April’s a double header

Two posts in a month!  I think I just got turned on here.  When was the last time this happened?  Wait, let me check.  May, 2011.  Sh*t!

Now that the melodrama is out of the way, back to business.  I have successfully been able to finish a third of a book I have picked up in a long time despite the sentences being entwined with secondary notes, implicitly embedded in layers requiring utmost comprehension.    I am drearily slow at reading.  When others are half way through am still struggling to get to the milestone of the first quarter of the book.  Keep telling myself its probably because I want to internalise what the author is saying, but truth be told, I really don’t, well not all the time.  Why then, I wondered this weekend, do I lag? 

And then it struck me on my 50 page continuous reading streak.   I actually try to visualise the characters, setting up the scene inside my head, sourcing inventory from places visited, realising characters in close association with faces previously seen, to best satiate the author’s unrelenting gumption for the descriptive.  What makes the whole charade even more complicated is the fact that I have managed to pick up “Wolf Hall” by Hilary Mantel that works around the time of Tudor England.  Yes, imagine that.   I do not know how many of us out there actually have the same way of reading.  It does not matter if this is something weird a few experience or is simply commonplace.  The alacrity with which I have been reading, imagining, witnessing the events and characters unfold, intrigues me. 

I do not remember if I have ever been an avid reader.  I might have quoted so in an interview or two, but definitely not been one in real life.   And what has made me all the more happier is that words long forgotten come rushing back to memory.   Reading has given me a nudge again in the direction of writing.  I have always been a stickler for the printed word than the spoken one.   Probably why I prefer keeping all official communication on mail.  That’s a joke.  Stop snickering.  Anyhow, it just seems that scribbling is a more involved activity than reciting or speaking.  Great speeches are always written first for a reason.  Taking nothing away from great orators of past and present, the spoken word is ephemeral (I am on fire today!) while the written more constant.   Extempore is an art, but diction and comprehension are skills acquired over a long period of time.  But lets not pit one against the other.  It is hardly fair.  Both have undeniable merits.  To each their own.

Coming back to the point of reading, and writing, for that matter.  Yes,  I believe I have been away from my book for quite some time now and am yet to have dinner too.  Therefore, for want of time and overzealous dribble on the subject, let me close with a few observations I made about my preferences in light of this revelation, no matter how unrelated they may seem.

I prefer Twitter over Facebook.

I prefer earphones over speakers.

I prefer scribbling over typing.

I prefer the smell of Ariel over Surf Excel.

I prefer Candara over all other fonts.

I prefer being weird over mundane.

Signing off.  Yours truly.

35mm of happiness

Yeah its not what you think it is, so wipe that smirk off your face.

This post probably comes out of the blue, which one doesn’t actually, especially when its almost weeks and months on end between two posts on this blog!  I think I waste too much time building a preamble for a post that it just gets too mentally exhausting to even grasp at what I’m writing about.  Sign of a bad author.  Yes, I just called myself an author, not all authors necessarily have to write a book or something to that effect.  Pfeesh!  Anyhow, enough with the senseless dribble. 

I finally figured that it was time to actual get off my sorry arse and visit a camera doctor.  A doctor, yes, perhaps more so because this one had been lying in coma for quite some time.  If the city’s moisture infested weather wasn’t harsh enough, the dingy bag it had been nestled all these months wasn’t helping either.  The prognosis – a bit of dusting probably would do the trick.  The diagnosis, however, revealed a much layered infection – the body had been bruised, with signs of internal injury and surgery was recommended.

Rolling your eyes yet?  I know I sound melodramatic.  But then every fool with a DSLR, well at least from my generation [honestly don’t know what the hell’s out of place with the younger one], would tell you that there’s just that weird connection you establish with the machine year after year.  And my sweetheart turns six this year.   I agree I haven’t been the best of companions, while she’s stood by me through thick and thin – shooting moments of joy, sorrow and plain crazy.  Yet, this post is not about confessions or to discuss my weird inclinations.  While going through a friend’s blog today I read a post which talked about how he got started off on photography.  His father’s Nikon SLR became his best friend, encouraged through childhood to go explore and play around with it.  The result, I now ask him for tips and at times even go to his blog for inspiration. 

I wondered, why’d I buy mine?  What got me started?

It struck me.  Vienna, internship.  The year 2006, an internship at TU Graz, thought I’d get myself a point and shoot camera.  Sony came to mind, but given all the hype of the Cybershot, thought I’d act a little more informed and explore Nikon.  Ended up buying a Nikon Coolpix from Saturn on Mariahilfer Strasse.  What an uneventful story.  Boring.

Flipped forward a couple of chapters of my life and remembered how much I used to click landscapes and birds with that little fat black magic box.   My family loves the photos I had clicked, probably more so because the best ones we’ve had are the ones from childhood when mom and dad captured as many moments as they could.  Encouraging, but still not amazing enough a story.  Flipping through, reached the Singapore internship of 2008.  Ah yes, this has to be it, that moment of shining. 

The pay was good, the expenses not high.  I could afford a bit of extravagance, and I wondered why none of my trips abroad ever bore me any savings.  I must say, it wasn’t an easy decision, as I kept flitting my thumbs wondering if this was my calling.  Photography? I mean I love writing, but combining it with photography sounds uber-cool but can I do it?  Do I want to do it?  Had a friend I was interning with, who volunteered to help me out.  This chap actually gave up a full time job to become a wedding photographer and a sports photographer – see another brilliant story, wonder where mine’s going.  So for a 10 liner email written to him, I got an entire essay on what to see and what to choose from.  I was sold on Nikon.  If not earlier, then definitely by his mail (another Nikon enthusiast).  He pointed me in the right direction, the shop, the vendor and advised me to pick up the last surviving piece of the Nikon D80 already out of production for its newer D90 version with video recording (thoo!).  

I must say as I lay my hands on it, picked it up inside John 3:16, and the owner, Samuel, nodded for me to go on ahead and give it a try, it just felt right.  People say a camera is all about ergonomics.  If it feels right in your hand, that’s the one you want.  Much like a magic wand from Harry Potter!  And what can I say, it was love at first touch.  I clicked away to glory and am happy I moved on from the usual point and shoot within a matter of weeks, exploring options, manual, shutter and what not.  Ecstatic, I felt liberated with the cam by my side.  Never was there a moment I went out without it. 

And as I sit here, reminiscing, on the special moments I have lived through with my Nikon D80 I realise, my story need not be special for anyone, but for me.  That warm fuzzy feeling inside, and a smile that comes to my face connecting with something in life that has been an anchor and a reason to keep trying harder and moving forward.   You might not find this post remarkable, but it has invigorated in me today a sense of belongingness and probably a will to go out and make a date of it, when my cam comes out of surgery tomorrow.

Welcome home precious.