All posts tagged: Love

Better than perfect ?

Draw a perfect circle. Use a compass or a plotter. Now, zoom in. If you zoom in close enough, you’ll discover that it’s not a perfect circle at all. In fact, anything we create, at close enough magnification, isn’t perfect. It’s foolish to wait until you’ve made something that’s perfect, because you never will. The alternative is to continue to move toward your imaginary ideal, shipping as you iterate. Getter better is the path to better.

Food and the world on a new yogi’s mind

It was time the sun arrived when he decided going to bed again. After last night chocolate truffle the cough had soared. In his sleep he chanced upon the pizzas of fat lulu because only they had items where he could find some vegetarian ones. The voice inside him for many months had been asking him to leave dairy. Even when it is the best time to be a cow in India, he thought, milk like few other well marketed products have been projected as a necessity to humanity. So he started writing alternatives whenever any possible eatable came to his mind. He wrote it on a small diary he was keeping in the right cheek of his behind. But while on the road that led to an elite market, he saw a fruit man selling in February a watermelon. Is there something called a season ? Because time seems to have taken a back seat. But he stopped, thinking all fruits are good. When Manu Called he was counting his chewing the papaya in …

Lovers

His year began with a cold shower last valentines morning, of course it was February, of course it was cold. For many years he dismissed the love day by saying valentines’s mother was a pagan and did not believe in Christ herself, rather was in love with a tree outside her home. So he would love a tree that stood outside their home. She would rebel even thinking about going outside and say I detest this urban theatre. Every one is a clone of the other. Look a likes inside outside. He left mother for school where he found children crushing and tearing a chit that was given to them to call their parents. Later the painter came and looked at the plant pots and said no. They cannot be done. Twenty five years had passed. Then one day somebody complained about the school running in the park of a society. The notice came and school was shut. On the closing day school organised a reunion inviting all the ex parents where they served them …

Songs of the playground

It is hot in Barmer. My right cheek has swelled. Ulcers recognize heat. I am staying with amma here, a Bhopa. Last night we decided to attend Pabu ki phad. Happens rarely now. A local god. Reincarnation of Laksman. Bhopas sing and dance for Pabu. For two nights Bhopas from all across the region had come to sing and dance reciting Pabu’s story. Anada Ram was the most prolific Ravanhatta musician. He died 33 years ago. His wife, Amma never sang after that. I am here to document her son. He never learnt Ravanhatta. He wanted to be an actor. He dances for tourists coming to Jaisalmer in winter season. I have known him for eight months now. There were many other dancers from the community yesterday. Veer was going to show me one of his acts dancing on the mirror glass with fire in his mouth. He does not dance in the community. He is ashamed. I was awed last night. So were six hundred people. He got cut but still kept dancing. His …