Experiences

Circa May 2012. Tadoba Andhari Tiger Reserve. I was standing on the grassy carpet that would be a lake bed in monsoon. But now, the water had receded far, drunk by the greedy sun that was beating down at a relentless 45 degrees. All around me was the deceptive quietness of the forest. As I walked around, training my camera at anything of interest, I discovered something profound. Under my feet was a universe of microscopic dimensions! What I took to be grass was not really just a homogeneous spread of indistinct greenery—it was actually a teeming world of multiple species. What’s more, every single one of them was blooming in a kaleidoscope of colors, much like the coral reef. Deep purples, shocking pinks, striking whites, bright yellows, and arresting blues were the flowers whose detail I could see only through my 70 – 300 lens at tight close up! And they were fed on by even tinier insects, bound to this world in a symbiotic marriage. And my God they were busy—with this

15 years ago, I met a boy from South Bombay. He was quite ridiculously intelligent and creative. He was funny and crazy to boot. I was a neophyte in Mumbai, all wide eyed and wondering, with the metaphorical small-town-South-Indian-coconut-oil still on my hair. For all our cultural differences, we could’ve well been from two different planets. No this is not a love story. Definitely not one with a happy ending. This is the story of the fast vanishing Art of Conversation a.k.a. “talking shit.” We talked miles and miles of deserted streets in Fort, Church Gate, Nariman Point, Colaba and Marine Drive. We talked hours and hours of Roxy, Metro, Sterling, and Eros theatres. We talked years of All Stir Fry , Under the Over (alas, not there anymore), Churchill and Crystal. We talked shit man. From “leading a life of quiet desperation” to Douglas Adams, Martin Scorsese, Incubus and Succubus, Warm Water under a RedBridge , sizzling brownies and the “greater creative question.”