Of People and Places

It has been so common for trains to arrive late in Hoshangabad and Itarsi that it makes me nervous to see one that is actually on time. It is as though something is not right with the journey if the train is not late by at least three hours! Once, we even had to stay overnight in Itarsi because the train was late by over 10 hours. Anyway, late trains mean more time for sketching and observing people. Indian railway stations are full of interesting characters, each one unique and with a fascinating history, if you get to speak to them. I scouted for an ideal subject in the hot, dusty train station at Hoshangabad, sketching the man on the opposite platform taking a nap. Close to me, a man in uniform waved the green flag to a passing train that thundered through the station.   I didn’t pay much attention to him. But after a while I had to. It is common in India to be openly curious about something and hover around. And that is what he did. He hovered behind me while I tried to

Near the tower of victory inside Ashrafi Mahal, you can find ruins with beautiful stone carvings. Ashrafi mahal was originally built as a Madrassa and dates back to the time the Khilji Dynasty took over administration in the fortress city of Mandu. The Ashrafi   Mahal must have had wide spacious balconies, but   now there are no traces of that. The outer walls have crumbled and the structure is sky clad. You can witness a beautiful sunset if you come here just before closing time. The flight of stairs takes you through the complex and it has been built so that one can have a direct view of the Jama Masjid across the road. This monument, along with the Jama Masjid and Roopmati’s pavilion are close to the heart of the town with its market and small restaurants and sweetmeat shops. I can only imagine the splendour of this square in the old days, especially on a full moon day. Mandu has a mysteriousness I am yet to find in any other place.

Every evening, as I board a crowded BTMC bus to get back home I see weary, tired women mindlessly watching stories on Instagram, Whatsapp and Facebook. They hold on to handrails, squeeze between what little space is left in the overcrowded bus and stand in contorted positions to look at what other people ( often strangers) are doing with their life.Some catch up on episodes of their favorite series and soaps and comedy shows as our benign service providers auto play them one after the other. Bangalore has enough traffic to make sure you binge watch these episodes and if you find a seat throughout your long journey home, well jackpot! The visuals roll back endlessly without you having to do a thing. I get a disagreeable shiver down my back. What worries me is not the fact that they are constantly on their cellphones but that they are zoned out even when they are watching something, reading something, doing something. Our lives seem to be a distracted blur.  Sometimes, when I am wai

I had heard so much about the bitter winters of the North but nothing could prepare me for the days I spent in Delhi in Winter. It is a peculiar cold that tries to claw at you- dry and treacherous. In the wee hours of the morning, this is a common sight in some of the streets in Delhi - A group of people huddling against each other trying to warm their bones in little bonfires by the side of the road. What I was so amused and happy to find was that large-hearted people in Delhi  give out vests to street dogs to help them make it through the winter. I have seen many snug gunny bags laid out for street dogs that serve as makeshift shelters.I have seen street dogs with some funky looking jackets and vests - like they are part of some Winter Fashion week :D . Apparently some colonies find street dogs curled up in the embers of last night's bonfire trying to warm themselves. 

The Women who bring rice to our plates Paddy transplanting is done exclusively by women in India. And I was interested to find that in Japan, before mechanization, transplanting by hand was exclusively done by women too while the men supervised them. There was an interesting scene in ' Shichinin no samurai'  (Seven Samurai)   by Akira Kurosawa where women stoop in the fields to plant rice in neat rows by hand, while the men sing and draw water for the fields. In Harlimath too, it is a similar scene and men prepare the land and drive the bullocks to get the field ready for the next batch of seedlings. The hired women workers assemble in brightly clad clothes with raincoats and polythene covers, neatly tied scarves topped by a Hale toppi ( A cap fashioned out of Areca leaf), and a collared shirt buttoned up over all this. They look snug and warm. They are probably going to need it because they will wade knee deep in the cold slush of the fields for most of the day whi