The Rebelle blog

I have made a new friend and we have been talking a lot lately on varied topics. Today we succumbed to nostalgia and went into the most animated conversation I have had in recent times. This thought touched my mind about how I fall easily into a candid confession with people I trust. Whether I do it because I have this propensity to disclose everything that's on my mind or whether I do it because I distrust my mind, is something I am not going to ponder too much upon! Not without first writing about it. It's very strange but not really difficult to think about how I have been penning down thoughts here to a blind world, people that I can't see and of course, who don't know me in person. At least, the ones who do also know that I could write here and then also still be afflicted with my emotions. What makes us write to a faceless crowd on the internet? Is it the freeing of fear where we simply exist and not feel ashamed to bare it all? I clearly remember how I began writ

It began on a good note. I was ready with my teaching material. The class started with a low, subdued response and I got them to watch a video thinking it would lead towards a discussion. NONE of them spoke anything. I was too pissed at this non- response and quit the class since I couldn't take it anymore. It didn't go the way I envisioned it but more than that the silence hit me real hard. Despite having established a good conversational rapport through the earlier sessions, this impassiveness was like a slap in the face.  How does one get others interested in learning? All the aids of visual teaching, music and film clips, animation, performance seems inadequate to trigger enthusiasm and curiosity. Is this really a generational thing to be so uninvolved in learning? This is so frustrating. And, the day doesn't get any better. I am afraid these bad spirits are threatening my peace of mind. no amount of any poetic philosophy seems to help the situation. May be it really is

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 रस्ता चालताना देखील वेगळीच

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

Over time, things change to a great extent. We change too. There's no set definitions or parameters that pinpoint to these changes. We keep going through the fundamental changes in different time phases. In what ways, are we ready to experience these shifts in our inherent behavioral patterns? Can we truly focus on our natural inhibitions? I feel at such a loss of my trusting instincts that see me giving people a fair chance. Of course, the world doesn't just operate only in shades of black & white. There's the grey matter largely interspersed in between tearing through our best judging abilities. Gosh, I feel like such an idiot! Here I am venting out my disappointment and really seeking what? An acknowledgement of what happened in the many years to come? Perhaps, I will forget about it then and I dearly hope I do.  What do I do? Pull up my socks and pretend that nothing happened? Or, go through being sulky and sullen through this terrible ordeal and keep that facade po

Such a calm, contented day today. Like every year, when this day comes there is an excitement, barrage of good wishes from friends and family and the quiet celebration with my loved ones. Last year was a lockdown birthday and so is this year. I am full of gratitude for good health, and peace of mind. I have had the means to indulge my spirits in Art and Poetry, conversations with some of my constant friends since forever. What more could I ask?  And, yet like every year, I think of my ambitions, my desires and goals and everything that I wish to accomplish with the same fervour. April comes and goes too soon. It marks a time that gives me reason to go ahead, something about the excruciating long lazy hot days puts everything else in perspective. I wouldn't have pegged myself a seasonal person, but I am. My moods aggravate and elevate with the change in seasons. Perhaps I am so since childhood but only understanding being like this in my adulthood. Funny and amusing that as I go bac

आज रविवार. सकाळी गच्चीवर फिरताना सभोवताली नजर फिरवली आणि गेल्या कित्येक वर्षात ह्या परिसरात रहात असताना झालेल्या बदलांचा मी मागोवा घेतला. पूर्वी सगळीकडे इथे घनदाट झाडांच्या रांगा होत्या, रस्त्याच्या दुतर्फा आणि पार डोंगरापर्यंत. मग हळूहळू मानवी वस्ती वाढायला सुरुवात झाली. आधी छोटी तुरळक घरं दिसायला लागलीत मग तीन मजली इमारती आणि आता तर टोलेजंग दहा ते पंधरा मजली गगनचुंबी इमारती. जणू आकाशाला गवसणी घालण्याकरिता त्यांच्या सगळ्यांमध्ये चढाओढ निर्माण झाली. मला आता दिसताय त्या दूर क्षितिजावर धुरकट पण तरी डौलदार अशा डोंगर रांगा. लांबून त्यांच्या स्थिर दिसणाऱ्या रेघा पाहिल्यावर एखाद्या कुंचल्याने आकाशाच्या पटलावर किती अलगद सहज रंग उमटले असा भास माझ्या मनाला स्पर्शून गेला.   वारा देखील मनातल्या आठवणींना पिंगा घालत होता. मला आठवला पावसाळ्यातला तो दिवस जेव्हा आम्ही पहिल्यांदा या नवीन घरी पाऊल टाकलं होतं. नुकत्याच सरी येऊन गेल्या होत्या आणि सगळा आसमंत मातीच्या घमघमाटात प्रसन्न भरला होता. झाडांवर पावसाचा शिडकावा इतका आल्हाददायी भासला होता. पूर्वी कधीच इतकं जवळून निसर्गाशी एकरूप होण्याची संधी मिळाली न

It's been a while to have engaged with my thoughts here. The humdrum of life and tapping keys here finally comes together again today on a Saturday. As I kept searching for a journal to pen down my thoughts, a look at the calendar took me back in time. I went through a meeting with my friends after a long year since the pandemic forced us down to be isolated. And then, last night I had a rather surreal dream where I met one of my oldest friends since college and it was such an exuberant meet where she appeared out of sight somehow. Then, came another friend that I just don't get to talk to anymore. It's strange how my morning turned out to reminisce about them and then I read some beautiful verses on pale pink flowers dashing through my screen.  This summer is making me feel the serenity of time. The heat is almost unbearable but there's art and poetry to engulf with and I am leaving no stone unturned to get together my senses in enjoying these moments. Text conversatio

आजच्या दिवसाचे विचारधन ते हे की आपले श्रेष्ठत्व सिद्ध करण्यासाठी आपण इतरांना कमी लेखता कामा नये!  आज, २७ फेब्रुवारी! कुसुमाग्रज यांचा जन्मदिन.  साधारण बारा वर्षांची असताना मी कुसुमाग्रजांची "कणा" ही कविता श्री. विहंग नायक यांनी सादर केलेल्या एका कार्यक्रमात ऐकली होती. त्यांच्या धीरगंभीर आवाजाची स्मृती आजही माझ्या अंगावर शहारे आणतो. त्यांच्या कवितांचे जसजसे मी पारायण करायला लागले तसे त्यातले भाव, छटा, काव्यात्मकता अजून उमजून स्वत: कविता व्यक्त करायला लागले. पुढे काही वर्षांनी वाचलेल्या "प्रेम कर भिल्लासारखं" आणि "समिधाच सख्या ह्या" अशा कविता तसेच गाण्यांच्या स्वरूपात त्यांचा आस्वाद घेता येणाऱ्या कविता भरपूर वाचल्या. नाशिकमध्ये असलेल्या त्यांच्या स्मरणार्थ उभारलेल्या "कुसुमाग्रज प्रतिष्ठान" ला भेटण्याचा योग आला.  आयुष्यात घडणाऱ्या तर्हतर्हेच्या घटनांचा मागोवा घेताना मी हमखास कवितेच्या माध्यमातून त्या व्यक्त करते. एखाद्या लेखकाने इतक्या अचूकपणे माझ्या विचारांना लेखणीतून मांडलेले जेव्हा वाचते तेव्हा ह्या वैश्विकतेचे मला नवल वाटते. भावनांचे शब्दांतून

Waking up to one of those days when you feel down and out. The feeling has been building over a week and the outpouring is happening only now. Much as I try to think it out rationally and process the events that occurred with no emotion attached to them, I actually find myself sinking deeper into the abyss. I gave away my power, and now am left lurching between this moment as I pass through another. Hoping time shall heal these scratches, however on surface they look like. I am hoping that writing here will help me dissolve the unpleasantness and remove the cynicism I feel so ingrained with since a week. Talking hasn't helped so far, perhaps writing will. Life is confusing and people are afraid. It dawns upon me now how willing I was to forego my ideals and compromise just for the sake of some normalcy. Perhaps, this isn't meant to be.  Still learning to navigate these deep waters. My clarity on life's various vagaries are shifting, blurred and super chaotic right now but I