Mann-waa Ko Algolagnia Hui Gawaa

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Sadism refers to sexual or non-sexual gratification in the infliction of pain or humiliation upon or by another person. Masochism refers to sexual or non-sexual gratification in the infliction of pain or humiliation upon oneself.

Sadists desire to inflict pain; this may or may not be sexual in nature. Masochists desire to receive pain, which again may or may not be sexual. The simple physiological enjoyment of pain is technically known as algolagnia.

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Interior – Movie Theatre – Night

One by one the lights go off. The opening montage of a movie starts unfolding on screen . A female voice can be heard on the soundtrack. A typical modern day easy paced melody with techno beats.

Tum Se Mohabbat Kar Lu.. Ji Bhar Ke aye ye ye
Poori Hasrat Kar Lu.. Ji Bhar ke.. aye ye ye

Everything is normal. Majority of the audiences have settled in their seats. Late comers are stumbling and feeling their way to their seats (**Ouccchh, mera peir baapu.. Meraa Peir **). The female voice fades out from the soundtrack, and a distinctly familiar male voice fades in..

Nazronnn Meinn Teri Kashish Ka Aalamnnn..
Dil Meinn Heinn Armanonn Ki Sargamnn

There is no mistaking that voice, its him alright. It's HIMesh – the high octave – Reshamaiyya. Spontaneously the whole theatre erupts in a cacophony of whistles, cat calls, doggie howls, clapping, hooting, hysterical screaming. People who were perfectly sane just few minutes ago, are now behaving like inmates of some mental asylum on a full moon night.

I have witnessed such scenes only once before in Singapore. The setting was same, interior of a theatre. The person who was making people behave irrationally was one gentleman with the name Sivaji Rao Gaekwad, and the movie was Baba. Now I am not much of an expert on Tamil cinema, but I reckon it must have taken Rajni few years to achieve that kind of cult status. But here is a guy (Himesh) who is getting that kind of mass adulation in only his 2nd movie! There has to be some logical explanation to the phenomenon that Himesh has become in such short span of time. While pondering seriously for 48 hours after watching Karzzzz, and after discounting several theories, realization dawned on me :

“Arey Mann-waa Ko Algolagnia Hui Gawaa"

I am predicting Karzzzz to sweep all major categories of Filmfare awards.Apart from the obvious best actor in a leading role, best playback singer, best music composer et all there are 2 other categories where it is gonna come up trumps:

Film-Fare for Best Costume Design / Makeup Artist

Himesh flies down to Kenya in a helicopter to meet his lady love. True to his Mumbaiyaa roots, he is seen hanging outside with the door open in mid-air, much same way as people hang out from local trains in Mumbai. The high point of this scene soon follows when the chopper lands near a lake where his gal is having a stand-up antakshari session. Without missing a beat the girl rushes in Himesh’s arm and they embrace right beneath the chopper.

You might wonder what has this scene got to do with costumes & make-up ? Well if you are watching this movie on DVD, I would request you to pause & rewind the scene and watch carefully again. The blades are rotating at full tilt, the grass is swaying wildly under the influence of turbulence, but guess what ? Himesh’s wig is firmly in its place. Blimey! it doesn’t fly off. Such fine display of craftsmanship has not been seen on screens since Bhanu Athaiya won Oscar for designing dhotis and scull cap for Baapu.

Film-Fare for Best Dialogues

Himesh is sitting poolside with a Apple Mcbook on his lap. Apparently he is busy composing a new tune ( “Pappu can’t type saala”) . A girl in bikini wades out of pool & walks up to Himesh and says with utmost sincerity ,

“Hi, Handsome”

Classik. There was not a single soul in the theatre who didn’t 'get' this dialogue. It almost brought the roof down. Err, almost, cause the roof shattering dialogue was to come bit later.

Urmila and Himesh are in middle of jungle. Himesh is trying to convince her that he is indeed a re-incarnation of Ravi Varma, her husband from previous life.

And Urmila is like, whatever dude I won't sleep with you, I don’t believe in this reincarnation crap. So Himesh says, I am gonna tell you few intimate things which only a husband and wife would know about each other (apparently, this is pre YouTube era, so whatever transpires between a husband n wife within the 4 walls of bedroom, stays in there)

Urmila : [contracting her already contracted neck muscles] Haan Monty, bataao tum aisi kaunsi nazook baatein jaante ho hamare baarey mein ?
Himesh : Kaamini, tum jab bhi kiss karti ho, tum aankhe bandh karti ho.

Classik.. Roof Down et all.

No Woman, No Cry

This post heralds a new low for this blog in terms of creative content & imagination. Instead of my usual self-pitying "mummy O mummy tu kab saans banegi" kinda blogs, I am posting a simple recipe for "Batatyache Kaap" (fried potato slices). If you were to ask my neighbours or relatives , what is that one thing that comes to your mind when you think of IW ? The answer would be unanimous - "Batatyaache Kaap" . This is my signature dish in more ways than one. I have eaten these humble slices of potato practically everyday for close to 20 years. I was introduced to Kaap's during my early school days & I got well & truly hooked, so much so, that I refused to eat any meals without having Kaap's in my plate. As my love for Kaap prospered (to obsessive levels) my love for all meat/fish based dishes diminished in equal proportions. I turned into a total vegetarian (or more like potatorian), much to the anguish and despair of my carnivorous Malvani family. I lived , breathed & ate batayache kaap. Only after I came to Sg'pore, I was forced to curb this addiction of mine. Six roommates (including me) = 6 into 5 Kaap's per person = 30 Kaap's was bit too daunting to make. But in past 5 years, that number has comedown to 2 roommates and now to just one. So the Kaap making frequency has picked up once again. These days I make them at least twice a week. With that bit of history & trivia out of the way, lets start with the basics of this amazingly addictive dish :

Ingredients :-
- Cockburn's Special Reserve Port Wine
- Snickers Almond Bar
- 1 FAT,well rounded, Potato
- Malvani Masala
- Salt
- Wheat Flour
- Cooking Oil


If you thought the wine and chocolate were for some exotic garnishing then you were mistaken. They are just for starters, to get you into the swing of things. Pour yourself a generous serving of this silky smooth port wine. The thing about Cockburn's (besides its obtuse name), is that you don't need any extra efforts to swallow it. Just let it rest on your tongue, it will slither under its own silken weight and slide down your throat in an elegant swirling arc, without you having to exercise your throat muscles. Wait for about 15 mins for the wine to make it's way into your blood stream. The time may wary depending upon how thick your blood is or how cheap the wine is. For me, it takes just 7 minutes flat, to get that funny light headed feeling. The emphasis here is to become comfortably numb as opposed to being soddenly drunk, coz very soon we will be dealing with a sharp knife and hot oil, so we would need steady hands & feet.

You would need a chunky fat potato. Unlike batata bhajjiya's which are thinly sliced, Kaap's come in thick slices. If you cut them too thin, in all likelihood they would get burnt while shallow frying. I do opt for thinner cuts, sometimes, just for the sake of variation.

Rinse the slices under water and get the excess water off. The idea here is to just get their surface wet. Transfer them to a wide plate, before doing that rinse the plate with water as well. Sprinkle some salt on both sides, & rub the the slices over the salt ensuring that it spreads evenly.

Now comes the mother of all ingredients of Malvani cuisine - "Malvani Masala". A dozen or more spices are blended with 2 varieties of dried red chillies (Kaashmiri & Bedki) to make this masala. Thanks to my mum, I get to use home made masala, else I wouldn't know where to buy it in market.

Sprinkle the masala onto the slices. Turn them over, and sprinkle on both sides.

If you have got the water content just right on the plate & on the slices, you won't face any problem in spreading the masala layer evenly . If you have too much of water, you would end up with watery mess and the masala won't stick to the surface. It takes few attempts to get a hang of the right combination of dampness.

Next comes the wheat flour. Dab the slices with flour on both sides. You can use corn flour if you prefer crispy Kaap's.

Put a frying pan with little bit of oil. Remember, we are not going to deep fry, this is a shallow fried dish. Wait for the oil to get warm. You can hover your palm over the pan. Once you feel the warmth emanating from the pan reaching your hand, you are ready to transfer the flour dusted slices onto the frying pan.

Let them fry for few minutes, before flipping them over. If you are a seasoned pro, you would know when to switch off the gas. If you are bit new to cooking, you can poke the slices with a fork or knife. If it goes in smoothly it means the slices are well n truly done.

Transfer them onto a plate covered with double layered kitchen towels & observe a golden halo appearing around each slice. The paper not only helps in soaking any excess oil, it also helps in draining any underlying sense of guilt over eating unhealthy oily food.

Kaap's goes famously well with rice and daal or you can eat it on its own like a snack. Before tucking in, I usually close my eyes and utter a silent prayer to myself - ## No Woman, No Cry ##

ps : In case you can't lay your hands on Malvani Masala, you can try a more generic variation of this recipe listed here on Mumbai-Masala dot Com . I doubt if it would taste half as good without Malavani Masala (but I maybe biased here).

Wind Beneath My Wings

The time is 3:38am. Yes, that's 3:38 in the middle of a dark night. You are blissfully asleep (what else do you expect?). Someone taps violently on your shoulder. You wake up with a start (sic) and drearily open your eyes. You see a food tray - filled with raajma chaawal, chana masala, pickle & a stiff dry roti thrust onto your, bed sheet covered, lap. As you look sideways, you notice, you are not alone in this. A couple, also draped from head to toe with bed sheets, are propped up next to you. They too are rubbing their sleep deprived eyes & staring blankly at the food trays in front of them. What's happening?, you wonder. A threesome in middle of night, with some food thrown in to make things bit raunchy?? Is this real? Is this really happening?

How are you supposed to react, faced with situation like this?

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Reaction - A
Scream your guts off and wake up the entire neighbourhood.

Reaction - B
Stay Calm. Dismiss this as just another of those weird nonsensical dreams and go promptly back to sleep. Perhaps during the day time, you met a comely Punjabi gal. Thanks to some deep seated psychological cravings for the aforementioned lass, you have woken up dreaming of Punjabi food in middle of night.

Reaction - C
Sob gently & start eating the food, unmindful of the tears dropping into the food tray. They say food is a great comforter (perhaps not as great as sex, but still).Someone knows that you have been depressed lately over your work life, love life, sex life, social life or perhaps just "life life". That's the reason you are being fed a 5000 calorie comforting meal in middle of night.
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I truly had not bargained for a scene like this when I confirmed my 2-way tickets to Shanghai. I was flying Singapore Airlines and I had instructed my ticketing agent that I would need Indian vegetarian food on the flight. What had totally slipped my mind, was that, my return flight was scheduled for a midnight take-off. After a breezy 1 week stay in Shanghai, I find myself heading back to Sg'pore. I arrive at Pudong airport - sleep deprived, tired & with a cacophony of hungry crows crowing in my belly, eagerly awaiting Indian vegetarian food on the flight.

As I board and quickly settle in my window seat, the usual rigmarole starts :

[ Hot Towels, for you sir ? ]
[ Juice.. Juice.. Juice.. ]
[ Fasten your seat belts ]
[ All cabin crew to their stations, we are about to take off ]
[ Tinnnng, the seat belts signs are off, for your own safety we recommend you keep your seatbelts fastened throughout the journey ]

After hearing the Captain's reassuring words, I unfasten my seatbelt & start counting down the time, waiting for the Air Hostess (AH) to push the dinner cart along the alley. As if reading my mind, one of the AH glides along the alley with a big chocolate cake balanced expertly on her hands (Pastries for starters ? who cares!). I whistle softly & wait for her to stop and offer me a bite. Before I could latch down the dining tray in front of me, I see her walk right past the economy class and into the business & 1st class cabins. Damn those business travellers ! Human Rights fella's are you reading this ?

I wait for her to return with leftovers, I am sure those business travellers are kind enough to share the cake with their fellow (lowly ?) economy class brethren. Ten minutes of anxious interval passes. The AH returns back with a smiling face and an empty tray. The whole bloody cake had been polished off by those effing business travellers, leaving me to lick my dry parched lips & nibble onto my economy class boarding pass. Before I could request for a glass of water to moisturize my dry lips, the lights go off. (And) with it, diminish any hopes of me being served dinner (Indian vegetarian or otherwise).

I reluctantly tear open the plastic bag containing the bed sheet, cover myself from head to toe, recline my seat and doze off. Three hours and thirty minutes into the flight, the AH wakes me up with her professional fake smile, and delivers the promised Indian vegetarian meal. Needless to say, the quintessential non-grumbling middle-class person that I am, I react by opting for “Reaction - C” .

The after effects of this seemingly (ab)normal turn of events is to be felt much later when the flight lands and I find myself standing in the baggage collection area. I fix my gaze on the belt & watch it churn out bags of all shapes and sizes. The slow rhythmic motion of the belt triggers some kind of parasympathetic reaction inside my body. (And) then, without any warning, it happens.

[ section edited out for sake of modesty ]

It's too late, I turn around and watch in horror as the girl standing behind me crinkles her nose and scurries to the opposite direction from where I am standing. Thankfully, I notice my bag inching closer towards me on the belt. I quickly snatch it and make a hasty exit through the green channel of Customs. I've got nothing to declare, except for some highly voluble & volatile gases. As I take a cab back home from Changi Airport, I request the cabbie to switch off the air-con and instead roll down the windows to let some fresh air in. The cool early morning breeze does the trick and I fall asleep once again to the accompaniment of Bette Midler's melodious voice wafting over FM waves.

Oh, the wind beneath my wings.
You, you, you, you are the wind beneath my wings.
Fly, fly, fly away. You let me fly so high.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.
Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.

Fly, fly, fly high against the sky,
so high I almost touch the sky.
Thank you, thank you,
thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.

Mumbai 2051 - Perhaps

From the looks of it, it's gonna take whole lotta work and few lifetimes, for those khaadi clad politicians, to transform Mumbai into Shanghai. While we play catch-up, I got a chance this past week to visit Shanghai & get a first hand look at how Mumbai would look like, long after I am dead. The aerial pics that you see here, have been taken from the 88th floor observatory of Jin Mao Tower.

It's actually quite frustating to take pics atop the Jin Mao tower. For starters you need to shoot through a thick glass wall & then there are like 1001 tourist pressing themselves against the glass walls, as they pose against the panaromic views. I had consciously left my SLR back home in Sg'pore, and instead, I bought a point & shoot Olympus digital camera. Cheap camera, teeming masses, & dull cloudy weather notwithstanding, the pics did turn out quite ok, i guess.

Flip

Lost in SG - Found in HCMC

Disarming content smile on faces of people, a commodity which is scarce in Singapore, can be found in abundance by taking a 1hr 40 mins flight from Singapore to Ho Chi Minh City - Vietnam.

Wardrobe Malfunction

Lessons from the 2008 edition of Wimbledon : Leave those stupid Cardigans and Tuxedo tops to the ramps of Milan & Paris. Just concentrate on Tennis, Duh.

Troika

Marilyn - ver 2.0

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Note : There is absolutely no connection between the picture above and the text below. Both are mutually exclusive (i hope that's the right word) . But if one were to find a common link between the two, perhaps the most obvious attribute they share is - "beauty" . The lady above was voted to have the most perfect pair of boobs (not seen in the pic, sorry) in Hollywood. With a timeless face like that, does anyone really care whether she has perfect or imperfect boobs ?

As for the lines below, these are penned by one of my favourite writer - Gabriel Garcia Marquez . I am yet to come across another writer who can match the sustained beauty of his prose. It was Asuph who introduced me to Marquez & from that moment on, I have been well and truly hooked. It's actually quite foolish of me to quote few selective lines, but believe me if it was upto me, I would copy paste his entire work line per line here. But that would look even more foolish, I guess.

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"One can be in love with several people at the same time, feel the same sorrow with each, and never betray any of them". Alone in the midst of the crowd on the pier, he said to himself in a flash of anger : "My heart has more rooms than a whorehouse.."

"Amputees suffer pains cramps, itches, in the leg that is no longer there. That is how she felt without him, feeling his presence where he no longer was.."

"What is between us is nothing more than an illusion.."

"I have very bad chemistry with animals, just as I do with children before they begin to speak. They seem mute in their souls. I don't hate them, but I can't tolerate them.."

"I think its against nature for a man to get along well with his dog than he does with his wife, to teach it to eat & defecate on schedule, to answer his questions & share his sorrows.."

"Sex is a consolation you have when you can't have love.."

"The problem with marriage is that it ends every night after making love, and it must be rebuilt every morning before breakfast.."

"The scalpel is the greatest proof of the failure of medicine.."

"For as long as I can remember, they have killed us in the cities with decrees, not with bullets."

"How noble this city must be, for we have spent 400 years trying to finish it off & still have not succeeded."

"It is a pity to find a suicide that is not for love.."

"The only frustration I carry away from this life is that of singing at so many funerals except my own.."

"There is no greater misfortune than dying alone.."

"And no women, white or black, is worth 120 pounds of gold, unless she shits diamonds.."

"Books are worthless, Life has helped me cure the diseases that other doctors cause with their medicines.."

"Doctors see with their hands.."

"No medicine cures what happiness cannot.."

"Crazy people are not crazy if one accepts their reasoning.."

"I live in the fear of being alive.."

"Ideas do not belong to anyone, they fly around up there like angels.."

"I am burdened by the greatest misfortune a human being can suffer, I no longer believe.."

"Disbelief is more resistant than faith because it is sustained by the senses.."

"At my age, and with so much mixing of bloodlines, I am no longer certain where I come from, or who I am.."

"Sex is a talent, and I do not have it."

Trainspotting

It's 9:15 am, on a Monday morning. While the corporate world has once again resumed it's pursuit of dreams & happiness, I am sitting here, at my office desk with almost Zen like serenity, totally oblivious of the on going rat race (& also oblivious of the huge pile of "outstanding tasks" sitting prettily on my desk) .

I have picked up keyboard after exactly 7 weeks 3 days & 14 hours to write something other than a 4GL code. I've been keeping tab on each & every painful hour, painful day, painful week that has elapsed since I wrote my last blog (which incidentally, was more of a rant than a blog). For someone who (once) had aspirations of becoming a newspaper columnist this exercise in blogging serves as a huge sobering experience. It kinda makes you realize just how hollow your aspirations are without the backing of any genuine talent. Reality bites, yes it does.

I grew up reading Mid-Day. It is a tabloid format newspaper which hits the Mumbai newspaper stands in afternoon. It was an era before the world-wide-web revolution. While your regular Times Of India, Indian Express gave you the stale news stories on what happened the previous day, Mid-Day gave you the latest stories which happened in the previous evening or night or sometimes even updates on what happened that very morning. A tabloid with all the latest & juiciest news bits & gossip.

Wait, who am I kidding here ?

Nobody read Mid-Day for news-stories. For most people (like me) Mid-Day was a paper which served your daily dose of soft porn. Just turn to page 3, and you were greeted by a fresh & sultry "Mid-Day Mate" - a hot young female in various stages of undress. There was once a phase when the mates got even hotter & went topless for couple of months. Before you wonder what the big fuss is about, let me remind you, we are talking about the 1980s & early 90s here. Topless was huge thing back then, plus I was about 15/16 years old.

I guess I digressed a lot by talking about Mid-Day mates. I actually wanted to talk about Shobha De. It was Shobha De (no she didn't appear topless in Mid-day) who sowed the seeds of my dream of becoming a celebrity writer. She use to write weekly column in Sunday-Mid-Day. Most of my Sundays would start by reading Shobha De's column while still lazing in bed. Reading about the parties she attended, the celebrities she rubbed shoulders with. This is where I found who is sleeping with whom, amongst the Crème De La Crème junta staying in Malabar Hill , Napean Sea Road, Cuffe Parade , Juhu , Bandra etc. I read about their "beautiful & fashionable lives" while lying in my 2 room apartment in the distant unfashionable suburb of Mulund (that would make me an escapist, i guess). I was fascinated by the fact that, this lady could just drop some big names, write stuff which she most likely overheard in some parties, add few witty jibes of her own and Voila! she had a newspaper column of her own. A whole page just for her, with her pretty mug shot & a byline to boot.

I thought, now that's a cushy job right there. I can do that. I can write couple of funny lines, pass few acerbic remarks, pass judgment on movies & movie stars. For all i know I could be a male equivalent of Shobha De. But there was just one minor hitch. I was not a celebrity. I was not married to a celebrity either. Nobody invited me to any high society parties or movie premieres and the worst part was, I was staying in Mulund. For those who aren't aware of Mumbai's topography, Mulund is where the suburban limit of Mumbai ends towards the eastern side. For all you know Mulund is the north pole of Mumbai ( though people staying in Virar might argue against that claim). So although I was legally a resident of Mumbai, I could as well have been staying in Bhatinda or Jhumri-Tallaiya.

As luck would have it (or rather predictably), I grew up to be a 'code coolie'. (And) somewhere down the line came the phenomenon of blogging. When I started blogging I realized just how hard it is to write something week-in and week-out. It doesn't help not having any interesting "life" so to speak of. Just the drab 9am to 6pm job & the usual stay-at-home weekends routine. For becoming a socialite one needs to be "social", at the least. There in lies the crux of the matter.

Any ways, this post was not meant to harp (yet again, as my loyal readers would say) on my non-existent social life. When I picked up keyboard this morning I didn't intend to write about Mid-Day mates & Shobha De. I wanted to write about something more earth shattering. This morning while commuting on MRT to work, I saw something which could (or rather most definitely would) affect humanity in BIG way.

I've got good news for parents, who are losing sleep over which career to choose for their kids. Twenty years from now people working in the field of "Otology" are going to rake in the moolah. So drop everything that you are doing and start preparing your kid to become an Otologist. What makes me so sure that this is gonna happen ? Well next time when you hop onto a train or bus, look around. Look around closely and count the number of persons happily lost listening to some music while being wired to an iPod or a Cell phone or other such gadgets. I did an impromptu counting this morning : 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6...

By the time i finished a quick 180 degree scan, that count had gone up to 13 ! And at each station the count only went up & up & up. What was even more frightening, every 3rd person on that list had the volume levels so loud that I could make out what song they were playing even whilst standing a good 10 feet away from them. Just multiply the insane decibel levels by the number of play hours per day & multiply that by 20 years and you would arrive at a whole generation of stone deaf 40/50 year olds, in not so distant future.

Twenty years from now you can comeback and thank me for this little piece of breaking news. Hope my advice doesn't fall on deaf ears.

S.P.A.M

Okay before we proceed further, I would like to draw your attention to the black armband that I am wearing while writing this post. Yes that's right, I am registering my mute protest against being 'tagged'. I have been emotionally blackmailed by Scarlett & Chettiyar in penning this post. I have an intrinsic hatred against tags. I feel tags are blogging equivalent of chain mails. I am sure everyone out there, at one point of time, have received an e-mail with a Love poem written by an ailing girl from Timbuktu, with the customary footnote attached :

Warning : Please do not keep this mail in your inbox. Pass it forward.

If you send this mail to - 1 to 5 persons :
You stand a chance of getting laid within next 5 hours.

If you send this mail to - 5 to 10 persons :
You would be cured of the STD that you have been suffering quietly for past 10 years.

If you don't forward this mail to anyone :
You will remain bachelor/spinster not only for this life but also for next 7 (action less) lives.

Needless to say, I am only too happy to play spoil sport and hit the delete button thereby attracting bad luck prophesized by such e-mails.

Okay i think i have ranted enough. Without any further ado let me get down to the utterly serious business of completing this tag.

Tag Rules : Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the 5 key words given : family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like. Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better

Here we go :

Family: here you will find me blaming my family for my bachelor status

Friend: here you will find a brief mention of my KJT type college friend

Yourself : self-explanatory

Your Love : Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. A Love, that has sustained the test of time, form & injuries

Anything that you like : going out on solitary excursions with my camera to capture a serene image, as seen here

As for tagging 5 other friends : The buck stops here (as always).

p.s. : Scary & Chetz , I still love you both :))

A Chalet For Two @ Sibu Island - Malaysia

Me & my roommate went to Sibu Island - Malaysia, during Chinese New Year long weekend. My rommie had done bookings thru e-mails & phone calls. All the while he just mentioned that we need booking for 2 persons.

When we landed at the resort, the firang lady (owner of the resort) had a bemused expression on seeing 2 “guys”. She had assumed that 2 persons staying together at a beachfront romantic location, by default, had to be a “couple” ! She had taken great pains in setting a Queen-size bed, with flowers strewn on it for us (no kidding there) . The first thing we did when we entered our chalet was to throw the flowers in bin and set our pillows as far apart as we possibly could. I wanted to take picture of the immaculately made-up bed. But my roommate literally snatched the camera off my hands saying - "Yaar tereko toh kuch padi nahi hein.. Lekin mereko shaadi karni hein. Aisaa photo dekhegaa toh ladki kaun degaa ? "

Sun-N-Sand-N-Sails @ Sibu Island - Malaysia

This is my second visit to Sibu. I was bit disappointed by the muted sunrises that I witnessed this time around. The 2 freakish sunrises that I saw last time, now seem like stuff of distant fantasy.

Colourless sunrises notwithstanding, the sun did make its presence felt during later part of day. The wooden jetty which figured so prominently in my pics last time, is now nowhere to be seen. It has slowly succumbed to the relentless battering of the waves. Only 4 bamboos still stand proud & triumphant amidst the ruins. With my favourite subject lost to the travesties of nature, I was forced to scourge the entire length & breadth of the island in search of other photographic landscapes. Circumventing the rocky shoreline, after a 30-40 mins trek along the south-western tip, we found another abandoned jetty. This one seemed to be in pink of health. Just a few broken planks here & there, but still sturdy enough to bear the weight of an intrepid photographer and his trusted aide. When we reached there, the sun was already setting , but again there wasn’t much of colour on the horizon and the light continued to be bleak. Hopefully, I will get one more chance (in future) to do justice to the beauty of this idyllic location.

A Tale Of Missing Conoeist - (perhaps..)

Sunset @ Sibu Island - Malaysia