Why does everyone want to be a photographer these days?

What is it with photography that's turning mostly everyone into a photographer these days?

Seriously, what? 

Everyone wants to be a photographer today (and I don't exclude myself from that list). If you come to think of it, the number of SLR-brandishing amateur photographers in the world has escalated way too quickly for anyone to really fathom the hows and the whys. Sorry for the misleading title, though, because nope, I'm not going to give any well thought-out explanation for this most interesting phenomenon that's currently taking the world by storm. It's definitely got something to do with the falling prices of professional cameras in the market, I think. And of course, Canon and Nikon ad campaigns have a lot to do with it too. But I'd rather leave the analysis to the experts, which I clearly am not.

So what is it about photography that's so exciting?

I don't know about others, but I for one have been smitten by photography ever since I owned my first camera. I don't remember my first - was it the 2mp Sony Ericsson phone camera or the Sony digital camera my family owned? Or was it the manual Yashica camera from the 90s? No, that can't be. My father wouldn't have let me touch it; it was his wedding present from mom and I was just a kid. But I know one thing for sure - I've always been fascinated by photographs and travel pictures. While I was an adolescent, my parents would get exasperated with me every time we'd go for a family trip. I'd always click more landscapes and sunsets than I'd click them! As we grew older and everyone got their own smartphones, the tussle lessened and they came to realize I had no interest in clicking family photos and was happier living in my own fantasy world where I was one with my surroundings.

Now I can understand the urge to post one's pictures to Facebook when one is just starting out and could do with some appreciation or acknowledgement. I shared some of my pictures too, in a cheesy album called 'My tryst with the camera', while I was in first year of college. But the practice quickly spread and there were so many of those albums on Facebook that I never revisited mine to add more work. I rather posted them as part of my travelogues and review posts on the blog, and saved the rest up on my hard disk. I sometimes revisit the pictures from my travels and smile at the memories of old times.

And that, finally, brings me to the gist of it all. Memories and moments. The entire purpose of photographs is to keep alive the memories of old times, of places and of people you encounter in life. And that's not even it. Sometimes a picture can evoke countless emotions and thoughts in your mind, transporting you to a heavenly realm where beauty manifests itself in every atom. To be able to elicit such passion and joy in another person through a work of mine is what spurs me on in my photographic journey. As a step in that direction, I've made a portfolio of sorts on Behance.net. Since I get little time to write, I'm running behind on some pending travelogues. Until I don't post here, you can visit my albums there to see the world through my eyes. 

As the Chinese genius Confucius has rightly said,

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.”

I know I'm not half as good as even the most mediocre photographers out there. But I also know that I see beauty in everything around me, and that experience is the best teacher. So I trudge on in life, my faithful Canon 600D slung over my shoulder, with stars in my eyes and wind in my hair. I'll let life happen to me and tell you how it was.

~

Disappointed that this post had no pictures? That's because I have something even better for you. The Sony World Photography Awards, fellas! Although I went through many of the submissions, and had my mind completely blown over, here's a lowdown on the 15 best pictures. Check them out here, and you can thank me later with tears in your eyes. As a sample, here's one of the best from the lot.

Cute Balinese orangutan with his homemade biodegradable umbrella, anyone? I'll have one for me, please, thank you.

P.S. I realize in hindsight that I've mentioned Sony thrice in the above text. This isn't a sponsored post, people, just in case you thought otherwise. I am not an ambassador of Sony, and the kanjoos Sony-wallas have not paid me a single paisa to write this (though they certainly should have). Disclaimer done. Ciao now!

Face to face with the man behind 'The Frog and the Nightingale'

I've been a writer for over 5 years. I know I'm probably repeating this, but it's just so astonishing that I sometimes can't believe it's been that long. It's been an incredible journey, and there's still so much more to do and learn! I started writing professionally on a whim some three years back when I was approached one day by the directors of an upcoming travel portal to freelance for them. Before that, I'd always pictured myself as a published writer sometime in the future. Signing copies, delivering talks, being appreciated for my works the world over. That has always been the dream. But as I began doing more of freelance work, my blog took a hit. The quality and frequency of posts on my blog began depreciating. Very soon, I had started doubting myself, writing less, thinking but not translating the ideas into good pieces.

In hindsight, I also realise I was reading very few books during that time. I just didn't have the time, what with all the writing work and exams. But that didn't dissuade me from attending social gatherings, especially those related to literature. Along came Penguin Spring Fever - an annual event where writers, journalists, and other famous people come to read from their books, deliver lectures, hold workshops and so on. I was impressed by the line-up of events that particular year. And so I turned up one evening at the open air amphitheatre where Vikram Seth, the man himself, was scheduled to read from his book Beastly Tales. I took along my closest friend who, although not much of a reader himself, was a great supporter of my dreams of being a writer.

By God, was I not completely awed the moment Vikram Seth walked in. The man just doesn't seem to age! With a humble air, he settled on the lone sofa in the middle of the stage. He talked a little about his book, its various editions, and some other stuff that I'm afraid I cannot recall now. It was when he finally flipped open the hardcover edition of Beastly Tales and began reciting a poem from it that I thought I'd died and gone straight to heaven. The man is known the world over for his eloquence. It sure bowled me over! After a couple of poems, he read out his final one - The Frog and the Nightingale. Waves of nostalgia came crashing down on the arid sands of my overworked brain. That was one of the most beautiful poems I had studied in my English class in high school. I still remembered parts of it vividly, but Seth's emphatic voice lent a new depth and charisma to the lines.

"Well I charge a modest fee."
"Oh! " "But it won't hurt, you'll see"
Now the nightingale inspired,
Flushed with confidence, and fired
With both art and adoration,
Sang - and was a huge sensation.
Animals for miles around
Flocked towards the magic sound,
And the frog with great precision
Counted heads and charged admission.

The reading was followed by a round of Q&A. Through his answers to people's questions, Seth gave out a lot about his life, travels, journey as a writer and the ups and downs. For me, his life story was as inspiring as one would say Milkha Singh's or Mary Kom's is. Before that, I had come to love his epic novel A Suitable Boy. But that night, my respect for Vikram Seth, the person, grew manifold as well. As the evening drew to a close, it was announced that he would be signing copies outside. That struck me as lightning; I realised I didn't have a copy of any of his books in my hand. I rushed outside and looked here and there. Yes, there was a counter retailing his books! I made a rush and bought a copy of Two Lives, a biographical novel chronicling the lives of his great aunt and uncle as well as his own life during his years in Europe.

There was a long line of fans waiting outside to get their books signed. I was in a fix. It was 9.30 pm already and my parents were calling to ask why I wasn't home yet. I just couldn't think of leaving without an autograph after coming so close to meeting one of the greatest writers our country has today. So I stood there in the line, fretting, while my friend said he'd do something. And he left. After a couple of minutes though, he came hurrying back and asked me to follow him. I did, only to be told that he had cornered Mr. Seth and had made up some absurd reason as to why he needed to sign my book right away. And then he took me right up to the author and pushed me forward.

I was flummoxed. I was standing right in front of Vikram Seth! He greeted me, and I thrust my book forward along with a card that had my name on it. He started walking towards the table to pick up a pen, but stopped midway and asked me a question instead. "Where do you have to be so urgently that you couldn't wait a little longer?" I had been prepped up beforehand, so I easily blurted out the perfect alibi. He looked at me, and emphasised, "Are you sure, young lady? Look me in the eye and tell me you're speaking the truth." A chill ran down my spine. I was making up lies in the face of one of my favourite authors. Exhilarated, I reassured him that it was true. He smiled, an all-knowing, smug kind of smile. And he proceeded to sign my book and ask me to "run along" so as not to be late.

I thanked him profusely then, and I thank him profusely even now in my heart for being such a great inspiration to me. Meeting him that day, talking to him, no matter for how short a duration, instilled in me the confidence I needed at that point to fuel my dreams. It made me realise how down-to-earth and real some of the best authors are. They're as human as you and I. And yet they've achieved great heights because they worked hard and didn't get discouraged in the face of failure. This little encounter filled me with the hope that someday I shall be on the other side too, signing books and looking people in the eye, seeing through their little lies.

P.S. While writing this post, I realised I did write about this experience earlier too. Check it out here. I promised in that post that I won't tell how I got Vikram Seth to sign my book. Well, 2 years hence,I guess I finally was ready today to tell that story after all.

Stepping out into the world.

My life is cliched and I make no bones about it. I am your typical Delhi-born, Delhi-bred girl. My schooling was completed here, and so was my undergraduate degree. So many of my friends left for other cities, some went abroad as well. I managed to get admission in one of the city's best colleges. And so, I stayed home. In many ways, it was a good thing too. No financial burden on my parents, more valuable time spent in my beloved city of birth, and of course, gharwalon ka pyaar. 

But by the time I turned 21, I had started craving adventure. Independence. I longed to be on my own, to carve a niche for myself in the outside world. I wanted my cliched life to change. I longed to step out of the warm cocoon of family living and fend for myself. I was already earning enough, through tuitions and freelance writing, to cover my expenses. It was just the lack of opportunity to experience the world on my own, unencumbered, unfettered, that bothered me. And I found myself to blame. I could have worked harder and secured admission in a college outside of Delhi, like so many other friends did. If not, I could also have dropped a year after school to try again. But I had no patience anymore. So I settled for the next best thing, which was unfortunately in the same city. 4 more years of sheltered home life thus got etched onto my life's scroll.

In the last semester of my engineering, I eventually realized I wanted to become a civil servant. It had been my mother's life wish ever since I'd been a kid. Not mine though. I kept avoiding having to think about it all my life. I told her I don't like the prospect of being an IAS officer, working amidst hundreds of government files, becoming a 9-to-5 servant of the system. And yet, when the time came and I had to decide where my life goes from here, I chose the one thing I had always given least preference to. The one and only thing my mother always thought was made for me. You cannot imagine her surprise, her boundless joy, at being told of my career choice!

So I sat for the UPSC prelim exam alongside my end semester exams. And I cleared it. Five months to the main exam - the one people take a year and a half to prepare for - and I had absolutely no clue what to do. I was still living at home; I'd go to the neighbourhood library to study. But the exam I was appearing for required much more concentrated study and a strategic approach. It seemed certain I won't make it that year, and I had all but resigned to this realization.

And then the miracle happened.

One of my teachers heard that I had made it, and offered me the unsolicited advice that changed my life. He asked me to move to Jamia Millia Islamia to prepare for the main exam. As I learned from him that afternoon, the university was running a residential coaching program for IAS aspirants and I could get in, now that I had cleared the prelim exam. I was skeptical at first, but he convinced me. I in turn convinced my mom, and within a week, on the 21st of August 2013, I moved into a hostel room at Jamia and began my studies anew. Never having lived away from home for this long before, everyone expected me to be homesick or at least take some time to adjust. But voila! It came completely naturally to me. Friends in the hostel assumed I was a seasoned hosteler. Whenever I'd mention that I live in Delhi and this is a first for me, they'd be shocked. I settled in like this was what I was meant for.

I credit my moving away from home as the ultimate game-changer in my life. Don't get me wrong; I am not a deviant who was craving to get away from home to unleash her wild side, or something. But I strongly believe that people only discover themselves when they get out on their own. Buy their own groceries, wash their own clothes, clean their rooms on their own. Interact with people on their own terms, learn to live in a diverse community, and to handle situations single-handedly if need be. It teaches you courage, independence and self-reliance. And it often brings out the best in you. While in the hostel, I met some really great people, learned to study on my own, realized the joys of disciplined living and of doing my own chores. I also got a lot of time to myself and it helped me put my life back into perspective.

Foremost, I understood the importance of family as the strongest support system. It is only when you're away from them that you realize, whether distant or close by, they are always indispensable to your life. But moving away from them is also often necessary for you to truly find yourself. I am grateful for having got the opportunity to start a new life when I most needed it. I wish everyone would get the blessing of a new start at least once in their lives.

We're together in everything.

Life teaches you a lot of lessons, and often at times you least expect it to. I learned one such lesson this past month during a family trip to Himachal Pradesh. But first, some context.

Ever since the travel bug bit me some years ago, I have wanted to travel alone. I begin and end almost every single day with the hope that some day, not too far off in the future, I'll be able to pack my bags and leave. Without a specified date of return, without an address to write to. Just launch myself into the world with nothing or no one to pull me back. That's the dream.

But I have yet to gain enough freedom and financial independence to be able to realize this dream. Thus, in the meantime, I travel with my family every now and then. And by Joe, have I not travelled extensively with my folks over the years! Just within the last two years, I have been to Dharampur (HP), Agra, Jaipur, Goa, twice to Bombay and most recently to Pathankot (Punjab), Dharamshala and Dalhousie (both in HP). It's been great, all of it.

There has been, however, a nagging feeling on each of these trips. A feeling that I was not "travelling", but in fact just taking along all my baggage, troubles and little scruples of everyday life to whichever destination I travelled to. I love solitude. And on a holiday, I like to have as much time to myself as I can. To read, possibly find inspiration to write, to enjoy the sights and sounds of the place and to introspect. But on a family trip, I'd hardly ever get time to do any of this. My mom likes to 'plan' stuff while on vacation. How to beautify our home, how to divide chores amongst ourselves, what to wear on the upcoming wedding in the family, which spots to visit the next day, logistics, et al. Meanwhile, my elder sister likes to click truckloads of pictures (and mind you, not landscape shots) and watch television. My dad likes to watch television, for the most part, and take part in whatever my mother and sister are currently doing or talking about.

Which leaves me craving for some privacy and solitude. As I mentioned, I like to read and write, think, explore my surroundings and just generally relax and not indulge in anything that takes me back to Delhi, back to my everyday life. But I'm never really able to do any of that. So family trips often leave me bummed out a little. Not to be construed as a complaint though! I am thankful to my family and to the Almighty for blessing me with so many opportunities to see new places. And I love my family, no matter what. But I'm somewhat different in my tastes and interests. So being thrown together with the rest of my family members in 2 rooms on a holiday in an exotic location, and having to indulge in activities I abhor, isn't my ideal of a great vacation.

But all of this changed last month in Himachal. The trip was different this time; it was great in all respects. It was an unplanned sojourn - we didn't have our itineraries set for each day beforehand. Depending upon the weather and the mood, we either stayed in all day or set out to explore the place according to our comfort. I even managed to read nearly half a novel during the seven days I was there. We experienced incessant rains, we witnessed snow. We clicked some great photographs too. And for a change, instead of cringing at the prospect of clicking everybody's pictures, I was more than obliging to click as many as I was asked to. Why, because I had my brand new Canon 600D in tow! I was happy to exercise my photographic skills in every way I could. In the Himalayan climate, everybody instantly transforms into a more beautiful version of themselves. And the breathtaking locales lent such unspoiled magic to the pictures - they turned out just perfect.

I also discovered how to click selfies with my DSLR. And to click selfies with my family was probably the most fun thing I did on the entire trip. We laughed, we smiled, we posed insanely and we held each other's hands to avoid falling flat on the snow. It was a complete riot. I loved it. We all loved it. Here are my favourite pictures from the trip (clicked en route to Khajiar, 22 km uphill from Dalhousie).

Selfie time!!

Okay, my eyes are closed. But who cares?

And so, when the trip ended and we boarded the train from Pathankot to New Delhi, I sat back and reflected. Was this trip a success? Yes, it was. Did I not enjoy? Why, yes, I had an awesome time. Did I learn anything from this experience? Plenty. But foremost, I learned that family is family. We may differ in our choices and perceptions, we may not see eye to eye on most things. But we are a single unit and we're together in everything. And it's possible to have the most memorable time of my life, with my family, in whichever place I choose to. I just have to find my happiness in our togetherness. And I think I just did.

This trip was a really memorable one. I wish for many more such times to come. Just my family and I. Together in everything.

Visit Housing.com to make memories of your own.

The singing duck (in my head)

Imagine a duck walking ahead of you, down the path in the neighbourhood park, crooning to itself in Daffy Duck's voice:

 

"Chala jaata hun, kisi ki dhun mein

Dhadakte dil ke taraane liye

Milan ki masti bhari aankhon mein

Hazaaron sapne suhaane liye" 

No, seriously, imagine that duck singing Kishore da's classic lines in its duck voice. Swaying its head from side to side, being all dude-like.

Now you know what's been going on in my head ever since I took this picture at Lake Park, INA. Am I insane, imaginative or stoned? Go figure.

Mystical Himalayas and the wild, wild rain.

I feel tired, rested and on top of the world, all at the same time. My incredible week-long Himalayan vacation came to an end over 3 days ago but its memories are crystal clear in my head. The vacation was as rejuvenating as it was inspiring. There was snow, there was rain, there were mountain peaks and rainbows. And I got some really wonderful pictures to bear witness to what an amazing place Himachal Pradesh is, and what beautiful weather we had there last week.

Part I: Dharamshala

For the first 5 nights of the trip, we stayed at The Exotica Resort in Dharamshala. The hotel is perched atop a hill and our balcony afforded a breathtaking view of the entire city. Dharamshala is quite a small city in fact, with few attractions to entice tourists. There's a world-famous cricket stadium, the headquarters of the Dalai Lama tucked away in Mcleodganj (Upper Dharamshala) and a few temples here and there. But every view of the lofty Himalayas it offers is worth the money spent in visiting this tiny little hill station. The Tibetan vibe and Buddhist culture you encounter in Mcleodganj are also unlike anything you've ever seen before.

I consider myself lucky to have been in Dharamshala in the first week of March. Why, because it was snowing heavily in Jammu & Kashmir and consequently, most of North India was experiencing rains. And the rains and the Himalayas form a combination as heady as they come! Once the heavy showers subsided there was some wonderful shadow-play on the distant mountains by the sun and the clouds. One minute, I could clearly see this far-off snow-clad mountain showing its head over its neighbouring peaks. And the very next minute, it was gone! Poof! Cloudy mists ate it up; only to let it show again after a while in all its beautiful snowy glory. I swear I could sit out there, on that porch, all day everyday until I couldn't remember what day it was. I was that spellbound.

The clouds would go rushing across the sky at my very own eye level.

For the first three days, there was incessant rain all day and night. It was extremely cold, yet very enjoyable sitting on the balcony watching the rain drops and admiring the enhanced colours of nature all around.

The sun's rays filtering through the dense, unending cloud cover to cast wild shadows over the vast landscape.

A lone bird trying to find its way in the cloudy skies.

That moment when the dark rain clouds finally decided to call it quits and made a hasty retreat.

AND! A hailstorm! And a really heavy one at that too.

And of course, I saved the best for the last. The most glorious rainbow I ever saw. No editing, just the magnificent colours cast by the sun.

Head over to my Instagram and Facebook pages for more pictures from my Himalayan sojourn. I'll be writing again soon, with more pictures and more stories from the seven best days I've so far had in this year. Stay hooked!

Finally - the World Book Fair 2015!

Sometimes it's hard to believe I've been writing for the last five years. Yes, that's how old my blog becomes on the 28th of this month. And to think I've been reading for more than 4 times as many years - it's surreal. The very sight, touch and smell of a book in my hand is like opium in the hands of an addict. I cannot imagine my life without books. I'd literally be lost. And yet, the most embarrassing and unimaginable fact about this whole lifetime of reading and writing is that I haven't been to the World Book Fair even once. You read that right. Not once. I once visited the Delhi Book Fair, though, but that doesn't count, because it lacked the charm of an international book fair. The world book fair kept eluding me every year - most of the times I'd have exams, at other times I'd have to be somewhere else. But all that is in the past now. 

Because I finally got to pay my obeisance at the World Book Fair 2015 yesterday - the last day of the event, no less. There were books and only books everywhere I could see. A lot of book lovers and fellow fanatics like me too, which made it totally my kind of social gathering. And it was pure, unadulterated fun.

I visited many different publishers' stalls and drooled over many books. But try as I might to control my urges, I always found myself gravitating towards the 'classics' section, be it at Penguin, Harper Collins or Jaico. There's just something these classic works had that modern day writers can simply not recreate or imitate, no matter how they try. They cannot paint a faithful picture of the past the way writers like Jane Austen, Anton Chekhov or Charles Dickens could. And that's what makes them a separate league of their own. I am a fan of the classics, though I appreciate contemporary writers like Jhumpa Lahiri, Vikram Seth and Amitav Ghosh almost as much. On the contrary I have a cousin who reads only classics and considers modern Indian writing pointless and worthless. I hope to be able to sway him someday.

Now for the last six months of so, I've been on a self-imposed moratorium from buying any more books. I already have at home two shelves full of the most amazing books lying unread, gathering dust. I haven't been able to finish even two books in their entirety in the three months that have gone by since my upsc main exams got over. One might wonder, what for did I visit the book fair then? But I'm sure book-lovers would understand - the very sight of so many books at one place, not to mention stationery, food and the rare prospect of meeting a writer or two if luck allows, is enough for a book-lover to go running to the book fair, come storm or snow. In my case, the moratorium didn't last very long either. Despite restraining myself to the best of my ability, I ended up buying three books that emptied out my pockets for good. But I had my reasons for each of the purchases, your honour, if you would please let me explain:

1. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Because I gifted my most beloved copy of this most beloved novel to a no-less-beloved friend of mine a couple of years ago. And I cannot have a bookcase without a copy of PnP in it, can I?

(Read my review of this book here.)

2. A House for Mr Biswas by V S Naipaul

Because I have a record of sorts - for having read all of the Man Booker prize-winning Indian and Indian-origin authors' books. I have read Kiran Desai, Arundhati Roy, Aravind Adiga and Salman Rushdie (British-Indian). The only one left on the list is Sir V S Naipaul, the tempestuous and controversy-courting novelist from Trinidad and Tobago (but with an Indian father). So here we go.

3. The World's Greatest Short Stories by Jaico

Because I aspire to start my writing career with a short story collection. For that I need to hone my skills, and who better than the greatest masters of the art to learn and get inspired from?

One of the rare occasions when yours truly gets clicked and decides to upload the result on the blog as well. Enjoy the rare sighting.

And the mandatory murder of the English language without which a local Indian food menu would simply be incomplete. "Bolls" totally takes the cake.

With such a title and cover picture, why the heck not? Let's buy it.

Thank God for my camera, or else I'd have ended up buying books until my debit card and pocket were emptied of all my life's savings. Believe it or not, I did use up all the cash I had and went searching for an ATM all around the Pragati Maidan premises (which by any given standard are huge) in the sweltering heat. Fortunately or unfortunately, the ATM I eventually found out was not functional and the nearest functional one was at the metro station a kilometre away. So I had to be content with whatever I'd got so far. There was a  notebook they were selling at the Roli Books stall on which you could get your name stamped. For sheer lack of handy cash, I missed out on getting one for myself - and that remains the only regret I have. Otherwise the day went perfectly. I had a great time with my (highly irritating but awesome) best friend. We browsed, we bought, we ate, we laughed and we chatted till sundown. 

I hope this was a precursor to the many more visits I'm going to make to the world book fair in the years to come. Hopefully someday, one of my own books will grace the shelves at the fair and I'll be attending as an author and not a mere reader. Amen to that!

P.S. It was heartening to see a lot of parents and kids at the book fair. The children's sections at all the stalls were jam-packed! It was good to be thus assured that the practice of reading books isn't getting replaced by other distractions like gadgets, gaming and social media anytime soon. Parents still recognize the importance of books in a child's life and their growing up process. Cheers to such wise parents, and to their lucky kids!