Time to kill

Of all the epiphanies that can strike a person at utmost inopportune moments, the ones about ones own character and passions is the most monumental. There I was, reading through some of my daily customary internet garbage, that this one shook my world. Well, not something so intense, but exaggeration goes a long way in trying to make a story more digestible. Ironic, in a way. So the digressions aside, today while reading an article on the quality and experience of leisure, I realized what truly drives me.

I've always been very vocal about the fact that hard work is my drug, that I can sit for hours on end at some challenging enough task, one that tickles my grey cells and puts me in a stupor-like zone where the world seems to recede into the background. Today, it struck me that I can only be comfortable in my leisure time, a time of doing absolutely nothing "productive" in the conventional sense, when I have filled up my quota of "work" for the day/week/month.

When I'm deep in a project, working and clicking away on the mouse to make things happen on that rectangular screen, somewhere deep in the dark recesses of my being I am creating a time for leisure which is guilt free. So the question is that, do I really love working, or do I love the feeling of having "earned' the guilt free leisure time when it does actually come my way?

Has the conditioning of this capitalist world been so thorough, that I cannot allow myself a period of nothing-ness, without having deposited in the bank of workaholism? Even more worrisome is the fact that most of my free "me-time" is peppered with myriad versions of distractions and activities, which are universally considered to be fun. And today I realized a deeply latent fear of not doing anything with my leisure, as if leisure also has to be filled in and scheduled out in a likeness of the calendar at work.

Is this what I do to myself or is there a larger force at play,one that afflicts so many more in varying degrees, across all walks of life. Maybe I'll schedule an evening of not doing anything, so that can also be cancelled out of my to-do checklist.

Turning back time

The word "retro" derives from the Latin prefix retro, meaning "backwards, or in past times" – particularly as seen in the words retrograde, implying a movement toward the past instead of a progress toward the future, and retrospective, referring to a nostalgic(or critical) eye toward the past. 
The recent resurgence of all things 'retro' has me questioning the nature of the media, as well as what it says about the media consumers today. What is it about looking back into the past that seems so comfortable to us? Is it a very subliminal need to engage in processes and objects that have stories attached to them, the stories that we grew up listening to? Or is it a frustration born out of the sheer ease and ubiquity of most of today's digital technology?

According to this article, cassettes are the new(read old) media that are being considered cool again. The way we consume media, to be very honest, has changed very slightly in the past 5-6 years. We have shifted from the computer screen, to a phone/tablet/ipod screen, bringing with it a new factor of portability, but a whole new system has not emerged. If I were to try creating a mixtape, today, it would require a considerable amount of time and effort. ( I don't own a tape deck anymore) This perceived value of the object in terms of the effort and time required to create it becomes much greater than the physical object itself and will probably lend a hand into making the listening experience novel too. 

It is scary sometimes, to wonder what a world will be like, when all the media that we consume and love, is hidden away on our personal devices. These choices define us in so many ways. If I step into a stranger's house, and see a book shelf, lined with works from the authors I most respect and revere, it's sure to contribute towards our conversation. Records, Cassettes and CD's work the same way for music. Only that music doesn't exist on those formats anymore.
( I think it would be slightly creepy if one were to pick up a stranger's iPod and start shuffling through the music they own.)

I guess the point here if that the effects of media losing their tangibility are diverse and unpredictable. If I were to imagine a dystopian future, it would include people who were wired to consume media alone, on their personal devices.Sharing would recede into the background. The only entity who would truly know us, our choices and our tastes in media would be a faceless,nameless Big Brother; keeping  records of our likes and dislikes, majorly for the purpose of enticing us to buy something that they know we will appreciate. Or should appreciate.

I know books seem to be going the music way, losing their physical form slowly and existing only on a device. People say that art is free and disassociated from the form of the object that holds it. I disagree. I don't think I will ever feel that rush in my veins when I open a minty fresh book for the first time;  if the text is 'downloaded' as a 'file' on my tablet, one that I cannot smell, touch and make dog ears in.

When prose is poetry

" It’s only when the heart begins to beat wildly and without pattern — when it begins to realize its boundlessness — that its newly adamant pulse bangs on the walls of its cage and is bruised by its enclosure.To feel the heart pound is only the beginning. Next is to feel the hurt — the tearing of the psyche — the prelude of entry into the place one has always feared. One fears that place because of being drawn to it, loving it, and wanting to be taught by it. Without the need to be taught, who would feel the psyche rip?…. Without the bruise, who would know where the walls are? "

~ Kay Larson, Where The Heart Beats.

Ramblings for a Sunday morning

Much has been written, re-written and spoken about the ‘design process’ and the interpretations, discussions and opinions about it are as diverse as they are long-winded and non-conclusive. I think we as designers love that intellectual grey-area, the space between two opposing poles that holds so much possibility and choice. It is the reason why nothing in our profession is well-defined or written in stone. This induces everybody to be a part of the discourse around the subject and feel significant in their own little ways, like me, when I'm writing this piece.

From the time I stepped into the design world as a student, a good 7 years ago, I have been led to believe that everything that we do should have  streamlined process, each step leading into the other, seamlessly integrating into a final solution which is supported on an unyielding foundation of research, logic and precedent studies.

My conditioning has been such that if something comes easily to me, just popping into my head after I read a brief, I disregard it for I know it’s lacking in any sort of rational reasoning thought or study. But increasingly I have felt that some of the better things I have done, happened by accident, or when I just decided to go with the flow. It’s the age old conflict between intuition and rationale, between the left and right brain, or whatever other polar opposites one can think of.

So is it a case of me being overtly critical of anything I do, or design just isn't meant to be learnt at all? Considering that there is no “right” way to do things, a system in place which one can fall back on, how can experience ever be helpful? Every single time one is involved in a project, it might take a course so radically dissimilar than the previous one, that you have to learn and deliver on the go. Make mistakes each time, and not be afraid of them. Be a student of the subject forever, open to thoughts, processes and opinions that change and shift form like an amorphous multi-faceted being, living and evolving continuously.

Ironical as it may sound., it is this shift in perspectives, this constant questioning and analysis of what I do and why I do it that makes me believe in the validity of my choice.

Digital Hoarders

Clutter. There’s a lot that has been said and discussed about how having too many things and  too much stuff can negatively affect your life. It crams up your abode, leaving no scope for ‘white space’. It also gives valuable insights about the person and their way of life. Why do we like collecting stuff,  sometimes even the things that we don’t need or want? Maybe it is that our possessions give us a chance to exist outside of ourselves, or maybe a chance to attach myriad meanings to things that make sense only to us.

Considering that our identities are constantly being shifted from the ‘real’ to the digital realm; observing  a person’s computer, their various external HD’s and other storage devices can give us an idea of their hoarding habits. If I take my own example, I realise that I have tons of movies on my computer that I haven’t seen, books that aren’t read and music that hasn’t been on my player even once. Still, this doesn’t stop me from downloading even more of these digital artefacts, to lovingly store till the day comes when I would be motivated enough to go through them.

Somehow, having them seems more important than experiencing them. I do watch a movie once in a while or click through an e-book at express speed on a few occasions , but the ratio of the time spent in doing that is much less in comparison to the time I spend in looking for even more stuff to download and keep.

What does this say about me and countless others? Has our practice of acquiring things seeped into our digital habits too?

Just a few thoughts that mulled around in my head when I heard a few friends talking about 1 TB hard disks running out of space and my own laptop HD graph lurking in the overfull red region.

If stones could speak, what would they say?

Ahmedabad is a strangely attractive city. I say strange because its attractions (a lot of them) aren’t what one would call beautiful in the conventional sense of the word. So, yes, I visited the darwazas of the old city and the jama masjid today. Architecturally, these sites are a delight. But more than appreciating the motifs and carvings on the walls or pillars, more than marvelling about the structural strength and the workmanship of these sites; I loved the fact that they were a part of a long and colourful history, and the contrasts that were so enthralling to observe.

The roads were teeming with people, bursting at its seams with the variety of shops, goods that ranged from handkerchiefs to antique bells, from Christmas decorations to rat traps. 

Teen darwaza and the surrounding market and its gullis are a delight for any kind of shopper, the compulsive as well as the practical one. The air is filled with smoke and intermittent honking of the horn from a consistent stream of traffic that plies through these lanes. At short, sharp intervals though, one can hear a particularly loud Gujrati lady haggling with a seller or smell soap, or ittar or maybe even fresh biscuits being baked at a corner bakery place.

The darwazas stand like proud royal guards of an era gone by, watching over a city that had slowly and steadily changed its appearance and priorities over the decades. The spirit though, seems something that has undergone very minimal change at all. The people don’t seem to run, they still seem to have time to talk to each other, or maybe even smile at an unknown stranger. The darwazas- Dilli, Prem, Daryapur, Lal and Kalupar; are places of bustling activity. 

If one was to say that a sanctuary of peace and quiet existed right in the middle of Teen darwaza, I wouldn’t really believe them.But jama masjid manages to surprise me immensely. I feel gratitude for the fact that despite being a woman, I am still allowed inside the sacred premises of this wonderful mosque. The huge empty space inside, the countless pillars, the water construct in the center, the flapping of the pigeons’ wings, the atmosphere of reverence and tranquillity, the intricate and beautifully done carvings; all contribute to making jama masjid a place that is not just a building with great architecture, but an experience that needs to be sensed.

Picture: Front facade, Dilli darwaza

Those faces

Nothing much remains anymore,

Except stray snapshots of a blur;

A silhouette of a girl at the door

A fragment of the people who were..

The miniature vessels, an endless game,

Those myriad faces with no name;

Woven into young innocent memories,

Courtyard capers and fingernails with grease.

The countless wrinkles and glassy eyes,

A cloud of dust and a gleaming road

Dissolved into The Sand that flies,

Those hands that built that abode.

A story so common yet untold,

A frame bent around a sari's fold,

It takes me back to a time so tame;

To the varied faces with no name... 

~Inspired by the short story 'The Real Durwan' -Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri.

Made me think of all those people who worked around the house when I was a kid.I wonder where they are now...

"8 days on, no clues.Toll rises to 15"

That's what the headlines of a leading newspaper say today. They are referring to the blast that happened 

at German Bakery, Pune on the eve of Valentine's day.Ironic, right?

The place was one that my friends and I frequented often, to grab some really of their delicious grub.It felt weird to know that we wont sit on those wooden benches ever again.

Today, though , as I read the headlines, I realized that I didn't feel that sorrow anymore.I didn't feel anything..just a pervading sense of being passive towards all that happened a week ago.It got me thinking though.

Such events have become so commonplace in our lives that as soon as we find out that none of our friends or family have been affected, we heave a sigh of relief. We feel momentary anger and anguish, along with a sense of helplessness for a perhaps a week after; and then they gradually fade from our memory.

Scary thought. That we are evolving into people who don't care about their own countrymen, who are becoming so used to the fact that terrorism is a part of their lives that the anger against such events is diminishing.

What are we turning into?

Our own design studio

The 5 of us.We shall be awesome.

We'll do everything from print and web to motion graphics and illustration.

We'll take cool interns..and trust them to produce good work.

We will play amazing music all day and have a pantry with a fridge which has cheese and chocolate.

We shall do free work for animal shelters and NGO's.

Their will be spaces just made to go sit and think or doodle.( giant whiteboards and lots of markers too) 

We will fight, but we'll always make up.

Our studio.Lets make one.Soon.

:D

For you: Maya, Jemma, Sanju and Sherry

New life

I am just about to complete my first week at work.It feels good, though I have been alternating between

contentment and frustration.Bombay looks amazing , especially the area where I go to sit inside an AC premises.All day while I stare at my computer, I think of the beautiful structures outside, the amazing street shopping and the second hand book stalls waiting for me.I think I shall sneak out one of these days for an hour or two and have my fill of staring, browsing and buying.

Which makes me come to my first frustration: I want a decent camera.Everything I look at these days is new and I am noticing all sorts of details which I wouldn't otherwise.I want to capture them...sigh!

Work is good.I have been given a logo development assignment.I can safely say i've never worked so much for my personal projects too! But, whenever I do things under strict constraint, like this identity task, I find my mind wandering to all sorts of art practices, freedom to make whatever crap I want in whatever way I want.

ah well.Sigh! ( again)

Oh and  I miss college and my friends. Very much . I keep wanting to go to Pune, but then I realize that most of us aren't there anymore and it just won't be the same... :(

So there.I am in  a strange mood these days...wonder when it will get back to normal.( or maybe this is the new normal??)

What is it about change that makes us afraid? 

The fear of being judged, of leaving familiar territory, the people and relationships behind and wade into unknown waters; or just the fact that one doesn't know whether the change will end up being for the good or bad?

Something's snapped.
I'm glad I'm going home.Without a heavy heart this time round.
And yea, I do need to clear my head.I will.

''The road goes on and on, down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can.

Pursuing it with eager feet , until it joins some larger way;

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say..''

~ J.R.R Tolkien

Some lines just speak to me.This is one of my favorites..

I realised something about myself today.
I can only be nice to the  people whom I truly respect...I might be a little mean to the others.
My respect, I guess, is born out of admiration of the way the person goes about and accomplishes their work, the work that they have been assigned to do , what they are on this planet for.Their karma.
Work that makes me think, ''I wish I'd have done that''.
It might be anything.
But I also realize that I  probably shouldn't judge people in this manner.Who am to, really?
So I'll try being nicer.The work a person does is only small part of their personality, after all.

A 'fruitful' walk

I took my friend's camera and walked the road that i have walked umpteen times in these past 3 and a half years.( from college to the hostel).Only today, i looked at even the smallest brick for a good composition, for an interesting pattern that i could capture.

But this post is not about my photography experiments.On my way back, i stopped at a fruit stall to buy myself something for an evening snack.Yes, i eat healthy.

After i was done paying; the shopkeeper asked me if i could click a picture of his stall and print it out.I willingly agreed to take a picture , but i told him i couldn't manage a print out right there and then.I asked him what he wanted it for.He said he wanted to put up the picture on google!

"I want my stall and its name to appear in the fruit image search on google"

His comment made me marvel at the mass proliferation of the internet.And i realized that for a lot of people; google was the internet...

It just goes on to show their massive success ; that even a roadside fruit seller wants his stuff up there, for everyone to see, and for that he thinks of google.

I promised the guy that i would put the picture up on the internet.So here.

The little things matter the most.
Everything is easier when you understand that.

Lets play the blame game

I set off
Glad to be free
Knowing sometime soon
I’d find me
And if I lost my way
I could go smile
In that secret happy place
That was all mine
But today I walk
With my feet so sore
As I realize that my place
Doesn’t exist anymore.

Thoughts are so fickle,
And opinions change so fast
Amidst all the chaos
and painted facades
I hope friendships can last.
Learning to sustain in life
what matters to us most,
And knowing that some things
are best left unsaid;
As the melancholy monster
of an irreparable past,
sleeps peacefully in our head..

so here( i take the easy way out and post something i dug out from one of last year's notebooks :P )

oh and i saw the dark knight today(finally)
made me wonder..
which one is worse: evil for the sake of evil or evil for the sake of a reason(like money or revenge)?

and does having a justifiable reason lessen the intensity of the evil in any manner?
These random thoughts run through my head, here in India where bomb blast and riot stories have become stuff of Sunday morning breakfast conversations....
What is the world coming to?

Back to square one??

some things change.some don't.
I feel weirdly homesick.But, i don't want to go back either...
I don't like the freshly painted hostel.My room doesn't seem mine right now.
it'll take a while to settle down again.And to be completely happy...
post - vacation blues?? maybe....