Тоска

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”

- Nabokov. 

sites

Went for a drive with family today into the scratchy highway hinterlands of Kongunaad and many mud roads in. Rivers of red in the sky and there we were between two plots of land, gated and strewn with thorns. Teak will grow here, and here a farm house; a half-court. Imaginations of the parents rise as we stare into the few acres emptily. Left for Sindhu, right for Mru. Where in the world is this land, one of the silent prides of my family, where the soft soil crumbles and reshapes constantly under our feet? I don't know how to own it, but here it is - piece of earth that is mine to keep. Our neighbour - a man of 80 who refuses to sell his land because it gives him something to do that money will not. He tills the land and tends to it by himself every day, 2 acres. When he dies, his children will split it, possibly sell it. Other descendants of agriculturalists will buy it. I know nothing about land but just one generation ago all of my family was knee deep in mud and paddy. Most of it still is. My parents say they will go back to agriculture when they retire. Not many will have the privilege of feeding the country in a few years, they say. The evening was my coming out party in my pyjamas. Our guests, in Mruthun's plot of land - a family of goats. For 15 minutes, brother, sister and father stood there bleating at goats, goats bleating back. Laughter and wind. A borewell, shut. Returned after sunset and no power in the house. Off into town to buy peanut butter and bread.

fire/lunch

sound postcards

the air is dense! and so different from bombay! 

to be picked up from here:

http://www.freesound.org/people/sindhu.tms/sounds/161338/    

and here:

http://www.freesound.org/people/sindhu.tms/sounds/161335/

xx

waiting at the hospital

A hospital is really just a bunch of vast empty spaces, occupied by varying constellations of people and furniture - a white cube that is neither white nor a cube.

prerna and tanvee are gone now

bringing srishti back home was something new. coimbatore had its fun with these two though! i miss.

Two more deaths and a funeral.

My friend Conrad's parents were killed in a road accident two days ago. Today was their funeral. I haven't cried in a long time, today I did. It made me very sad to see him so blank, chewing his gum and looking down at their graves as everyone threw handfuls of mud over their coffins. He is the only child, Conrad Simmons, living amongst uncles and grandparents - it tore me to bits thinking about that. I am glad to have a brother. The world is better with siblings.

letterhead

my brother and i made this together. all our cards and notes to friends and family will be written on this because it's all encompassing. we believe there's something in there for everyone.

muru

i'm loving being with my cousins but i miss my brother. the circle is incomplete. there isn't anyone to smirk to about the curly R's and nasal O's in words like xerox. i found these pictures on my computer by accident, i think he forgot to delete them. joy!

to avani, with love.

46 you say? that's disgusting. here, have some of this. gag.

the unserious living of life.

my grandparents think about death in the nicest possible ways.