Fuchsia fjuːʃə/ FEW-shə

Around two years ago, I was in the Achamore gardens on the island of Gigha. I was still new to my Nikon D50, and was looking for things to photograph. Amongst other things in the unique Achamore Gardens, a bright pink flower caught my eye, and I snapped it. Looking back I now feel it was a very clumsy attempt at a "macro" or a close up photograph.


Neither could I recognise a Fuchsia when I saw one.

Sadly, I am still to become an expert in macro, which in itself is a specialised form of photography. I tried my hand at this form of photography which involves photographing objects from very close up - few inches. You can see some of the photos in my Flickr photostream. Purists will object to me calling them macros, because they lack a few features of macros. First, they don't have a ratio of 1:1 i.e. the objects are larger than the camera sensor. Secondly, my lens, a standard kit 18 - 55 mm AF Nikkor, is not quite a 'macro' lens. If you are one of them purists, dear reader, please erase my name from the list of macro practitioners, and demote me to the ranks of a humble amateur photogrpaher.

The Glasgow and District Fuchsia Society held their Annual show in the Kibble palace , The Botanics, Glasgow. This was my opportunity to try out close up photography. The show had a wonderful collection of Fuchsias.
I have since then done some research on Fuchsias. I started with the spelling, which according to a website is often misspelt as 'Fuschia'. See the pronounciation as well, as in the title. In case you are wondering what the last letter'ə' means, it is meant to be pronounced a as in sofa. There are around 13 150 named varieties of Fuchsias. Fuchsias were named after the yonder intense looking gentleman, Fullmaurer Leonhart Fuchs, a physician who was one of the 'founding fathers' of botany, no less.

Below are a selection of photos from that show. I have a lot more in my Flckr photostream (link on the right).
Hope you like them. I certainly enjoyed the whole experience, and will certainly aim to do more of this. If you are still reading, dear macro purist, I hope to hoodwink my wife someday and buy a proper macro lens, God willing, a brand new Nikon AF Micro-Nikkor 105mm f/2.8D.................. sigh..................Or at least a Nikon AF Micro - Nikkor 60mm f/2.8D.

Are you listening, Santa?

ಜೋಗದ ಸಿರಿ ಬೆಳಕೂ...... ಮುಂಗಾರು ಮಳೆಯೂ

ಜೋಗದ ಸಿರಿ ಬೆಳಕಿನಲ್ಲಿ ತುಂಗೆಯ ತೆನೆ ತಳುಕಿನಲ್ಲಿ
ಸಹ್ಯಾದ್ರಿಯ ಲೋಹದದಿರ ಉತ್ತುಂಗದ ನಿಲುಕಿನಲ್ಲಿ
ನಿತ್ಯಹರಿತ್ಸ್ವರ್ಣವನದ ತೇಗ ಗಂಧ ತರುಗಳಲ್ಲಿ
ನಿತ್ಯೋತ್ಸವ ತಾಯಿ ನಿತ್ಯೋತ್ಸವ
-ಡಾ|| ಕೆ. ಎಸ್. ನಿಸಾರ್ ಅಹ್ಮದ್
As usual, I have no idea what Dr Ahmad is on about. ಜೋಗದ ಸಿರಿ-I guess he is trying to say Jog falls are quite spectacular. ಹರಿತ್ ಸ್ವರ್ಣವನ, no problems, he is spot on about the lush evergreen rain forest ( incidentally, I am not too sure about the ಗಂಧ , bit - I didn't see a lot of it). The rest is really beyond me. I must say, I have listened to this song being sung endless number of times, by different singers and groups, all in the same tune - and I have enjoyed it every time.

Some one, please, please enlighten me!

If I say Dr Ahmed is being obscure, I will be slaughtered - between the last time I visited India to now, he has entered the hallowed club of writers/ Poets Who Cannot Be Criticised. However, I agree he is a poet, and by definition would lose his street cred if he said things plainly, and in simple kannada.

As you may have guessed, I was in India, and made a quick trip to Jog falls. It was a wonderful trip. We were lucky to get good weather, in spite of the monsoons. We were conducted around by our friend, who has lived in Sagara most of his life. We stepped off the beaten pathway and visited remote farms, the backwaters of the Linganamakki dam. We wallowed in the famed malenadu hospitality. The brief visits to houses, farms, cups of steaming tea, and affection showered on absolute strangers such as us. We ticked all the appropriate touristy boxes, including the big falls. We laboured up the mountain, in itself a wonderful journey, and when we reached the top, we exulted on seeing the falls, partly for having reached there, and partly for seeing it. There wasn't much time left, so I hurried around, photographing them as many times as I could. The fog played games with us, now obscuring, now revealing the view. The light may seem vastly differing in these photos, but that was just me experimenting with different exposure times and apertures.







On my way back, and now, sitting at my desk, there are a few things that stuck in my mind. When we visited the backwaters, we also went to a farm, bordering the reservoir, one of the ones which survived the Sharavathi project. After tea and some chat, I was talking to G.... (our guide), and asked him about the people who were displaced by the reservoir. he told me around 20 villages, with at least one big town, and around 12 000 people were relocated. When I asked them about their fate, he told me some of them had managed to get on with their lives, whereas the others never got close to the life styles they left behind.

Later, when we went out to the backwaters, we saw well constructed roads disappearing into the reservoir, islands sticking out of the reservoir, which must have been low hills before they submerged.... stumps of tall trees. The whole idea of entire towns lying there under water spooked me.

How would you feel, to return from your holidays and to be told your house was now underwater, here's Rs.2000/- to compensate, thank you for your sacrifice, Have a good life!

They sacrificed a lot so we could all watch mungaaru male on our LCD TVs in Bengaluru. Did they have a chance to say no? How about the elephants of the valley, who lost their bearings, encountering a massive lake where their regular feeding grounds lay? And what about the diversity, the flora and fauna of this incredibly beautiful, rich, rain forest?

I can see this snowballing into a big debate........ There are pros and cons for this, lets skip that and save a lot of angst for all of us.

For those of you who like a bit of a scrap, here's some ammunition.


I have a small story for the end. At the height of he bad old days of the cold war, the East bloc sent a delegation of citizens to the US, so they might observe and sneer at the decadent west. One of the delegates, a woman, apparently defended her own country steadfastly at every oppportunity, until she saw the rows and rows of fresh vegetables and produce in a supermarket. Then she wept.

Look the jogada gundi, as it might have been, had we not built the dam. You might weep too.

(cheer up, it might have meant you didn't have to watch Mungaaru male - while a decent movie with soothing music, has the lead played by an actor whose face has an unfortunate resemblance to a pumpkin)


Sing with me......

ಮಾನವನಾಗಿ ಹುಟ್ಟಿದ್ಮೇಲೆ ಎನೇನ್ ಕಂಡಿ
ಸಾಯೋದ್ರೊಳ್ಗೆ ಸಂಸಾರ್ದೊಳ್ಗೆ ಗಂಡಾಗುಂಡಿ
ಏರಿಕೊಂಡು ಹೋಗೋದಲ್ಲ ಸತ್ಮೇಲ್ ಬಂಡಿ
ಇರೋದ್ರೊಳ್ಗೆ ಒಮ್ಮೆ ನೋಡು ಜೋಗಾದ್ ಗುಂಡಿ

Madikeri ಲಿ ಮಂಜು and er.... poetry

ಭೂಮೀನ್ ತಬ್ಬಿದ್ ಮೋಡಿದ್ದಂಗೆ
ಬೆಳ್ಳಿ ಬಳದಿದ್ ರೋಡಿದ್ದಂಗೆ
ಸಾಫಾಗಳ್ಳ ತಿಟ್ಟಿಲ್ದಂಗೆ
ಮಡ್ಕೆರೀಲೀ ಮಂಜು!
- ಜಿ ಪಿ ರಾಜರತ್ನಂ
One of the best memories of my school days is listening to Mysore Ananthaswamy singing this song in the Jayanagar 8th block Ramanavami programmes. When he sang this, there was a hush and the very air around us seemed to turn cool, even though it was summer!

I am not a big fan of poetry generally. I think they are strictly for the birds.

However, I will make an exception for G P Rajaratnam (and a few others, I will talk about that later). We all know him as the creator of nursery rhymes like ಬಣ್ಣದ ತಗಡಿನ ತುತ್ತೂರಿ. ಮಡಿಕೆರೀಲಿ ಮಂಜು is one of the poems from his collection 'ರತ್ನನ ಪದಗಳು’. Madikeri and the ಮಂಜು remained elusive to me for a long time.

I finally had an opportunity when we had a wonderful holiday in Kutta, Kodagu district. We stayed in a farm was close to the Nagarhole and Wynad wildlife reserves, along the Karnataka - Kerala border. It was a very special trip because my sisters and me, and our children were going to be together under one roof after a gap of some eight years. The global village might make communication easy, but nothing can replace being together.

We lived in an old family house, tiled and spacious, which meant all of us could sleep comfortably.

Our hosts were very gracious people and looked after us very well. There was a lot of catching up for all of us to do. If you know our family well, that includes fighting about silly things, which we did.
Our visits to Nagarhole were a bit disappointing,. The forest and animals were a sad and pale in comparison to the memories of my previous visit to the sanctuary some thirty years ago. The countless chital, massive herds of wild cattle, and a wild boar we then saw in the forest seemed to have vanished. The elephant back safari was discontinued, so we had to be content doing a trip in the jeep. We saw a dispirited peacock, looking like he had a hangover, and a monitor lizard lying stationary, with no interest in monitoring or anything else.
The farm is actually a coffee plantation. On the second day there, I woke up early to walk around and indulge in some photography. I own a Nikon D50, and spend a lot of time reading photography books. I hardly ever get to go out and do some serious photography, and I rather cut loose with my Nikon, clicking everything in sight.

I love coffee, but nothing prepared me for the sheer beauty of the coffee berries, and the myriad colours they assume as they ripen.



Even the coffee flowers were absolute gems.



Here again, I am moved to poetry, with this coffee flower. My one other favourite poet - Jnanpith awardee, Dr G S Shivarudrappa, and his poem ಮಲ್ಲಿಗೆ

ನೋಡು ಇದೋ ಇಲ್ಲರಳಿ ನಗುತಿದೆ
ಏಳು ಸುತ್ತಿನ ಮಲ್ಲಿಗೆ
ಇಷ್ಟು ಹಚ್ಚನೆ ಹಸುರ ಗಿಡದಿಂ
ಎಂತು ಮೂಡಿತೋ ಬೆಳ್ಳಗೆ!

ಮೇಲೆ ನಭದಲಿ ನೂರು ತಾರೆಗಳ್
ಅರಳಿ ಮಿನುಗುವ ಮುನ್ನವೆ
ಬೆಳ್ಳಿಯೊಂದೆ ಬೆಳಗುವಂದದಿ
ಗಿಡದೊಳೊಂದೇ ಹೂವಿದು

I remember being thrilled to read these lines of poetry as a boy, just as I am now reading them in the copy of his book of poems he gave my father, with his neat writing on the fly leaf

ಆದರದೊಂದಿಗೆ, ಪ್ರೀತಿಯ ಮಿತ್ರ ......ರಿಗೆ

And most importantly, Madikeri ಮಂಜು hung around,
ತಾಯಿ ಮೊಗೀನ ಎತ್ಕೊಂಡಂಗೆ
ಒಂದಕ್ಕೊಂದು ಆತ್ಕೊಂಡಂಗೆ
ಅಲ್ಲಲ್ಲೇನೆ ಅಂಗಂಗೇನೆ
ಗಸ್ತಾಕ್ತಿತ್ತು ಮಂಜು


like a pleasant but persistent friend, carefully airbrushing over untidy bushes, filtering sunlight, and generally trying to beautify everything around.


And for once I was right all along, Madikeri ಮಂಜು does have that magical quality.

I realise I have just finished discussing two poets in a single blog.
I still don't like poetry.
I think this says more about the genius of these wonderful people who wrote them and sang them, than me.............

One day in the life of a PLAB aspirant

In 1997, I left the comfortable, well paid job I had, left the comfort of my homeland, my people and came to work in the UK. The first step in this direction was to pass PLAB, a qualifying test that foreign doctors need to pass if they intend to work in the UK. I soon found myself in East London, the home of PLABers from the subcontinent. Several PLAB aspirants lived there, and prepared for PLAB in 'libraries - study groups where you could meet and study with other PLABers and access 'PLAB material' - past question papers, books, left there by previous users. We lived as guests in houses, and the living conditions were bleak. The general mood there was one of desperation, and everyone looked forward to the day when they could leave East London behind. For many of us, it was our first experience of being jobless and poor.
When I thought of writing about my experiences, 'One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich', came to my mind. One day.... is a Russian classic by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Uncharacteristically short for a Russian novel, it relates the events of a day in the life of a prisoner in a 'gulag' ( A punishment prison camp from Stalin's Russia). Now, I think it would be a bit harsh to equate my life in East London to that in a gulag. Maybe a combination of cold, the hardship and desperation that defined those 'libraries' reminded me of a gulag.

CUT! to ...

1997/8, winter.............................................

(A disclaimer: All names are changed. Most of the characters in this post are a synthesis of a few real ones I met)

I wake up, as I always do, at six. The first thing I feel is the cold. I quickly get out of the bed. Kannan and his friends are still asleep. I make my way downstairs into the kitchen. Our landlord is not a generous man. However, he does not stint on tea. I make some tea, and walk over to the backyard to drink it. Patrick is up, and he nods at me, cigarette in one hand, cup of tea in the other. Patrick is unique. Unlike us, he is not after PLAB. He already has a job in the UK. His days here are numbered, because his benefactor pulled the plug on him. He is trying to get to the US. I finish my tea, and shower.The water is freezing. Wrapped ineffectually against the cold, I step out of the house and the cold envelops me instantly. I grip the polythene shopping bag containing my books and writing material, and huddle into the thick jacket that my friend lent me. The streets are empty, very few people are out. I walk past rows of houses, with small pocket sized front gardens. Neat houses are interspersed with decrepit houses with boarded up windows. I step around old cardboard boxes and discarded food cartons. Plastic drink bottles lie about, quietly leaking their contents.

As always, when I turn the corner at the end of the street, I look down at the rather shabby bag in my hand, and a feeling of disbelief washes over me - what am I doing here? I allow myself a brief moment of introspection.

I walk past closed shops. Large animal carcasses hang in the shop window of the butchers. I duck to avoid the low awning. The metallic steps ring under my feet as I climb the stairs to the library. I enter walk down the darkened, long, narrow corridor leading to the small 'reading' room.

As usual, I am the first one in. It is exactly eight.

I settle down, and immediately start the first 'mock' test, answering questions from old question papers. All the questions seem familiar. That is not surprising, considering I have revised them several times. I complete my first test, it is 10:00. My fellow PLABers are trickling in. The results of the latest test are in and it is not good news. Neel has failed again. He nearly breaks down when I speak to him later in the day. It is his fourth attempt, and he is facing up to going back home. Going back home unsuccessful, is something we all dread, and most of us fear humiliation. I try to console him. I know Neel from back home - a confident doctor who did very well. It is nearly 11:00 - time for a tea break. In the kitchen, a radio plays music from the 'Titanic' movie.Back to my desk, it is time to hit the books. I go through them, revising topics that I seemed to be a bit rusty about. It is lunch time. I trudge back to the house. My host has no time for vegetarians ( he told me that). Lunch is exactly the same as yesterday (and the day before, and the dinner), but I barely notice what I am eating. I finish quickly and hurry back.

Back in the library, it is time for a study session with my group. The members of my group are waiting. Dutta talks incessantly- he has an opinion on everything. Ali is quiet today, he has a few health problems, and he does not look well. Aman is the fourth member. He is not due to appear for the exam until later in the next year. We go through more questions. It is nearly five when we break up for the day. As I gather my books and papers and start I notice Sekhar sitting on the sofa at the entrance. Sekhar is an old timer. He first came here in 1989, and returns whenever he manges to persuade his rich father in law to fund another of his trips to London. He will never pass, and he is in denial of that. For all of us, he is a constant and visible reminder of how hopeless this venture could be.

I return home to the rather predictable dinner. I revise a few more topics and prepare to turn in. Our landlord, has turned off the heating, in preparation to bed time. The bed linen smells faintly of stale meat, just like everything else in the house. The sheets are icy cold by the time I pull them on. I have survived another day, just few more months to go before I get an opportunity to appear for the test. I hope I pass.

Kannan and his friends are deep in study. They will continue till the early hours of the morning........

In Solzhenitsyn's novel, Denisovich hopes to be released at the end of his term.

I am still a prisoner of my own ambitions.

Epilogue:

Of the 40 odd in our library, three passed. Me, Dutta and Ali. Neel got through on his fifth attempt. However, he had to wait another year before he got his first job. Kannan went home after his second unsuccessful attempt, never to return again.

Samsung NC10 and Kailasam

I am typing this post on my new Samsung NC10.

OK, one of the main reasons I started this blog was to get an opportunity to crow about my new lap top. I tried extolling its virtues to my wife, who was unimpressed. My work colleagues listened politely, but I could see their eyes glazing over after the first hour.

But I've got you hooked, dear reader!

Haven't I?

Please?

Thank you.

It is a Netbook with a 10" screen, 160GB hard disk, 1 GB memory. It looks very cool, and I am very proud of it. Buying this netbook was facilitated by my son trying to imitate Yuvraj's six sixes. He hit the screen of my old (but venerable) Sony Vaio. RIP, Sony Vaio. Any suggestions that I might have encouraged him to do it are entirely scurrilous. Here are a few photos.






























Eat your hearts out, all of you.
Except people who own a MacBook.
And any other net book or laptop better than mine.

Which brings me to T P Kailsam, Playwright, writer, genius. My favourite play amongst the several he wrote is ಪೋಲಿ ಕಿಟ್ಟಿ (Poli Kitti). Poli is a kannada word that I find a little hard to translate. It refers to a cheeky, irreverent or rude person. Kitti is a 'Born scout' who helps people selflessly, but ends up being labelled a 'poli' because he cannot be bothered to observe social niceties. He habitually offends stuck up people, can't stand hypocrites and always stands up to bullies. One of the other characters in "Poli kitti" is ಮಗು (magu or 'baby'). Magu is a younger boy in the Boy Scout troop that Kitti attends (in the hope of getting free food). Magu is small, and others in the troop bully him. Kitti protects magu and takes him under his wing. Magu comes from a very affluent background, unlike Kitti who is in effect the bread winner for his family. Kitti resents rich people, because they remind him of his now estranged brother who turned his back on his family after coming into wealth. In their conversations, Kitti accuses magu of belonging to 'ದೊಡ್ಮನುಷ್ಯರ್ಜಾತಿ' - translation - 'rich caste'. Magu asks him to explain what that means. the conversation goes on something like this....

Scene: Magu's house, his father's chambers.
ಕಿಟ್ಟಿ: ಇಲ್ನೋಡು, (indicating a mirror)ಈ ಕನ್ನಡಿ ಯಾಕೋ?
ಮಗು: ಯಾಕೆಂದ್ರೆ, ಮುಖ ನೋಡ್ಕೊಳಕ್ಕೋ
ಕಿಟ್ಟಿ: (hands a few feet apart) ನಿಮ್ ಅಪ್ನಿಗೆ ಇಷ್ಟ್ ದಪ್ಪ ತಲೆಕಾಯೇನೋ?
ಮಗು: ಯಾಕೋ? ಇಲ್ಲವಲ್ಲೋ.
ಕಿಟ್ಟಿ: ಮತ್ತೆ ಇಷ್ಟ್ ದೊಡ್ಡ್ ಕನ್ನಡಿ ಯಾಕೋ ಅವ್ನಿಗೆ?
ಮಗು: ಪೂರ್ತಿ ಮೈ ಮುಖ ಕಾಣ್ಲಿ ಅಂತ ಕಣೋ
ಕಿಟ್ಟಿ: (bending down) ಕೆಳಗೆ ಬಗ್ ನೋಡಿದ್ರೆ ಕಾಣೊಲ್ವೆನೊ, ಮೈ? ಇದಿಕ್ಕೇ ಹೇಳೋದು, ದೊಡ್ದ್ಮನುಷ್ಯರ್ ಜಾತಿ ಅಂತ.

An English translation:

Kitti: Now, what is this mirror for?
Magu: Well, to look at yourself, surely.
Kitti: (hands a few feet apart) Does your father have a face this large?
Magu: No!
Kitti: then, why does he need such a large mirror?
Magu: To look at all of his body in the mirror, I think
Kitti: (bending down) Can he not do that by bending down? This is what I meant by a 'rich caste'

Q.E.D, Kitti! (and checkmate)

Now, did I really need a net book with a wireless network when all I had to do is to walk a few metres to where my desktop computer is, in my rather 'compact' flat?

I know what Kitti would say.

Darkness at (around) noon

A few weekends ago, I was having a perfect Sunday. All my jobs were done. I had an excellent lunch,put my feet up on the sofa and reached for the remote.....

The washing machine's isn't working, said my wife...... sigh...

In fact, we had a power failure. Now if this happened in my homeland, no problems. UPS s, emergency lamps and candles spring into action, and life barely breaks stride.

Here, in my adopted country, mayhem reigned.

Traffic lights were out, shops and supermarkets were closed, and mobile networks were faltering. How long would it take them to fix it? What about heating? Prompted by my wife, I did something unprecedented. I went out and knocked on a few doors in our neighbourhood. I finally found one man in. It's OK, he said. Power's out every where, I can't see any wireless networks on, should be back soon. I came back home. We all sat in the living room and talked. My son played on the carpet.

The power was back soon. We all sighed in relief. I turned the TV on, my son went back on the Internet.

I have a brilliant idea. Let's have 'surprise' blackouts, say every month. Save power. Save the Earth! Have more family fun time together.

And who knows, I might even meet some more of my neighbours.........

YIKES!

OK, silly idea.

The gas man speaketh (Is any one listening?)

These are my first letters, words and blog. Ever. On the internet.

How shall I start?

I ought to start with a mission statement - A synopsis of my ideals, hopes and aspirations for this blog. This blog? My life, ideally.

However, speaking in a metaphysical sense, if no one ever reads these words (other than me, of course), do these words actually exist?

People write things in their diaries. Intimate, personal things. They are supposedly private. Don't ever believe that! They are all secretly hoping to be discovered. Accidentally, of course. Why else would they leave their diaries lying about, with PRIVATE KEEP OUT written on them?

Me too. I hope some one accidentally discovers my blog. If that's you, dear reader, thanks for making my words exist. Read on, and if you liking, come back!