The Rebelle blog

Last night, I walked while listening to Frank Sinatra's voice melting in my ears crooning to strangers in the night, while it was raining outside. It certainly added to the effect of feeling one with his voice and the wistful longing that rainy nights bring with them.  I was in a taxi (über) in Berlin on my way to Neukölln from a restaurant near Charlottenburger straße after a farewell dinner when I found myself recognising the voice from the radio. As I let the music wash over my senses, I quipped to the driver asking if it was Frank Sinatra singing. He said he didn't know but checked in a minute and beamed happily that it was Sinatra. The joy that arose in my heart at the recognition comforted me. I happily spent my time in the cab listening to the music as we passed the dark streets that night. Something about Sinatra singing in his low notes tugs at the deepest core in our hearts. He brings to senses long lost memories, a nostalgia that is deeply rooted in time and comes fl...

I miss handwritten letters: writing, reading and caressing them. For a while in the last decade I did replace letter writing with emails but that too died soon since there was no reciprocation from people to whom I sent my long email letters. Tonight I read an essay titled "I hope I haven't bored you" by Christopher Spaide on Poetry Foundation discussing James Merrill's letters to his friend. The article also mentions excerpts from a new book on Merrill titled:  A Whole World: Letters from James Merrill (Knopf, 2021), coedited by Merrill’s biographer, Langdon Hammer, and his literary executor, the poet-critic Stephen Yenser.  Something kept running through my mind as I read about Merrill writing letters as a six year old and through his adulthood. I thought, what are my memories from childhood? Apart from the now fading kodak photographs and memories, is there any other physical vestige that I could carry into my old age? Surprisingly, I couldn't think of any. I ...

गेल्या आठवड्यापासून पाऊस सगळीकडे चांगलाच पडतोय आणि हळूहळू पावसावरचे लेख देखील वाचण्यात येऊ लागलेत. मला फार पूर्वीपासूनच पावसात भिजणं आवडत नाही. कॉलेजच्या दिवसांत देखील ट्रेनने प्रवास करताना अनेकवेळा चिंब भिजून त्या गर्दीत चढताना जीव नकोसा व्हायचा. मला सर्दी लवकर होते म्हणून देखील मी पावसात भिजणं कटाक्षाने टाळते. तर आज हा इथे लिहिण्याचा उहापोह यासाठी की एका मैत्रिणीने तिच्या पावसाळी दिवसांच्या भुट्टा खाणाऱ्या आठवणी लिहिल्यात आणि त्या वाचून मी देखील काही क्षण त्या सुंदर गतकाळात स्थिरावले.  एके दिवशी पावसात चिंब भिजून कॉलेजला पोहोचले तर तिथे आमचा स्टुडिओच गळत होता. सगळीकडे फरशीवर पाणी आणि त्या अंधारलेल्या जागेत आम्ही मिळेल त्या कोरड्या जागेत बसलेलो मला आजही लक्ख आठवतंय.  नंतरच्या आठवणी ह्या जेजेतल्या हिरव्या पटांगणावर पडणाऱ्या पाऊसधारा बघण्याच्या आणि नाचत उड्या मारत पावसाला चकवत स्टुडिओ ते कॅन्टीनला पळण्याच्या ह्या होत्या.  इंटर्नशिपच्या काळात व्हीटी ते कुलाबा बहुतांशी मी पायीच प्रवास करायचे. तेव्हा छत्री सांभाळत, हातातलं पुस्तक भिजू न देता, इतर लोकांना चुकवत तो रस...

I feel very pumped up about motivating myself to do new things, discover stuff that I pushed in the back of my mind for several unknown reasons. I have been sharing this with a fellow Architect friend as well hoping to motivate him to get beyond conventional architecture ideologies and practices. The way we view Architectural practices in India is in a retrograde motion. Everybody talks of the changing urban scenario with regards to global implications of climate change and economic crisis and socio-cultural shift but we do not pay a heed to mechanisms that should address these concerns. I also feel that my senses have renewed themselves after a short stint on something I love and am so passionate about. I am not just talking and thinking of architecture as a venture or a theory but as an alternative replaceable means to look at certain issues. Architecture is not the only important thing in this world. Neither is technology but people have taken these two together and promoted them t...