Dada's Sketchbook

The Joys (and Mess) of Cohabiting

Sun, 17 Dec 2023 13:31:36 +0530

The Joys (and Mess) of Cohabiting

It’s not like I haven’t been writing. I’ve been writing checks, making to-do lists and marking them done. Groceries devoured in record time. That’s the soundtrack of our first year building a home together. Not exactly Hemingway, but M, curled up on the sofa with a mismatched mug, makes it feel like a symphony. We’ve been learning the waltz of cohabitation, two souls navigating the intimate choreography of shared laundry baskets and whispered secrets.

Our new home is etched with the stories of two lives merging, a tapestry woven with shared laughter and the quiet mending of old wounds. It hasn’t been easy, this learning to breathe in each other’s air, to navigate the uncharted territory of shared vulnerability. There are days when silence hangs heavy, a storm brewing in the unspoken spaces. But then, a hand reaches across the breakfast table, a hesitant smile breaks through the clouds, and I remember: vulnerability, like love, is a shared space. And with M beside me, even the roughest storms feel like a chance to rebuild, stronger, together.

Jaggery

Sun, 02 Apr 2023 18:11:20 +0530

An excerpt from Rabindranath Tagore’s poem “Haat” goes-

“Kumor paarar gorur gadi
Bojhai kora kolshi hari”

This roughly translates to –

“The potter’s bullock cart on the bumpy road,
carries many pots and vessels, I’m told.”

Hari is a terracotta pot, common in rural Indian households. So what’s in these pots? Well, in a misty winter morning, a ten-year-old me wondered the same while walking on the kuccha road that leads out of the village, towards the paddy fields. Accompanying me were my cousins and aunt. The sun was still waking up, and dense fog made it hard to see beyond a couple of hundred meters. I distinctly remember that this fog smelled like water and petrichor. A smell I haven’t encountered in long, living in cities where dense pungent fog have caressed the inner walls of my airways.

The path was damp and cold from the morning dew. Droplets had pearled on grass. I was walking, not knowing where we were going. Through chattering teeth, we were appreciating the previous night’s feast.

After a few minutes of walking through the dense fog, we came across the hut of a shuli or date palm tree tapper. Wispy smoke was emanating from an iron kadhai on an unoon (clay oven) fired with dried dung cakes or ghutey. He explained, this was a fresh batch of date palm tree sap or raw jaggery or gur, cooking slowly. A few earthen pots were kept nearby, filled with older batches cooling. The shuli, a farmer by day, was smoking a bidi in the cold. I was too young to recall his name, but what I do recall is the taste of freshly brewed jaggery. And you know it’s fresh because he got it out of one of the earthen pots kept aside. It was pure, unadulterated jaggery. The kind of pure that makes your throat sting as it goes down.

Being a Bengali, my heart beats faster as the month of Poush comes to an end. Poush Parbon is a festival we all eagerly await, celebrating the sun’s journey into Capricorn as per the Hindu astrology. It is an occasion where we express gratitude for the harvest season and relish the sweets that are prepared with seasonal ingredients like gur. In Bengal, where agriculture has always been the lifeline of the people, this festival holds a special place in our hearts. As the day approaches, our homes are filled with the fragrant aroma of nolen gur, which we buy from local grocery stores and sweet shops.

Pithe, a delicacy made of rice flour filled with coconut soaked in nolen gur, is passed around among family, friends, and neighbours. We savor patishapta, a thin crêpe made of rice flour and filled with coconut and nolen gur. Gur, has been used in Bengal for ages and probably even predates cane sugar in the region. When I was a child, the only thing that made me look forward to the biting cold winters was nolen gurer roshogolla, a spongy, melt-in-your-mouth dessert soaked in nolen gur syrup.

Nowadays, these sweets are available throughout the year, and gur is often found in a more basic form, mixed with sugar and turned into crumbly powder. So when I take a few teaspoons of this powder and mix it in my morning coffee, I don’t really find that familiar jaggery flavour any more. The moments are rather bittersweet.

Passionately, Delhi

Thu, 16 Feb 2023 23:18:39 +0530

See, I don’t really feel that Delhi is rude. It’s just passionate. Passionately arguing, cursing, party-shartying, foodie-ing, hustling, protesting, shopping, bargaining, adjusting, loving, helping, donating, feeding and most importantly, soldiering on. As the city of dreams for the larger part of north India, Delhi absorbs you, in its own prickly hospitality.

Before I landed, I had heard a lot about the capital. The people – rude, the air – toxic. Yet, twenty minutes after being carried to the Rajdhani by the Rajdhani, I was already at The Rajiv Chowk Metro Station. Everyone walked busy, dressed sharp, looking important. It felt like I was in New York. Made sense if Mumbai would be L.A. and Kolkata can well, aspire to be London.

The city is as diverse as the people it nurses. During my stay there, I could make out three rough segments of the city.

The Sarkaari

The clean wide roads, komorebi, beautiful boulevards with golden sunshine in the day and amber lighting in the night, red sandstone structures, absence of multi-stories, lush gardens colorful flowers, CRPF checkpoints and touristy beings.

The Business Class

Posh neighborhoods. Buildings like Tetris blocks with clean glass and wooden facades, fans-and-ferns on the balcony, sunlight is a luxury, dog walkers with exotic breeds (only) strolling on what little space the jet-black SUVs have excused, small patches of greens in the gated neighborhood where the sun seldom shines. It’s rather peaceful since people talk in whispers.

A bit of a blanket statement

The naukri, chaakri – suburbs. This is what looks like noise on the satellite imagery. Buildings huddled together, holding their shoulders close, often overlapping each other, hundreds of overhead wires blocking whatever sunlight filters down to the streets. The streets that are forever damp and dark. You look down and find confetti! Look closer. It’s either Vimal or Kamla Pasand or Pulse. Buzzing with broadcasts of television or private family feuds. Right on the edges, you’d easily find slums and small dump yards or an unapologetic mix of both.

Having left the city, it’s not like I miss Delhi every day. My lungs thank me with every single breath. However, there are certain things that Delhi just does the best. There hasn’t been any single weekend when we were out of options for places to go or restaurants to try out. When it comes to food, the veg-nonveg mix and specially chaat, Delhi is unparalleled. The public transport is massively underrated and pocket friendly. Positioned close to the erstwhile silk route, Indraprastha is one of the best places to buy. From mall-only deals to flea market steals, you’ll find it all. I do plan to return to Delhi time to time just for the shopping-amusement experience it has to offer or better even, just to joyride around the city on the metro using the card I proudly retain!

99 Types of dosa, excluding you.

Sun, 29 Jan 2023 16:00:29 +0530

99 Types of dosa, excluding you.

thecollectibles:Art by JEFFRI HONESTA Alberto Mielgo might...

Wed, 04 Jan 2023 16:21:59 +0530

thecollectibles:

Art by JEFFRI HONESTA

Alberto Mielgo might have been one of the most influential digital artists of this decade.

Sketches from November

Fri, 30 Dec 2022 12:56:23 +0530

From the platform of a busy-ish Monday Morning, Saket.

Salient co-workers.

Roomie forever on his coding/gaming hot-seat. Ugrasen ki Baoli on the right.

Kicking the virus

Thu, 08 Dec 2022 12:56:20 +0530

I tried. I tried to stay on my office chair from 10 to 10. My eyes strained, watered and I stood up. The introvert within wept, but my Covid-19 brain was gasping for some fresh air, drowned by the second wave. I caught up with old friends. Fortunately they were staying nearby and were playing football regularly. I hauled my heavy eight-year-old Hercules Blazer IC out of my home and my heavier nervous self on it – making my way to the field nearby.

I spent the next half hour masking my nervousness behind warm up drills and handshakes with old pals. Returning to my left wing back position after so long felt burdensome on my rusty post-Covid lungs but the mid-June drizzle helped cool things down. With a pinch of beginner’s luck I managed to score a goal from a corner kick (What!?) Honestly, I had surprised myself on that one. The match however, ended in a stalemate, serving justice to the casual friendly format.

I rode this confidence to the ground for the rest of the stay-at-home season. Shortly after, hauling the old Blazer IC started feeling like more-than-warmup itself and I would tag along on Kaushik’s Honda at a mandatory excessive 90 odd kilometers per hour serving validation to the 220 cc engine. Stamina ++

The running and joy always mattered more than the goals or wins.

Pages from Shillong

Sun, 07 Aug 2022 22:37:57 +0530

North East Hill University (NEHU) in Shillong was a delightful visit last year. I spent the little of the amount I got off during the day by sitting near the lake, listening to the orchestra of the geese.

One evening, I tried the tea from an on campus tea shop. The tea was sweet, and I was low on blood sugar. It was sunset, and I could see mist slowly settle on the hills in front of me. I didn’t get much cellular reception there, thankfully.

Things haven’t been boring

Sun, 10 Jul 2022 13:12:44 +0530

Rather, they’ve been breezing past me like I’ve been stuck in warp mode. Moments have been fleeting, and I can barely remember what I did yesterday. I draw significantly less now, my sketchbook that I proudly acquired in a local flea market lies in my bag most of the time waiting to be grasped and flicked open and marked upon. I’ve come upon the stuff of Eden without a dongle though; Wacoms are beyond reach. Consuming more bits than words. Running less and lifting more. Sleeping a good eight hours every day.

Work is fun. Can’t say I struggle to stay in touch with friends and family, but the pack has grown tighter and more real. Simultaneously, have become numb to the coarse sand and cement texture of the capital’s suburbs; I’m more used to clay and leaves. The air is spicier, the noise follows suit. Suits are aplenty under beacons, but each day I dread more, paying for them.

Hope. That’s all.

Chaara Puti

Wed, 16 Mar 2022 20:28:14 +0530

As a kid, I used to visit my maternal village in Bengal a lot. I still clearly remember the day I first tried fishing. A few friends of mine, from the Santhal community were expert at catching tiny “Puti” and “Chara” fishes from a fresh water canal and helped me try my hand at it. They used to carry tiny balls of atta (flour dough) in their pockets and use it on homemade fishing rods made with branches and nylon ropes gathered from the fences of farms. I remember watching in awe as the kids would fashion themselves a tasty side-dish for lunch in a matter of a few minutes. The small fishes are heavenly when fried crispy and served with chopped onions and steaming white rice. Strangely I still remember the smell of the homes with thatched roofs and mud floors with cow-dung layering where I enjoyed many such meals.

I couldn’t manage to catch any fish but surely contributed to losing much of the bait in the water.

Strokes in Space

Mon, 07 Mar 2022 18:03:37 +0530

When I first saw Goro Fujita’s Quill VR work on my Insta feed, it instantly hit me like a gust of fresh air. Although created and rendered in an otherwise standard looking 3D space, the objects and world in the visuals had their own character. It was a bit uncanny, since we are used to much more clean and sterile stuff on 3D. These animated drawings, were just that. They retained the hand-drawn quality and splendor with the added freedom of being in a 3D space, allowing more flexibility in terms of camera work. But that’s something you’d get once you pay a premium price for a VR headset, the software and the powerful workstation that can support it. Naturally, it was out of reach.

Then I coincidentally came across the works of another Japanese artist, Gaku Tada.

The guy had conjured magic and had managed to create a beautiful watercolor look and got it running in real-time. This pointed me towards the prime suspect on which it could have been executed— Blender. His work was enchanting to say the least and got me into Grease pencil, a tiny but powerful corner of Blender I had not explored in the past.

And granted, the learning curve was a bit steep for the first week but once I got a hang of things (thanks to the lovely breakdowns by Gaku, Sophie, Kevandram, Lucasz and a few others and the resources on blender cloud) , it felt liberating to draw in 3D space and animate those drawings as well. And, these are a few works I came up with:

Now I certainly won’t say that it’s an easy alternative to something like Quill VR, but with the Blender subscription coming at a literal cost of goodwill, and there being nothing that comes close to it, it’s something in itself.

It’s a lovely playground to dabble in NPR, I dig the natural rough aesthetic, the resulting liberating freshness and delight.

Pages from 2018

Fri, 25 Feb 2022 12:00:56 +0530

Colorful Noodles.

Fri, 04 Feb 2022 20:38:57 +0530

Traveling within a city usually tends to become a hassle specially if it’s far distance, you’re an outsider and you’re on a budget. Commuting in the capital was largely a delight thanks to the lovely colorful strands of noodles spread all over and even outside the city. Although the Pink line was close to my heart for more than one reason, I enjoyed the punctual Yellow line too. The older Blue, Red and Yellow routes run Bombardier rolling stock which have a very soothing warm lighting.

What’s more soothing were the dot matrix displays running serif typography. There was something deeply satisfying in watching the beautifully crafted letterforms glide across the displays specially when in comparison to the LCD panels in the more modern Hyundai Rotem rolling stock. Granted the LCD displays are much more functional, in displaying various kinds of information at the same time, being easy to customize and monetized but there is something about the carefully arranged dots in the serif display that just feels welcoming, warm and human.

The soft curves of the serif work better with the Devanagari script and the use of color seems far more deliberate.

Other stations also use the dot-matrix display boards but with Sans Serif blood flowing in them. I’ll leave it to you to decide which one looks better.

The LCD display onboard the newer trains can fit the entire route in one screen however, from far you’d struggle to read it properly.

Regardless of these chotu-motu pangey itthe-otthey, the system is super efficient, regular and well-maintained which easily makes it the backbone of Delhi’s public transportation system. Co-incidentally it has led me down the rabbit hole of well planned and efficient public transportation infrastructure of many other cities which hold enormous potential in moving people, reducing the number of cars on the road.

A few weeks ago on a chilly Sunday afternoon, I needed to catch some sun. The chilly air in the…

Sat, 01 Jan 2022 14:49:12 +0530

A few weeks ago on a chilly Sunday afternoon, I needed to catch some sun. The chilly air in the capital was getting to my bones and yours truly is more suited to tropical weather. So I walk to the nearby park and walked to a shady spot and start staring at the kids who are playing. Ah yes, textbook predatory behavior. In my defense, the group of old uncles playing cards and the couples munching on peanuts were rather boring. The kids on the other hand, reminded me of looney tunes, same reason you’ll see them here.

This guy had football studs on while his friends were running around in sandals and slippers. Needless to say, he dribbled a lot, passed less and kept yelling at his team mates.

This guy is an amalgamation of three brothers (probably) who looked fresh in their shiny shaadi sherwanis and glistening oily hair. Kind of unexpected that they decided to play some football, swinging on monkey-bars in that attire, while spinning their fancy fidget spinners.

Amidst the chaos there was this little girl who was playing by herself. She derived much delight from kicking the ball, and fetching it then giving it a hug-bite-sniff and setting it down and kicking it again. She’ll probably will grow up to have one hell of an immune system.

Out of all the kids, this guy seemed the most delightful. He had come dressed like accidental Santa, laughed and played with the other kids and kicked up a lot of dust as he walked. Such joy!

Kasht of Living

Sun, 21 Nov 2021 23:03:33 +0530

At the end of September the capital was still warm, a few spells of untimely showers brought down temperatures and brought up mosquito numbers. I didn’t mind much. The clear skies meant that I could watch godly winged whales descend from the heavens every morning one after the other, growing in scale before disappearing into the tree-line. I could, until it all got obscured by the mustard mist. My eyes watered but this usual missing of the whales was interrupted. I found myself in the belly of the pink boa, among the rest of the fodder, undergoing the process of slow yet sure digestion. Making sure to put up a fight, I read and made sufficient marks on my books. To camouflage in here one needs checked formals ironed crisp, backpack on the shoulder, a pair of earbuds— whispering/ screaming/ vomiting news/ episodes/ music, a neck affixed at an angle fixated on the old loyal thumb not weary yet, having swiped away kilometers already.

The city breathes, it gasps, it bends under the constant stress and the strain; the more it gets stretched thin, the more it makes people claw and bite at the rim. The march goes on, with a skip on Saturdays and a drag on Mondays— the boots resonate over chatter.

Happy endings

Wed, 15 Sep 2021 18:40:42 +0530

Fewer times have I ever before noticed emotions change as fast as the graph of a crypto token. The other day, I was at the saloon ( what a barbershop is called in India). As I waited for my turn for a haircut, I couldn’t help but notice the customer beside me — a middle-aged guy getting the full service package on offer. The barber was done with the shave and had now taken up the role of a masseuse with a massager clamped to the back of his hand. It vivaciously vibrated like a purring cat. As the vibrating fingers walked against the customer’s head and body, his resulting orgasmic expressions kept nudging me towards absurd but funny assumptions.

It seemed like this was the first-time-in-a-long-time someone was touching him this way. His eyes almost shut in a dizzying trance when the barber put his vibrating finger inside the guy’s aural orifice. The poor barber was probably used to these reactions off the many such middle-aged men he has had to serve, but he had a neat trick up his sleeve. The massage session drew to a close and in the ultimate act, the barber took off the whirring massager, rubbed his palms, cracked his knuckles, and smacked the dozing post orgasmic customer hard on his back. In less than a second, the guy was getting smacked, shaken and shuffled around in the seat and it was pretty apparent why the barber was suddenly loving every second of his job. Ultimately, it’s safe to say the guy got the complete awakening experience. It’s safer to say, when it comes to me, I could pass on that experience for a few more years, or decades.

Gratitude for the constant upkeep of the grounds.

Sat, 11 Sep 2021 20:28:08 +0530

Gratitude for the constant upkeep of the grounds.

Rediscovering June

Sat, 24 Jul 2021 11:00:54 +0530

Quite a few weeks ago one of my team-mates spotted me out a shrub on the sidelines of our field. These otherwise thorny menaces which had caused god-knows-how-many bleeding scratches on my ankle when we were busy stomping around the field, kicking around a ball, suddenly seemed like an alien being amidst usual life.

As a child I had read about the touch-me-nots or lojjaboti (Bengali) but cared to finally notice one after all these years. Fascinating! “I didn’t expect it to be so animal-like…” was my first reaction as I watched the tiny leaves shrivel up, up and a little bit more, almost like a worm. It’s bright purplish crimson stems seemed as if blood flowed through them.

I spent a good ten minutes or so, paying the touch-me-nots the much deserved attention but spent longer —procrastinating— penning it down on pixels.

The romantic concept of playing football in the rain has quite a lot of fanfare and I absolutely…

Sun, 27 Jun 2021 10:36:24 +0530

The romantic concept of playing football in the rain has quite a lot of fanfare and I absolutely don’t get the appeal.

Speaking from experience, you can count your lucky stars if match day is on a breezy overcast day — easy on the players, easy on the spectators. Add a drizzle to that and things are still under control. Your boots are wet and you start feeling the chill but it’s all fine.

However, once the heaven’s diapers start to overflow, it’s time to run. The wet ground grabs onto the ball and dribbling becomes impossible, people slip and fall all the time often injuring others, there’s water in your eyes, the wet sand on the ball bruises your skin, every shot on the ball kicks up the muddy water from the field (into your mouth), people splash each other with water and stop taking the game seriously, they jubilantly celebrate missed shots by sliding into the pool of water, the concept of opponents has long dissolved into the same muddy water, everyone’s laughing their asses off, the field quickly becomes a podium of slapstick humor, all the actors enjoying the dazzling absurd, chaotic experience under dark grey clouds. All of a sudden. A blinding bolt of lightning brings play to a halt. The deafening thunder follows. The clouds above have had the last laugh.

Every time I would step on to the Force Traveller back in college, I’d heave a sigh of relief. The…

Thu, 17 Jun 2021 21:47:32 +0530

Every time I would step on to the Force Traveller back in college, I’d heave a sigh of relief. The satisfaction was instantly doubled when I’d manage to set my bum on a vacant seat.

The trip from NID to IJM was as short as the acronyms but somehow, felt shorter on the days I’d be exhausted from drawing straight lines all day or having toiled at the workshop sanding a piece of teak. These trips, the return journeys, would always be more memorable than the morning ones. Maybe dozing off to the shifting amber lights of the Guntur-Vijayawada expressway felt better than struggling to find a footing, clutching onto your belongings while you’re still munching on the last bit of chutney laden idly.

Towards the end of my four years at college, I had completely switched over to my trusty single-speed, a gift from Mustafa who, after finishing his Bachelor’s degree, left for Delhi and then Iraq. However, the occasional Traveller trips still gifted me a basket of memories, some warm, some steamy, some I barely remember. Now, the Bus Service group on WhatsApp stays relatively quiet, beeping once in a while, serving as a reminder that fewer days remain till it buzzes again — “Buss to IJM!”.