Five things

the hearts of sunflowers

being caught fishfaced at a moment like this

what would ordinarily be a creepy pigeon, but I can't hear it over the falling rain

banana oatmeal pancakes with honey and watermelon

drama outside my window

Way in, then way out. I like doing this for fun sometimes, reduce saturation to zero. Then new things pop out, clothes look interesting.

All of these photographs look terrible in colour.

The other thing I do for fun is add watermarks to photos and feel important.

Not to be creepy, sir, but I watch you all the time, I watch every cog and wheel turn and squeak and occasionally I see things paused while you exhale and ponder a possibility. Nothing close to this though, nothing else compares, to overwhelm one must first try to rise above mere magnificence. Which is why I watch you, to see whether you will. Maybe I'd prefer it if you didn't give it much thought; I like the world around me like that.

I vow to stop and write something I'm happy with, I vow to sit down and read some Wodehouse, I vow to dismiss dismissal. Boredom is stupid and dying of ennui merely dramatixx, both must stop.

In other news, watched Jackass - The Movie today (why. whywhy. WHY.), then ate half a block of cheese to cope with the fact that I watched Jackass - The Movie. Do I need a hug? Cue witty answer. What is this, the Italian parliament? That's borrowed, incidentally, but I bet you knew.

Rubber balloon penguin, owned for a day, sunbathing himself in the morning into a zenlike swaying consistency. Exploded minutes later, not from the sun I'm guessing.

Sustenance as of now: Garia-Golpark has evolved. If I'm lucky I get neon green, usually it's sparkly blue and red.

Raju has the kind of eyes I've always wanted, he has the smiling urchin's face I've always wanted, he has the kind of dusty skin I've always wanted. He takes us past Rishikulya to the beach and points out little specks in the distance and flaps his hands, then helps me collect rainbow-coloured shells that now lie in a plastic bag on my table, they might be mother-of-pearl but I don't want to find out they aren't.

Raju has a husky voice and a red shawl and says things I don't understand, it sounds like a mixture of Telugu and Oriya but it could be something else altogether. I say things he doesn't seem to understand either, we get by with what I've now learnt are International Gestures. IGs for what is that? And no, not there. And wait, wait, there's something in my shoe. He says he's in class three, he understands the word school, also cyclone. Because he's brought us through the cashew trees and mangroves and lots of sand right to the water I'm inclined to want to bring him along into the boat we hire to take us out to sea. But he disappears, and when we come back he's scrabbling around on the sand waiting for us, bringing out two more shells and a dead crab from his pockets.

He wants a toffee but he wants my camera more. He looks at it like it's a weapon at first and then he likes the attention, by the end of it he's making faces but don't be fooled, Raju's a gentleman. He drags us to see a freshly-caught swordfish and leads us back to his village, kicking stray objects in the sand out of his way, pausing now and then to pick up a dried fish or dig his nose or point at a solitary torn chappal lying around, and then he disappears again. Just like that. We pull out in the van and I'm still looking, only he isn't there.

When the reels are developed he looks quite different. The amber of his eyes and the shininess of his hair don't come through. But there's something quieter and more subliminal going on here, I look closer and there it is, Raju's a star.

This comes a day late but I've had it with hiding the secret romanticism.

Focussing on moss, no one shall know what this actually was, nothing but the moss.

The absence of school.

The absence of eyebrows.

Making special Sunday lunch, butter chicken included. Dadu's always been a stud.

Working class heroes, mid-eighties.

Spawn tries to be Camel.

The stud should've taught me to make butter chicken much earlier and the working class heroes should've kept the Rajasthan trip for much later but that's the thing, blood never flows the way it should. Also, now that I think of it it doesn't coagulate properly either.

So maybe I should ditch the whining.

And another.

Pappu ki gaari tez hai, Part Two.

Comfort food on bandh day. Go ahead, ask me what they are =)

Afterclap