looked really dumb with a huge yawn and close cropped hair) and was the butt of jokes among my mates. I suffered through this, steeling myself, growing up, Hair, body and soul.

The barbs used to tire me, but, I realized the secret to independence, say on your hairstyle always had an ungainly beginning. First they mock you then your hair grows. I learnt, perseverance, discipline, commitment and slowly cultivated the belief that one day I would sport long hair. I dug deep within my hair, and fought many lone battles.

You age, the hair does grow long enough and then it becomes a test of your endurance. You wake up daily, wash your hair daily, try different shampoos daily, and finally settle down with shikakai. A haircut after such a rigorous routine gives you the much needed peace, an escape if you may, from the daily. The head feels much lighter and your levity returns back slowly.

Sometimes, there are testing times after haircuts too and this is part of the adventure. I once had a haircut from a barber at St. Thomas mount (small hill) that was so bad that there was a sense of disbelief among my friends. I was distraught. I pulled myself and my hair to grow out of this phase. The resolve I had built over the years and a bit of ego helped me get through it. I grew my hair longer and made him work through his next haircut, earning every penny of the 30 bucks I gave him.

The brashness is sometimes misplaced and you need to strike a balance. Sometimes you need to embrace socially acceptable hair styles. You can’t overdo it and turn up like Bob Marley for an interview or on other occasions where you have turned up to impress lady friends. You really need to get your hair right as this may be the difference between life and death. I remember this interview, where I had to go under the scissors after just 15 days. I knew that once I got through, I could grow it back.

The most important thing a barber can teach you is the value of communication; both verbal and non verbal and how the scissors should always be sharp. A bad haircut not only tears your hair, but also your psyche and confidence, out of its roots. But with prior preparation, careful communication and a willingness to brave the odds, you come out of the shop as a smarter and more hospitable individual.

My hair is sufficiently long now and my barber is calling.

He messed up last time and I should find another, less appalling.

The worse the haircut the better the man, - john green (Ref: link at the start)