Right now, I’m halfway through Kankana Basu’s Cappuccino Dusk. The introduction read ‘Nostalgia for the inherent shabbiness of Calcutta, for busty Bengali women in crumpled saris, for the sight of trams and for roadside tea that one sipped from little earthen pots smelling of rain and wet soil and which one smashed daintily after one finished one’s tea’ and I was enchanted and sold. I’m loving the book so much, I don’t want to finish it. Reading books by Indian authors is my new favourite thing. They’re filled with a kind of colourful imagery that leaves me completely spellbound. Plus I’ve only really read Jhumpa Lahiri and Arundhati Roy before so it’s nice to discover some new writing.
On my reading wishlist are currently Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh, Arrack in the Afternoon by Mathew Menacherry, Ravan and Eddie by Kiran Nagarkar, Dork by Sidin Vadukut and Vinegar Sunday also by Kankana Basu. If you have any recommendations, I’d love to hear them.
Happened upon a photography exhibition by a visually impaired artist named Aaliyah Kamal at Zenzi this weekend and found her stuff just stunning. Unfortunately I couldn’t find anything about the photographer or work online, which is a real pity but I’m going to keep my eyes open. The exhibition ends tomorrow.
So I have some sort of heinous blood disorder right now which is putting a ban on basically anything fun. But human conditioning insists my craving levels are at an all time high. I feel like pani puri so bad. If I had to rank my favourite Indian street foods, it would hands down be number one! If I had it my way, I’d be putting vodka in my pani puri this weekend. (Holi hai!) But instead, I’ll be eating fruit and reading Cappuccino Dusk and We Are Like This Only in bed. Loving Indian authors! My friend Lionel took a video of me ordering some the other day. Please note that you will never get these 13 seconds of your life back.
Drove down to Nashik with my friends on Saturday on what was probably the funniest roadtrip of my life – my friend Anuj makes me laugh more than anyone ever with lines like ‘it feels like another dimension in the front seat with the A/C on’, ‘OMG. Guru Krupa. It’s like veg to another level’. You had to be there. Peals. Getting there took us four hours, I was at Sula for four hours, and the drive back was four hours but it was worth it. Things we do for the music eh.
And because we got there at (magical magical) sunset, I didn’t get to run through the lines of vines and stomp on any grapes like I had romantically conjured up in my head so a return trip is in order. I got to see Jalebee Cartel live for the first time though and accompanied by saxophonist Ryan Sadri from Something Relevant, they were even better! I lost it! Danced like a madwoman. A ton of my friends were there! My friend Sushant had his first exhibition – a jazz photography collection entitled Rhythm, Greens and Blues. I drank rosé and more rosé and some chenin blanc! Although I have to admit drinking wine from throwaway tumblers is yuk and totally not the same! Please buy stemware Sula!
When I first met Akshat in Goa over New Years, I had no shoes (from partying too much), when I left he had no shirt (from partying too much). So naturally I thought he was a total dreamboat straightaway and then I discovered that he’s a brilliant photographer as well. Lots of street art, architecture, amusing and pretty things from basically everywhere, I’m betting I’d be completely jealous of his passport. Hmph.
With my plans to stay put in India, I thought it’d be nice to share the work of local artists and photographers I’ve discovered. Diti Kotecha, a Mumbai based travel and documentary photographer and graphic designer is one such talent whose work I’ve been loving. Each of her photographs tell a story about an Indian reality – joyous, sad, trivial. I like that she photographs the very things I see and wish to. Plus she loves feet, chairs and matchboxes! Nice. Click to her portfolio and blog.
Happy fucking new year! I have just had the holiday of my life in Goa. All my friends were there! We chilled on the beach or by our private pool the whole time (love the O hotel!), danced at Sunburn which was epic (EPIC!!!), went to plenty of shacks, shopped at bazaars – I have realised that Goa just might be my favourite place to shop in the whole world. I bought a rickshaw horn, countless ugly pants and sari donning Indian matryoshka dolls. I smoked so much, my voice is all raspy, I drank so much I lost my shoes. I lost my phone and got it back a few days later. I met so many good looking people. It’s only the 3rd of January and I’ve already fallen in love multiple times this year. 2010 is going to be amazing.
Sunburn! Armin van Buuren was so so good! I loved dancing in the day and light rings on all my fingers at night.
This massive abandoned tanker River Princess has been marooned at Candolim for 10 years.
Nikita at the restaurant in Amboli on our journey to Goa.
Life’s a beach at Ashwem.
I want to live in a little hut on the beach forever.
Random selection of aforementioned good looking peoples!
Diya Sarker is a beautiful girl and talented art director I just met. She lives in Bombay in a one bedroom studio, which Neville and I visited inebriated post midnight last Friday. I was in awe. Beautifully lit with fairy lights and Robot Chicken on her macbook, she has art and her own prints everywhere, a blue mural in her kitchen, lots of lovely possessions and a great selection of reading material. Two very cute street cats keep her company when they please.
I’m really fascinated with methods of cooking that I can’t do (i.e. most). I love alternative ovens for instance. Wood fired pizza from ovens like this and this is the most phenomenal thing. Anywho, so in Leh when I lost my friends (Vodafone has no cellphone coverage in Ladakh), I wandered the bazaar finding all these great little alleys with shops selling dried apricots and butchers and grocers. And then I stumbled upon this tiny bread workshop. The three owners were so polite and friendly when explaining to me the bread making process as I stood outside and watched. Which was nice, grumpy bakers don’t really do it for me. They make big batches of dough, rolling them into balls, finger pressing and flattening them. The dough is pressed with a poker against the walls of the coal fired oven which is a literally a hole in the floor. The dough sticks to the sides and when it is ready, slides off easily, freshly baked and ready for sale.
28th August, 2009. The sun was scorching and a group of maroon robed musical monks paraded across the Sindhu Ghat festival site in Choglamsar some 8km from Leh declaring it open. We found the only respite from the sun in the shade of a lonely tree, prime real estate and sharing the space, we met some of the people who were to become our best companions for the next four days. The small crowd – a mix of travellers and creatives and hippies and media all came together at 11, 500 feet with a backdrop unlike any other to celebrate local and international music in the first festival of its kind.
Vedanth Bharadwaj gave me goosebumps, his lilting voice and songs by the great poet Kabir enchanting. I loved Anna Van Riel and her cute confessional songs and stories, each a delightful confection. Shaa’ir and Func were wonderful – Monica Sharma Dogra is a slam poet gypsy goddess, I liked both their electronic and acoustic sets. I loved the dynamic between Talvin Singh (tabla) and Rahul Sharma (santoor). Even the moon danced in the sky. Sharma, talented, sexy man that he is was so expressive and amazing. Davide Swarup and Ortal Pelleg mesmerised. Portugal’s Terrakota and the energy they brought to the stage were fantastic. Austrian beatbox boyband Bauchklang were brilliant. But nobody made as big an impression on me as Kutle Khan, the morchang and khartal playing frontman from Rajasthan Roots. What a rockstar. Fucking. Hell.
There were a few glitches and hitches in the planning and execution and the turnout could have been better, but apart from swampy feet, I have nothing but good memories of the festival – the organisers, a lovely and passionate bunch of people, sure to iron out the kinks for subsequent events.
Other highlights were the beautiful solar powered film tent filled with comfortable mattresses that showcased short films each day. A water refill tent which I know did wonders to reduce plastic – I know we refilled ours at least 30 times. The food and chai tent where Tsewang, a cute 11 year old boy serenaded us. The after parties! The compostable Ladakhi longdrop for a loo. Yeah, not so much. That novelty ran out real fast.
Often, we were treated to impromptu performances. Seems everyone became a musician in the mountains. Witnessing these spontaneous jams was awe-inspiring. My absolute favourite thing were the drum circles each night. We’d gather around bonfires, artists included each person with an instrument, a circle of djembe players and two rows of percussionists behind them with Roberto Narain orchestrating the whole thing. Powerful, magical stuff.
