Living Teal

Link to Part 1 It had been long since that night of spectacular mind bending by the Whats . Stating the obvious by serving it on a plate full of questions was a disguise, so apparent that it mocked the anti artists from the dadaists in the most sarcastic way possible. Everyone, including the Whys felt obligated to unearth the questions thrown at them, but never reached out to the Whats for answer, for they knew that there was no right answer anyway. It was only the persistent second cousin of Who , who couldn't get his mind around them and kept nagging the Whats with their questions time and again. What is art? And what does that, which is considered as art, mean? And whose an artist? This continued until one fine rainy evening, when he found a piece of parchment paper penned with some thoughts - Art is honesty. Art is truth.  A piece of art is nothing if it is made with the slightest of pretence. Pretence to look like someone else's art. Pretence to not look like someone el...

"As you see, within our bodies each of us has the elements needed to produce phosphorous. And let me tell you something I've never told a soul. " "My grandmother said that each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves; we need oxygen and a candle to help. The oxygen, would come from the breath of the person you love; the candle could be any kind of food, music, caress, word or sound that engenders the explosion that lights one of the matches.  For a moment we are dazzled by an intense emotion. A pleasant warmth grows within us, fading slowly as time goes by, until a new explosion comes along to revive it."    -- Like water for chocloates, Laura Esquirel   The past two years have been tumultuous for us all. We didn't have the faintest idea of how our lives would change in the months to come. We were forced to deal with our inner demons, while the world around us seemed to collectively grow into a darker place...

I recently travelled back to Bengaluru, the place I both love and hate. On most days, I abhor the damp, moist and cold climate that goes throughout the year here. Especially during the winters, when my heart longs for the sun soaked mornings in Bhopal. Sitting on the little balcony of our flat there, I would sit down on a dari, with my back facing the sunlight, waiting for it to slowly defrost while I sipped on some basil and ginger tea. But then, it's this very weather that takes a romantic turn sometimes. Like last Sunday, when it was  cloudy and a light chilly wind ruffled through the pink flowers on the canopy clad roads of Indiranagar. Sitting across the window in a prim sea green room of Hanoi, I ordered some drip coffee and patiently waited for it to fill above the layer of sweet condensed milk, drop by drop, as I revelled in the poetry of the moment.  Eventually it started to drizzle and it was only when I was sipping and biting and fishing through the delicious hot ...