Saturday, December 19, 2009


I just read a quote:
"Any emotion if it is sincere is involuntary."


I just read a quote:
"Any emotion if it is sincere is involuntary."

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

the more you have

My writing (as have my drawings and paintings) has gone so much better (in my own opinion) in the last month. SImply because I have been writing more again.

It is all biblical. The more you have (or do) the more will be given you. The less you have (or do) the more will be taken off you.

History of drawing

I have had a lot of people ask me how long I have been drawing. And recently I have been asked a few times more than usual. It could be that I am drawing even more lately. Been feeling the love to do it in free times, getting inspired through films, comics, books, photographs and random ideas.

In our Drawing class with Michael Collins I have been working on a series of ten paintings with ink wash, based on a comic retro theme labelled 'The Stalking Samurai' about a 1950s woman who is stalked on the street by a mysterious shadowy samurai. Then she escapes to a cafe but realises the samurai is still stalking her. Right now I am working on the scene in her bathroom as she emerges out of the bath tub. Care has been taken care that she looks hot, because she is hardly covered and her legs and back need to look good. Inspiration from film voyeurism (where the idea is to show off the woman's body to attract more attention to the story, which works obviously as seen in Bollywood movie Bobby). It is not pornographic so its alright.

Michael has been highly impressed with the paintings and last week as I was working on the third painting, he said, "You have done in three hours what my third year Fine Arts students cannot do in half a year." Because apparently one of his students was trying to finish a comic novel but hardly got anywhere because he was trying too hard to make the characters real and all that. (It actually is all in the head. No matter how much paper work you do, if the characters aren't real to you inside your head, they just aren't real.) But that was an awesome comment to get from a drawing teacher and one of my favourite teachers at that.

Then yesterday as I was brushing up my sixth or seventh painting, he came and looked at it and said she will call Janet Abbot (the head of department of Fine Arts department) and let her have a look.

Golly! I thought.

Janet looked at them with her fingers on her chin. She nodded. Then asked, "How long have you been drawing?"

"As long as I can remember."

"Ah. That's the way it should be, good."

She thought she would put the paintings up somewhere in the college. But she didn't in the end, thank goodness. Because after the submissions are done and my marks are received I plan to sell them (ten paintings in all as a series of paintings) and make some money. haha

And coincidentally Debbie asked me, "how long have you been drawing?", yesterday. And I gave her history of how I drew everywhere, on my uncle's bike, uncle's cupboards, drawers and so on.

So yeah, I don't think that drawing is any talent I have. Of course maybe I have an eye for creativity and ideas, but the ability to draw I was not born with. It is not logical. Afters about 18 years of slaving away, spending afternoons and nights drawing away, painting away, looking at books with beautiful drawings, I have come to where I have been. Nothing is acheived when nothing is done.

That gives me more reason to keep drawing. Else one day I'd be saying, "when I was younger I used to draw SO MUCH. Then I got busy and sort of stopped."

Acquired gifts take time but do wear off. And it is a gift, not a birthright. I can lose it.

Vespa Ride And A Day of Cafe Hopping In Rome (Roman Holiday film)

I just finished watching Roman Holiday, a classic film made in the 50s. It is a beaitiful movie, one might even call it one of the first few chick flicks. But I wouldn't call it that. It is pretty serious film making in a way that the story was well written and technical things were on the spot too.

Audrey Hepburn acts Princess Ann who escapes from her Colosseum during her stately visit to Rome and disguises herself as someone. She is picked up by an American news reporter who reluctantly takes her in simply because she had gone nuts, talking nonsense and almost at a state of drunkenness. He lets her sleep on his couch (not on his bed, haha).

Next day Princess Ann comes to the realisation that she is in a stranger's house. She lies she is a school kid running away from school, and the American guy Joe Bradley pretends to believe though he knew by now that she is actually Princess Ann.

Now Bradley wants his boss to pay him 5000 dollars (or was it 50,00$) for an exclusive interview. And decides to accompany Princess Ann as she roamed the city as a normal girl.

I loved the scenes where they go riding on a vespa and upturn the market places, run over people's bags, displace street stores and had the police after them. I also read a review in the internet that the movie made vespa hot in vogue.

SOme quotes from the film:
Princess Ann: I could do some of the things I've always wanted to.
Joe Bradley: Like what?
Princess Ann: Oh, you can't imagine. I-I'd do just whatever I liked all day long.
Joe Bradley: Tell you what. Why don't we do all those things, together?
Princess Ann: But don't you have to work?
Joe Bradley: Work? No. Today's gonna be a holiday.
Princess Ann: But you want to do a lot of silly things?
Joe Bradley: [He takes her hand] ... First wish? One sidewalk cafe, comin' right up. I know just the place. Rocca's.
Irving Radovich (Joe's photographer friend): Joe, we can't go running around town with a hot princess!
Dr. Bonnachoven: The best thing I know is to do exactly what you wish for a while.
Joe Bradley: Now, come on. You're not that drunk.
Princess Ann: [laughing] If you're so smart I'm not drunk at all. I'm just being
[her head falls against his chest]
Princess Ann: verrrrry haaaappy...
Yeah its a very light hearted story. Some of the scenes are actually inspiring Sirion Diaries scenes now. New scenes popping into my head.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009


I went to class to work on my projects. Raj and Lina were there. I sat down at the computer. Lina had turned on the fan and it was sighing away. I started to feel very sleepy. So I decided to crash on the couch and take a nap.
Wasn't easy to go to sleep.
And woke up at 9:10pm. AN HOUR later. And it is getting late. And I know there is nothing I can do now. No use trying to do any more work, not for tonight.
FIne. Go home then.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Ten things about going home and what to do there

Last night I talked with people back from Shillong. I can't wait to meet them again. I can't believe I haven't seen them for a year and a half. That is a long time I have to say, and I felt like I just met them last week, as I was talking to them.

There is much to do when I reach there. First hug my parents and pat my brothers on their heads (like puppies that they are). Then I will eat Lay's and all the street food that I can see in the near proximity.

Here is brief list of things that I suspect will happen:
1. Meet friends, yes, meet family relatives. Tell them about New Zealand (if they ask).
2. Christmas Eve service, where all the international students are expected to put on a show of some sort, telling some story of life back in their countries where they study in. Uh, I am not going to do some cultural show like the Maori dance though that is the first thing that comes to my mind.
3. Style photo shoot with Sirawon and Bi. Hope this happens. But looking at how this sort of things turn out, I guess there will be other people like Asane, Thiu, maybe, POuchun, Alex, and it will probably turn out into food party driving around in narrow Shillong roads tucked with aloo moorie, Lay's and Sprite. Atleast that's what I care for right now. Photography.. anyone can do. Having fun, not everyone!
4. Youth guys, will be all abuzz for Christmas. I can't wait to step in and catch the buzz.
5. Home town galore, more food, more love, more family. More cheap street food in Tamenglong, more Christmas lujam singing and more meat! And of course walking about from cousin's place to another cousin's place and getting dusty.
6. Observing is what I did the last time I went to Tamenglong after a long time. Much had happened. Much will have happened even more now. I will try and write blogs and stories about what is happening there (on a more serious note).
7. MAKE A DOCUMENTARY FILM!!!!! That is more like a travelogue. OR whatever you call it. A documentation of travel. Snippets of random things that come my way. And edit them after I come back to Christchurch when I am missing home again.
8. Roam Police Bazaar and Laitumkhrah, try to merge in with the streets, keep a keen eye for details and be inspired all over again to start a new whiff of Sirion pages running again. Or if not for that, just for the sake of the joy of it, the streets that I patronise so much.
9. More family time. Thou shall not plan to have family times, because it is not even to be planned, it should THE thing to do. Bully POuchun.
10. Go through all my old stuff, old comic books I never finished, my old books and writings, and see if I should take anything back with me.
11. Play drums for Christmas at SBC.

Friday, December 11, 2009

You'll Never Walk Alone

Today I am reminded of the song that I grew up hearing my mother sing all the time:

You'll Never Walk Alone
R. Rogers/O. Hammerstein II

When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark

Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone

When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark

Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk

You'll never walk
You'll never walk alone.

The Face

There was a clown who put on a happy face. Not many people wanted to see his real face. He came in circuses and busking fairs sometimes. And he had a funny mask. His mask reminded people of a warm sunshine. Yellow and golden and beaming.

Not many people even thought he has a face. Not that he shouldn't but just that it was just better if he didn't. It complicated a lot of things. What wass the harm in overlooking a little of this fact?

Still the same, everybody in the travelling crew loved him.

But today he sat near the water's edge and just sat. He looked at himself in the water and someone sad looked back at him. Who is he that looked so sad? Someone so unlike himself or what the world knew him as. Someone so unlike what he knew himself as. Maybe it was just a ghost. Just a dream. Maybe just a ripple in the water that contorted his face so that his happy face looked sad.

He also painted the massive backdrops for all the drama that happened with the travelling show. And he painted with love from his heart. He drew out of happy memories when he painted. He went back to his happy past, his times of friendship and love, and drew sunshine and flowers and trees out of those thoughts.

People fawned over his creation. Sometimes he enjoyed it. But sometimes, when he was painting it, he felt himself getting colder. Like a bit of sunshine, a bit of warmth has escaped from him, and gone into the painting. That a bit of his soul has moved from his frame to that canvas. And he was getting emptied slowly.

He was just a frame anyway. Just a body. Where the soul chose to come and dwell and make its home. And where life could choose to leave whenever it wanted to.

Today he just sat on the water's edge. Untroubled and unbothered. Unhappy, unsad. Nothing. Like a cold stone that he was sitting on. Like the river that swept past. Like the reflection of the poplars on the water's surface. Like the smokes that lingered from the chimneys.

He looked again at the face reflected back at him, and wondered who he was. Who was this sad man and why does he have this strange feeling that he has seem him before but still looked very unfamiliar.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Led Zeppelin - The Rain Song

This is the springtime of my loving - the second season I am to know
You are the sunlight in my growing - so little warmth I've felt before.
It isn't hard to feel me glowing - I watched the fire that grew so low.

It is the summer of my smiles - flee from me Keepers of the Gloom.
Speak to me only with your eyes. It is to you I give this tune.
Ain't so hard to recognize - These things are clear to all from
Time to time.

Talk Talk - I've felt the coldness of my winter
I never thought it would ever go. I cursed the gloom that set upon us...
But I know that I love you so

These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall
This is the wonder of devotion - I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient - Upon us all a little rain must fall


sometimes i wish i am allowed to swear.

Saturday, December 5, 2009


Today I woke up to sunshine. It was strange after so many days of cloud and rain, it started to feel like summer again. I walked to church studio which I found out was closed. Every Saturday, duh. And the girls were at the 'all-girls' launch of Porcelain stationery launch. Inf Def store didn't entertain me that much. Just met Georgie (who ballets at Majestic sometimes) who now apparently worked there and who promised to show me her fashion illustrations. Inf Def was depressing me, I don't know why. Lumes Cafe was alright. Talked with David about bringing in my art pieces to put on display and maybe put some amount on it so that it might get sold hopefully. Also thought of putting in my comic books there, not to be sold but just for display and for coffee-ers to read.

I sat at the Cathedral Square drawing a few people there, hanging around to enjoy the sun. An Asian guy sat next to me drinking Starbucks and I kept feeling he was Soo Jern (for some reason). I got three pages of drawings in my sketchbook, trying out different forms and pose that people sat at.

I had the idea of going to library and sitting there and planning out the next few pages of Sirion Diaries in writing. But when I got there, it was closed. Library closes at 4pm every weekends. Damn early! I just grinned to myself and walked back home.

Now I am looking forward to a full afternoon of Sirion Diaries. Bliss.

But I am confused, would you call it a productive day or just wasted? Because what I planned totally didn't work out but then I also don't mind how it is turning out to be.

Ok, page 116 of Sirion Diaries beckons me.

Friday, December 4, 2009


Lord, you have blessed me. Abundantly. You have lighten up your countenance upon and given me your great favour.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

About Sirion Diaries

I think that it is about time I get a move on with Sirion Diaries again. Sometimes I worry that the comic industry is so engrossed in making stories about the future, and stories that are plain outrageous and bizarre enough to stand out in the crazy noisy mess of a market, that mine wouldn't stand out as much.

I have been inspired by artists who made art works that are just mind blowing and crazy that it does demand enough attention from people. That is fair enough. But most stories today that exists on the racks are stories that are other worldly. Like a child robot out to destroy a robot system gone out of control affecting all robots around the world, or people controlling 100 feet tall machines that walk about as vehicles. Or about demons and angels fighting over a soul. Or about strange weird things that are just strange as strange can be.

Don't get me wrong. I do respect them, and appreciate them.

But Sirion Diaries is a simple story about a person and his friends and his feelings and the places and his everyday stuff, living in a school on the Himalayan mountains. That is simply about it. No ghosts. No horror. No sex (haha, who knows, but thats pretty normal anyway). No robots. No UFO's.

I know people (who are encouraging me) will say it will stand out because of the quiet confidence it has on the story and attract attention because of its silence, rather than the amount of noise it creates. I believe in that. But it is a risk. Sirion Diaries is not a story. It is not just a novel. To me it is a mindset. To me, it is a way of thought that I need to get into. It is no trivial matter.

The opening quotation in Arundhati Roy's book 'God Of Small Things' sums it all up for me:
"And never again will a story be told, as though it was the only story to be told."

nothing much..

Is it summer yet? I woke up to sounds of rain today. I have to say I love the sound of rain pattering on the roof of another floor above mine. And I would have easily went back to sleep, losing myself in that sound but I couldn't. I just wanted summer. Rain is beautiful when we think about it wistfully and when we're all mushy mushy, but when I need to get out of bed and go to class and need to get excited about what I have lined for the day, it is of not much help.

There is heaps of work to be done today. Some have been done already. And I have to say it's been good so far.

I just realise I have 20 days to go back to Shillong. Somehow it hasn't dawned on me yet. How much of Shillong will have changed? How many of the people that used to be there, will be there? How much of the places and memories will have lasted?

I can't wait to see Tamenglong too. Its dusty roads and the celebrating churches that come alive during Christmas and the traditional drums that resonates throughout the town's hills, enveloped in evening light.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009


I feel alright now. but I worry if I wake up tomorrow, I would feel like my world just crashed down and I would sink in the middle of it all.


Or maybe not. Tomorrow might be different than I fear it will be.

Monday, November 30, 2009


Pray for Pauly who had a major operation.

He is going to have heaps more stories to tell of God's greatness, when this episode is over..

untitled IV

AND.......... probably my last post for the month of November, JUST so that the number of posts this month SHOULD beat October's count (which was 17. With this last post, it becomes 18 for November!)

Tonight is TRANSFORM at the Majestic. It will be good.

untitled III

Sometimes I can stare at the face of fire and still be cold. I am afraid that I am capable of this.
But then as much as that, I realise I can stare at the face of ice and still remain warm. Flip side of everything, they say.

untitled II

I was reading Africa's Mountains of the Moon in my Business Class. Michael Mertz, our business tutor was talking about Business PLans, which we talked about with Simon, the other day in our Jordi Duff Clinic meeting with him.

And it feels like what used to happen in college and school when I'd snuck in a book and read or doddle all over the page while the lectures drone away in the background. And being bored in lectures is one of the best time to think up ideas and make use of the sketchbook.

Anyway, it's just a short break between two sessions of Business Studies class. And the second session starts in five minutes on the Mezzanine floor.

tell me

it was supposed to answer my questions. but i took it in and it gave me more questions.

Saturday, November 28, 2009


This morning I woke up feeling a bit heavy headed. But then I stepped out onto the balcony and the fresh air distilled by the summer rain broke through all the heaviness. I made myself tea and grabbed my stuff for my quiet time.

Wrote this one then:
"I want to sit under a cool dripping fern in a light rain, feel the cloud brush against my face, see a mountain peek from between passing mists. Listen to a running brook and hear a glistening tree shift gently in the wind. I want to come away with You, somewhere new, somewhere deep."

It is a beautiful morning. Though I love summer a lot, it is a nice change today.

What Happened Between Then And Now

I was going to go off to sleep when a thought struck me. I have another account on Orkut, which is another social networking site, big in India. Personally I prefer Facebook over Orkut but I remained there for the sake of many friends there. Anyway there is a guy who used to be my class mate a very long time ago, before he moved away from Shillong to Delhi, I think.

I remember he used to be a whizz kid, who boasted about his prowess in computer and those basic computer stuffs, and all these when computers used to be the rare unapproachable new thing that everyone marvelled. He would talk about how he played games in it and do quizzes on the computer.

Then I met up with him in Orkut again, apparently he is IIT Gurgaon now, which is like the hot spot for information technology, in India, and even worldwide because most good IT schools are in India.

But his profile picture was disappointing to say the least. He stood with some hand pose and sunnies with brown-ish shirt on. What happened to that smart fellow who threw the class in awe with his stories with computer? How did he become so....... lame and normal? His quotations in his profile page were hardly inspirational too, stuff about life being music and dance and love and those sort of.. stuff. What happened in the middle of then and now?


Thursday, November 26, 2009

cat walking meowwwwwrrrrrrr!

I think I did a muscle pull squating in the gym. It hurts even when I walk. so I am tip toeing my way around class and to home, almost cat walking. Meow meow.

I think Colin McCahon is clearly one of my favourite artists. He was unintentionally mixing up graphic design and fine arts. And his spiritual references from the Bible were real intense works. Read my blog post on Colin McCahon in my other blog (

I'm busy working on Rwanda art piece these days. It is turning out well. Just need me to spend heaps of time on it.

posing away.... and all

the painting (below) is far from finishing and so no judging till ii is finished.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

About Mountains of the Moon

I issued a book on the source of River Nile in Africa, called the mountains of the Moon. I am not sure if I have blogged about it already. Anyway its about a team of adventurers and biologists who climb these mountains to locate the source of the Nile and also document the vegetation of these areas.

It is a beautiful place there. The mountains are so properly hidden away and obscured by the rain clouds that only in 1890 was it discovered.

Imagine that.

Europeans had been there in that part of Africa since the 1600s when they divided the continent up in what was called cutting the African 'cake'. But for almost 200 years no one knew where the river Nile came from. Surely it had to start somewhere. It couldn't have started from the sea because, well, it is fresh water and rivers don't start from seas. It couldn't start from a normal mountain because the mountain had to be really high with enough storage of ice and snow to feed the river perennially. Europeans had been passing that direction within viewing distance but no one sighted these mountains that were the actual source of Nile because the clouds always covered them.

Nile, according to legends and mythology has its source from the moon. Therefore the mountains are called Mountains of the Moon, where Nile began.

African forests and mountains are landscapes I have never really thought about or been fascinated about. But the variety and lushness of it all intrigues me now.

Tomorrow I will return that book about the mountains. And I regret not having finished reading it. Or maybe I will return it day after and read it tomorrow night.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

summer day

Cucumber and summer day go so well together. Sunlight streams through my blinds and there's people outside talking on the walkway. My window blinds click and clack as they danced to the slight movement in the air disturbing and displacing everything I keep on my window sill. I will clean them again tonight, half of them are on the floor already anyway.

I will be heading out of my house soon to get my painting moving on again. But not to think of that. I can see the reflection of myself on the computer screen with lines of sunlight on my shoulders. And my flat mates are engrossed in a game of Pro Evolution Soccer - hardcore gamers they are.


Summer is here for real. Yesterday on my way back from the art studio at church, I lied on the grass at the park and watched the grey clouds shift slowly above the city. It was so warm. The kind of temperature that makes you remember the word 'midsummer evening'. I swear I could lie there all night and it wouldn't even get cold.

OK I got to rush off, Singsing is waiting at our class door asking to go for coffee up on 6 floor, the favourite haunt for D&A students.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Glorifying The Past

Sometimes, people who just can't stop wistfully talking about their past as though they were the best days of their lives annoy me. It is a common misconception that the past was always better than the present. I do not believe that my life was better when I was younger than how it is now. It is true that sometimes in life, we go through peak times when, maybe everything we did succeeded, or we go through times when things just don't work the way we want at all.

That is because everyone sees the past through good memories. If his/her week was made up of 4 days of good mood days and 3 days of bad mood days, people, when they look back, remember only the 4 good days of that week. I guess it is a good thing. But it is not good if it makes people think that the past was always better than present.

It is almost like saying the music and movies from the past were far better than they are now, which is not logical because the music and the movies that we see now have been filtered by time and popularity, and hence we see only the good few that has survived all these times, and not the everyday random ones that people of that era also might have detested.

Friday, November 20, 2009

ping pong pang

Today at the Table Tenning club, the lady there who registers the people coming in and out took our 4$ entry fee and wrote it down. Then she turned away fishing for bats and balls. She asked,

"Got balls?"

Awkward silence.................................. She stopped.

"Uh yeah yeah, got them." I mumbled.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Yeah, real awkward.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

things i'm finger crossed about

1. Jordi Duff Clinic launch: it's looking like the launch date has to be pushed back again. AS Designs, Auckland messing up with our supplies and even the men's tees haven't turned up til now, not to mention special custom made women's. But once it launches it will be the dope-est design label out. With many prayers.
2. {OB!} magazine: is due tomorrow and I am looking forward to designing it all day today. It is looking real sweet, just need to finish up the cover page and the travel page and chuck in the photography (two pages). Can't wait to see the final works.
3. Simon's Rwanda painting: will be beautiful. I just bought the white massive board. MASSIVE I promise. 
4. Screen Printing: Got to start finishing the design and print be ready for emulsion by monday.
5. Worship leading: this sunday leading the song 'Tear Down The Walls' at morning church and possibly lead in a prayer, if I feel up to it. Sonya my co-leader is an awesome singer btw and she is good.
6. JOB AFTER GRADUATION: Possibly my biggest concern. I am relying on finding one immediately, which will save me a heck lot of worry and waste of time and energy. I just need to find something to do right now, with something remotely related to designing, since I have got Jordi Duff Clinic running about already.
Big times coming up, and big times I am treading on.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

sowing and reaping

Whatever you sow you reap. When you sleep or eat or walk or work os sit, the seeds that you sow keep growing somewhere, inside your life. If you sow depression, you reap depression, if you sow hope you reap life, if you sow life you reap life, if you sow time you reap its value.

Sometimes I am bothered by the things that I sow into my own life. What will I reap one day. I hardly know what I even sow, and that scares me more. I should try and think about what I spend my time on, what I spend my thoughts on, and think about what I will reap later when the harvest comes. If I sow weed I cannot expect to harvest crops. It's as straight as that.

Think about the future, think about what will make you happy tomorrow and sow for that. Not saying you forsake how you feel today and only think about the future, because it is more important to live now than later. But then if I am sowing something good now, it also means that I am living well. And if I don't start now and think about tomorrow, when will I start? I cannot start tomorrow because in that case tomorrow I will have nothing to reap, or worse I will reap the fruit of time and energy wasted.

Today my portion was about the Kingdom being like a farmer who goes out to sow and then he goes back and goes about his daily business like sleeping, eating and waking up, and in that meantime what he threw into his fields kept growing and eventually there came a time for him to harvest. It is a beautiful imagery of how everything we do bears fruits. And as much as it is beautiful, it is scary if I have not been living my life well enough.

Monday, November 16, 2009


noble birthed.

on creativity and new music.

Very few things baffle me these days as much as music that sits on the box charts and top rated lists. Crazy stuff that sounds real simple, but added with a right mix of smart-ness and more smartness. Music today aren't exactly profound or even technically and musically outstanding. They are just smart. It is the sort of music that makes you feel it came up in fluke moments. But I appreciate the smartness involved in it. I respect the risk that musicians and producers take to throw out new stuff out there. Sometimes the same things become tedious and boring. I guess people and the world has become tired of fawning over the old age of music. Or even if they still love the old music, they make something new out of it. 
It is the age of free spread of ideas and creativity.

It is the best time and era for me as an artist to be alive in. I believe in that.

This is not just in music. 

Sometimes, however, the extreme freedom in spread of ideas and creativity lurks like a threat to the career of a designer like me. You go online and you see people who aren't 'designers' by profession making crazy stuff that are as good as professional works, I do end up feeling a little disturbed, to be honest.

But ... really? Are they threat? If I think about it, there is no threat in real art and creativity. Creativity is building something out of nothing. You can never ever run out of space to imagine. Never. Even if 6 billion people created stuff every moment all the time, there will always be something to keep creating. If 6 billion were building houses, the earth will run out of space. If 6 billion were doing accounts the earth would  run out of account jobs easily. But even if 6 billion people become creative, there would always be space for more creativity. 

Of course if even 2 billion people were doing graphic design jobs, then there would be no more design work vacancy left. But then if our lives, everyday endeavours were sparked by creativity and newness, there will always be space to grow for everyone.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

about people leaving

Its crazy to think how people come and go. Someone as close as Han can just leave like that one fine day without thinking of coming back. How intertwined lives can be so pulled apart like this. Today he flies back to Korea. And atleast Thiu lives in Korea and there is still a chance of keeping the friendship alive through him.
Situations and demands of live can so easily and conveniently pull people in and out of one's life. That just baffles me. What about people I know now? Will I, one day say goodbye to them too?
Atleast there is this conventional (I have to say, conventional to be honest, because my 'modern' self tells me to find a better escape) and deep believe that one day despite all the tearing apart here on earth, there will a reunion for all people who believe in Jesus. This is not some exclusive club or party that only Christians are allowed entry into. I think there will be a lot of people. Provided they found a way to get there without being a Christian (I will not go into that for now haha. No blasphemous talk on my blog entry here).
Anyway, as I was saying, it baffles me that people I know so well have become just memories now. Its the thing about life I guess. Whether it's too blunt to accept it or not, I can only be thankful that they have been there for that time of my life (as much as I have been there for that time of
their life).
The birds are singing outside. Summer came and hugged my window this morning. I hope it is here to stay. We will need that when we see people leave.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

j.k. rowling

i was set free because my greatest fear had been realised and i was still alive. and i still had a daughter whom i adored. and i had an old typewriter. and a big idea. and so rock bottom became solid foundation on which i rebuilt my life.
you might never fail on the scale i did. but some failure in life is inevitable. it is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you lived so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all. in which case you fail by default.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Frank Schaeffer

A village cannot reorganise itself to suit the village idiot. And we are the village idiot of this country, the American conservative Christians.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Sirion Beckons

Some dusky afternoon beckon me again.
Warm air shaded by the pine needles beckon again.
People I knew so well call me back.
Towers and lake, gleaming in the moonlight.

They beckon me.

Monday, October 19, 2009

No One Need Know

Today the rain fell lightly. It wasn't much of a rain but it was enough reason to open the umbrella. My sandals flapped wetly. I should have thought better and worn shoes when I left home. I pulled Anna into the umbrella while she dreamily walked oblivious to the cold rain pitter-pattering on her hair.
"Come in here, honey," I covered her little head with my hand and brought her in. She didn't say anything. She normally doesn't say anything. Normally she just thinks to herself, murmuring something, or in her happier moods whisper a song, a melody that she caught on TV. Sometimes I wonder what she thinks in that little head of hers.
The rain sang gently on the umbrella. She looked up, "Is the umbrella going to tear?"
"No, dear, it won't. Don't worry; if it tears I will make sure you don't get wet."
She looked at the umbrella. "But I want to go out in the rain!"
"And get sick? I don't think so."
Anna is going away tomorrow and that was my final walk home with her. Her mother will take her to her new school. She is young, yes. She will be alone, yes. But sometimes, things like this happen. Sometimes you've got to just do things that you never wish and hope to be doing. I don't want to talk about why she has to go. But tomorrow she leaves.
And today we went to the dentist's to get some paperwork done so that the school dentist can pick up from wherever her previous dentist left off. Every morning I force her to brush her teeth with earnest. She'd stand beside me in her pajamas, I would be in my boxers and we'd both face the mirror. She follow my every movement as we brushed ("and brush and brush and brush and brush..." she'd say).
"But you're no fun!" she said, putting her hand out in the rain. "I want to go in the rain. Don't you know about the frog who sat on a leaf in the rain and jumped into the pond?"
I smiled. I have a book of poetry with an old Japanese print that showed a frog sitting on a lotus leaf floating on a pond and it was raining.
I watched how the grass trembled as rain fell on them. I watched trees sway gently as rain fell on them. I watched how Anna's skin tingled as rain fell on them. I heard the purring rain all around me.
I felt sad suddenly. This would be the last time I went home with Anna for a long long time. By the time she finish her school, she'd be a grown up. She would have her friends dropping her and picking her up whenever she wanted to get anywhere. This would be the last time I would hear her murmur and sing softly to herself as we make our way back.
My eyes started misting up. So many afternoons spent walking back home from her school and dentist and paino lessons and church...
What will I do now in the afternoons after she is gone?
A fat drop escaped my eyes and fell on Anna's nose.
She looked up. And looked at me. I sniffed back immediately. And looked back at her. Then she looked at the umbrella.
"I think the umbrella is breaking!" she reported, wiping her nose.
I looked up.
"OH YEAH! You're right! We're going to get wet, oh no!"
She smiled. "It's ok! Let's go into the rain!"
I looked at her. Her eyes gleamed with joy.
I closed the umbrella. And folded it. Felt the rain take over my face. My glasses. My body. My hands.
She yelped and shrieked. I picked her up on my arms. She shrieked again and laughed.
I wished for that laughter to remain forever in my mind. That moment to stay as it was forever. That we never reached home but froze in that rain just as we were. That tomorrow never come to pass.
Maybe it wasn't all rain that ran down my cheeks that day. But no one saw it. No one knew it. The passers-by saw a happy father and his happier daughter having fun in the rain. Without a care in this world.
No one need know.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Outlook traveller editions

Here are some of the editions of Outlook Traveller magazines that I followed every month. Some of them I haven't read and some of them I own (used to own that is. Left it back in Shillong in my room in a brief case). 
I get mushy thinking about them.
I am such a sentimental person. haha

Rakesh Sharma is not really proud of being the first Indian in space

Read here

Switzerland Italy mountains

Read here

Of Shimla

Read here

On Manali

Read here

On Naini Tal

Read here

on Darjeeling

Read it here

British legacy in India

Read about it here

flute seller in Varanasi

a very well written piece about Varanasi.

Monday, October 12, 2009


Rwanda is a beautiful place. A place of happy memories. Of families. Of sunshine. Of trees. And birds. "A Land Of Thousand Hills". Thousands of hills crafted by the delicate fingers of nature. A place of history. Of green.
I google-imaged 'Rwanda' and was disturbed to see their photos. 90% of them were of refugees and death and war. That is not what Rwanda is. That was what happened to it. When I was younger when I hear the word Rwanda all I thought was a picture of a bomb shelled landscape, smokes fuming from the ground and people crying holding on to earth and blue green messy camps being set up for refugees. I didn't like the thought of it.
Simon is from Rwanda and he asked me do a painting for him, a massive size painting, something he said that would remind him of his country. He did not ask me to draw povertyor the poverty-stricken people. He did not ask me to draw something that provoked people to 'help' Rwandan. What he wanted was something very different. Something I didn't know about the country. Something he loved about Rwanda. A green landscape with thatched house and rolling hills. And trees and banana trees and green and green.
It is my personal thought, but Rwandans don't want to see their nation represented by poverty and death anymore. (Though sometimes truth and fact are just be hard to face and express as much as they need to be). But Rwandans should be given another chance to reminisce and be proud of what they have now. Every nation has something to rejoice about, something to be proud about. For one, I'd like to see their green hills and sit under their thatched roof house and hear the cackling laughter echo throughout the valleys. I'd like to smell the burning wood and huddle for warmth, listening to the thunder and rain outside. I had a memory somewhat like that, that I am happy to recall. To hear tales of gorillas and fishing adventures. 
Those are beautiful pictures. Those are images that people should know about Rwanda. That Rwanda deserves.

five posts about sunshine

*There was warm sun when I walked to class. The bakery I walked into greeted me with warmth and smells from the oven. 
*I stare out at the glare of a white building facing me, reflecting the sun, as I sit at my computer. It reminds me that I don't have to huddle into myself when I walk outside today despite that I am just wearing sandals.
*Just a smile and the rain is gone, could hardly believe it. There's an angel standing next to me, reaching for my heart. That's what my ipod is playing right now. It reminds me of sunshine somehow.
*When I am in the light-tight church auditorium rehearsing for the night service, sometimes I see a glimpse of the outside world through an opened door or a glint of sunlight that escapes in from a small gap somewhere and it reminds me that there is a sun outside and people at the beach running or lying in the sun. And maybe my friends walking about in the sun facing their faces to the warm sun. And it makes me glad that the world is just fine outside though it is so dark in there.
*I like to see sunlight and shadow dancing on your shoulder.


I read a few of my past blogs and I realise that about 70% of them (or even more) are tinted with negativity. I ask myself why. I am not a negative person. I am an easy person to please. I find joy in little things in life.
But then why is it that what I have written here are mostly negative things?
Then I realise. That's because I only feel the need to write when I feel negative or am not necessarily happy. Which is not good I guess. It's not fair to my positive thoughts. 
So hear again, I am not that negative. 
Anyway, I have been going to the playlist for the ball that we played at last early this month. It's nice to hear them. Almost reminds you of the many afternoons we spent behind that glassed door figuring out who is playing which song and who is singing what part.


Been a while I realise since I last wrote here. Been real busy for Jordi Duff opening, doing photo shoots with people, finishing up designs, chatting up with suppliers and makers. So on. Been busy. 
Also my infatuation for magazines. Denise, our design tutor tells us, magazines have become beautiful books, not just something that last for a month or a week, but treasured possessions that people store away and keep them. So designing a magazine very well is very important because more often than not, how it looks will decide how long your magazine lives in the hearts of your readers.
I want to be a part of a team make timeless magazines. Every issue spinning out newness.


happy birthday, debbie!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

be in my shoes

it's not new shoes.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

on Lord of the Rings

I am transfixed listening to the music of Lord of the Rings. It doesn't make me happy. It makes me rather sad. And I don't know why I like it so much. I don't imagine characters running around in my head when I listen to it.
It just takes to another place. And sometimes when you just want to be somewhere else, just away from what you are familiar with, you find yourself soothing to thoughts of a cool jungle and dark pool rippling in the twilight, gleaming stars creeping over the sky.

gold and autumn

Listening to Aragorn And Arwen piece from Lord of the Rings makes me gloomed. To see the darkened leaves tinted with gold and autumn above their embrace. Looking upon the menacing future looming in front of them. Uncertain as hell.

Friday, September 18, 2009

New hobby

My new hobby is going to people's profile pages especially on orkut and ripping idealistic quotes (especially if they are in hindi) and posting them on my facebook for laughs. Not very noble, yeah, but I feel like Banksy doing this. Stealing ideas. And making them more famous than it had been. Not that what I put on facebook ever became famous.

As I do this and that and this and that everyday on the Internet, I sometimes wonder and marvel at the varied ideas that people have about being 'cool'. Being cool has never been uncool. And it's always a laugh to see what people do to be cool.

The temptation to be cool led to the evolution of uncool people on earth.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

American arts & entertainment

I detest American mainstream arts and entertainment. I think its the culmination of the modern day deadening of brain and intellect. Everything they do is aimed at pleasing the audience, and I guess that’s cool as long as we talk about entertainment.
But again, there are a few who turn to entertainment not for the shallow sole purpose of being amused but also to be impressed, to be moved, and to be provoked and inspired.
Most times American entertainment makes you sit through it, gaping in wonder and awe and then when you leave that place, you don’t feel the need to be affected by it anymore.
Approaching it from the direction of arts and entertainment serving as escapist tools, yes, that is how it should be.
But then again, arts and entertainment is not merely an escapist tool. When you escape, you still want to feel like you belong there. You still want to be a part of it. American stories make situations where things are just a bit too high for you to reach, you can just gape and wish you were there doing what the people in their stories are doing. That is not only depressing but it is degrading.
Building gods for the mass is never safe. Something that people should not take lightly. It is good for the business. It is an easy way out in terms of marketing boost, but then look at what irresponsible portrayal of pop icons and movie characters have led to.
I am not an idealist and I don’t like the idea of speaking the ‘positive’ message all the time. I do not like to pressure the arts and entertainment because I believe freedom to express is something that is fundamental for its survival. And there is nothing anyone can do if people still decide to make crap models and heros for the pleasure of the mass.
My point is, just because we have the power to do it, we don’t have to.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

flowers in spring

The sky was black with clear stars silhouetted against the orange and white city lights. I walked past under a rhododendron tree that loomed overhead the footpath. I had just been reading about rhododendrons just a few minutes ago at home in wikipedia. I had also been writing a blog post in about happenings under a rhododendron tree one lazy afternoon. I wanted to stand there for a while but then I had a better place to be at. Just for that night.

I liked the shadow of flowering trees at Cashmere Hill. And draping myself in that shade merging into the night. Watching the night lights of Christchurch from there. I had taken a bus to Centauraus Road one late evening for a dinner with a couple who were family friends, and had missed the stop. I watched the sign pass by and realised I had missed the stop. I also realised that the bus was starting to climb up Cashmere Hill, out of the city limits. There was nothing I could do but wait for the next stop. I got off in the silence. Below me, Christchurch gleamed like arrayed golden pearls laid on a bed of darkness. It's orange glow permeating the lower skies until it slowly faded off to starlit night sky upward. I walked back down the hill. Somehow I was glad that I missed the stop. The night was gorgeous. 
And that was when I chanced upon the shadows on the path cast from the flowering trees overhanging the road. I stood there for a while. Wanted to stay on there, but realised the couple were expecting me for dinner already. 

Two weeks ago, I was returning home one night, and this time, as it happened earlier, I walked into the shadow of a flowering tree. This time the tree bore white wild rose. I stopped on my tracks. Watched the elegant folds and layers of the rose. So beautiful, beyond what people try to remake. Watched the dark leaves and the shadows that they hid in. 

I jumped and caught hold of a few bunches. They felt firm and strong. I smelt them. Faintly rose like. Something deep. Like being lost in a memory of a beautiful person. 

I took them home and put them in a Coke can that I had brought home in a mind to recycle them somehow.

After that I have gotten into the habit of collecting bottles from drinks I have had. Organic cola's, bitter lemonade and so on. Another day I gathered together a bunch of rhododendrons and arranged a bunch of white roses and rhododendrons. They dry quickly. But I guess that's why I like it. The brevity of beautiful things.

Two days ago, I saw more daffodils had sprung up around Barbadoes Cemetry. And looking around if anyone was watching, picked a few and brought them home. I saw an empty bottle of whiskey in the sitting room (Raj's, not mine) with a few drops of whiskey still at the bottom. I put two stalks of the daffodils in. It is still blooming strong after two days.

Nothing like a few drops of whiskey to keep daffodils going strong.


So yeah, Spring is here. And Christchurch is as beautiful as ever. The skies. The sunlight. The people.


I need to start my own collection of Haiku poems. Not necessarily Haiku, because maybe I won't stick to the rule of 3-2 or 3 lines format. Spontaneous.

Haiku by Christopher Herold

tractor idling
the last bright star
fades into dawn

mother’s best corn cakes
warming with her song

on Haiku

Haiku poems are so beautiful. They were Japanese forms of poetry that made use of simplicity, finding their muses from delicate pleasures of nature, love and little things. I think they just about speak what the heart says. The way it ignores details in the very same way it notices smaller details, the way that a little intricacy is seen in the a soft light tone.

It is hard to explain. They remind me of the Japanese style of art. Clean lines. Simple white spaces. They are never afraid to speak too little. They just know how much to say.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

old photographs

I went through photographs of people I'd met and who had passed on and it scares me to think that people as important as, well, individuals, could be shifted from my memory without an effort. In more ways than one, I have also passed through someone's memories and then shifted away into just a vague shadow in the back of that person's mind or even none at all.
It is sad to think that something as important as people can be so easily forgotten. His/her memory discarded as easily as an old photograph kept away at the bottom of a messy shack of papers.
Then that person gets a job, falls in love, finds hate, peace, children, family and dies away. While I live my life as though I had never met that person ever in the past.
It is very sad. I'd hate being forgotten from people's memories to be let alone to live my own life. Maybe I will just be an old photograph erased and replaced, made to gather dust in an unopened cupboard for years.
I shudder at that thought. I wish I can remember and relocate everyone I have met in my life. How beautiful it'd be to see the guy who ran away from school in my primary school, and what he is doing with his life. Or what about the teacher who was so loved and scorned by everyone, who got married to a rich guy and left school? Is she fat now? Does she still have that teacherly look with tinted glass and orange salwar? Or that fellow in college who kept following us around just because he liked a girl from our group? Or what about that girl in my class who drew a comic where she and a guy called Ben got married, who according to her story was a classmate of hers in primary school (haha!)? What music does she listen to? What kind of shoes is she wearing?
I'd love to know all these. I hate to let them pass into oblivion, these little details of their lives. But then I am only human and as much as I hate doing it, I know it is happening to me and with me too. I am being forgotten in someone's memory. And I am slowly forgetting someone tonight.


I hate hurting my mother. Because I feel for her too much. I feel her worries, her sadness. It's something about what I sense when she stands in the feeble glow of the street lights waiting for her kids to come home.
Call me sissy. Call me anything. I grew up by my mother's side. She spun stories and imaginary realities for me. She called me names and made me think I could be anything in the world. Everything good I have (except my tendency to worry unnecessarily) I have got from my mother.
[A man who does not know her mother is not complete. A person needs a mother. Everyone needs a mother because everyone needs that love, that crazy insane running after (that annoys us so much sometimes), else we'd all be lost.]
I don't know why I said what I said. She was being a mother. She did nothing wrong. I didn't do much wrong too. But then my mother is too perfect. She wasn't wrong. And I hurt her.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

the sepia tinted pine

The other day I dreamt that I was in Woodstock School. I had randomly dropped in there with some of my friends one golden evening. Everyone talked in the common room while I went to talk to the head teacher.
I was telling her that I am writing a book and its idea and inspiration has come a lot from what I knew of Woodstock School, because mine was a similar one, set in the foothills of the Himalayas. She smiled and repeated the names of the places as I told her. She didn't share the same enthusiasm as I expected her to. Didn't she want her name and the name of her school in the acknowledgment page? It was going to be big, this story, this imaginary world that was in my head. I knew it. The world would love it. Many other stories would spin out of its richness and details. Wouldn't she be proud to have played some part in it, or her school?
The Principal came inside the room we were at. He wasn't enthusiastic about it either. Was my idea not new? Had someone else already shared a similar story with them? Or even many other people?
I told him about my story and he listened til I finished and then he shifted the question to asking why my brother was in Korea and why he was studying what he was studying.
I told myself I hated people like that, people who are too concerned about facts and reality too much. Too much so that it makes you think reality is all there is. That imaginations and dreams are just for the sleep when you have nothing else to do but lie between the sheets.
I promised myself as I watched the evening sun lit the window frames brown with wooden varnish and the sepia tinted pine laden silhouette outside (and the streets of Mussoorie) that Sirion Diaries is going to be big. Bigger than my dreams.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

of Jordi Duff Clinic

A lot's been happening lately. The primary happening is the new clothing & accessories label that is being started. Well not really started as yet, but in its initial stage of conception.
It's called Jordi Duff clothing label and people awareness hasn't really been generated much and that's because we are looking at November 1, 2009 as our release date.
Jordi Duff is made of, well, Jordi Duff and don't get me wrong, just because his name is our brand name doesn't in any way mean he is the owner or the sole designer. Danny Robertson, aspiring music producer. Michael Greene an Canterbury Uni law student. And me.
We have our own roles to play which are not specific to ourselves but which are roles that we co-ordinate and work with each other. 
Heck of a risk and adventure it will be.
Watch out for Jordi Duff website soon to be released, from where you can order your clothes and accessories.
Come get a fix at Jordi Duff Clinic!

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

untitled binge

It's been a long day. It's been a long time leading to here. I am sorry I need to resort to descriptive writing now. Because........ well i have no reason for it. Just because I don't feel very moved to write anything of more aesthetically rousing material.

I don't like to think about my walk to class tomorrow. I wish I can discover a route to class that is not any more distant than the one that I am using now. I don't want to walk the same roads again, see the smooth flowing river and the grey ducks tomorrow. Maybe I should give those views a break and return to that later. They remind me too much of past events or things I thought about when I also walked to class in the past as I watched them. Seeing the familiar opens a trapdoor of memories that sometimes unnecessarily depress you.

Thinking about seeing these things already makes me no excited to walk to class tomorrow.

I do have a new route that I take, through Latimer Square down Armagh Street and branching into a perpendicular street via Worcester Street. It seems longer (as my mathematical mind tells me, according to the Pythagoras Theorem) but then for the sake of some new oxygen to breathe it seems a smart thing for me to do.

I will be singing and playing music at a Uni Ball happening in the next few weeks. To be honest, I don't know when the exact date is. It's been a long time coming, practising and catching the bus for jam sessions and picking songs and figuring out chords for songs (since apparently I am a 'chord identifier' haha. oh well always glad to know I could be of any use) and I hope the Ball wil work out well. The theme is Murder/Mystery/Crime. I should get inspiration from Film Noir and Alfred Hitchcock's films for dress-up.

What else. I should sleep now. It's damn late already.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Indian Fashion (bits of it)

I randomly bumped into Lakme Indian Fashion Week website today and flicked through some of the designers. I saw Sabyasachi, my favourite Indian designer who I found from Vogue India two years ago and I still am compelled to say he is in my opinion (and maybe little knowledge) the best fashion designer India has. Refer to later photo entries in the same blog for example. His traditional Indian patterns are blend so well. I remember when I saw his work first in Vogue India when I was in Second Year doing Mass Media, I just looked at it for the longest time and Imnuk said, with her smooth English, “I love this guy so much ya…” Chegen, her bf just sat nearby and mocked our interest in pagan things (jokingly of course).

Another designer I like is Malini Ramani.

And of course our own Naga boy Atsu Sekhose who is becoming bigger and bigger in the Indian Fashion scene. you cah check it out ( ). His works are clean and mild. I like it.

And I discovered Vineet Bahl link: ( ) and i really like it, especially this particular one in the link provided.


1. Aneeth Arora & Chinar Farooqi
(the red-riding-hood look is so cool and the colour co-ordinates work)

2. Ashmita Marwa
(the traditionality and the red blossoms and of course the near to perfect shawl/scarf)

3. Sabyasachi
(my favourite guy, the patterns the patterns and the layers the layers like an intricate open bulb of a rose petal. He is also called Christian Lacroix of Indian fashion. Lacroix is the considered the king of couture design).

4. Sabyasachi
(note the exotic jewellery and the top layering to match).

5. Sabyasachi
(this has a rather unnerving model but the finishing and pattern on the dress/top is so good).

(photos from Lakme Mumbai Fashion Week 09)

Friday, August 21, 2009

what does love mean?>?


here i am 22 years old. still fighting to love or hate myself. when is this answer ever to be answered? i hate the way i contradict myself. i am a living bundle of contradictions. i say something and though i believe in it with all my heart, i find myself not doing it. i do something and a day later condemn those who do the same.
its beyond what words can frame. in the silent halls of my thoughts, broods a silent storm...............................


Thursday, August 20, 2009

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


i am brainchild of the modern society. that's why i beg to differ.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

of inspirations

Its been very inspiring times for me. How do I start?
Well, today I watched the documentary called It Might Get Loud, a showcase of the muse, interest and conversations of three guitarists, Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin), Jack White (The White Stripes) and The Edge (U2). And I have to say its the most inspiring thing I have seen/been subjected to for a long long time.
The film starts with a scene where Jack White is working with a hammer and nails on some device that involves a steel wire suspended from a coke glass bottle hemmed in on a wooden plank and held firm to the other end of the wooden plank. At the other side is a guitar pick up that is connected to an amplifier through a guitar cable. When he has struck the last nail, he strikes the steel wire and it gives off a twang not different from the electric guitar twang.
The he mutters, "Who needs an electric guitar?"
Jack White is a patron of the minimalistic idea. You don't need much to tell a story.
He was inspired as an artist and musician when he was listening to an American Black singer who recorded a song without any musical instrument but just snapping his fingers and singing along. No orchestra. No guitar accompaniment. Just him.
As Jack White comments, here was a man "by himself against the whole world. It didn't matter that he was snapping his fingers in the wrong beat.."
That is a strong example of artists who believe in themselves. Who believe in what they can do. Who knows just what they need to speak. I want to be like that. Just my pen and paper (sticky note? :D). Me against the whole world. Not for hate or love. Just because I want to. Just because I can.
Jack White never wanted to become a guitarist. He said, "I never wanted to play guitar. Everyone plays the guitar. What's the point?" How he became one in the end, though, beats me. But then he isn't just any guitarist who ends up creating sounds with G D and E and B. I am loving The White Stripes, the band that he and his sister are the two members.
Yeah, what's the point of doing something that everyone does? That according to me too is what I cannot understand about too many people. They suck up to popular ideas instead of making new ideas by themselves. What joy does it give to do what others are doing already. What's fun without a bit of risk in life? What's fun without a bit of madness? What's fun without trying out a few new songs, words, people?
Jimmy Page, another of the three guitarists, was going to become a Biological Researcher. When he was just a young dazed newby in the music industry, some TV person interviewed him and asked him what he wants to be. And Jimmy replied grinning, "Biological Research."
Thank God you never went there. 
Do something different sometimes. Say 'no' sometimes. Just because we are free people. Just because we can. And only after trying let's decide whether we like it or not. 'No' is not always negative, you know. Too much of 'yes' will snuff us out.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

waiting for the water to boil

i trust in what i trust in because there is nothing else to trust in

i believe in what i believe in because there is nothing to believe in

Friday, July 17, 2009

rambo's statistics.

will blog about this one.

Thursday, July 9, 2009


there was a frog who got eaten by a snake. he, the frog, knew he was being eaten. but he didn't move. somehow didn't. just didn't.


do something. who? i dunno. whatever. just do something. lemme see something different tomorrow.
whatever. what am i talking to anyway. what-the-heck-ever.

its not funny anymore.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Spiraling Away From Me

I sense deep fear in her voice too.
The overwhelming darkness slowly convulses slowly across the heavens, a great mass of coldness and fear rushing in from all direction. She holds me, her arms warm, that reminds me of a summer morning beating through the window onto my sleepy bed; she holds me as the cold slowly but steadily grips us.
The thunder of the mighty darkness shakes the air. It moves the hair over my forehead.
But though I sense deep fear in her voice too, she whispers, "we will get through this. We will get through this. Something will happen."
Her voice trembles. I could feel her breathing stiffen as the darkness engulf nearer around us.
I see no escape. I see no answer. Only darkness that keeps pressing in every second. How long will her arms remain warm? How long til darkness take over?
"Something will happen," she repeats shakily all the time, "He has his own timings. It will work out."
As much as I want to believe her, as much as I love her and want to believe every word she was saying, all I feel is my faith wavering, slowly, slowly, something I once held so confidently now seem to have forsaken me. Slowly but steadily, just like this great cold tidal wave spinning and spiraling closer and closer around us, is my trust in deliverance slowly but steadily spiraling away from me.
And I cling to my mother as close as possible wishing, wishing, only wishing that I could find us a way out of here, to take her back to warmth and life again, undoing everything and back to what it should have been...

Friday, June 26, 2009

from Psalm 16

Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;
you have made my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.

I have set the Lord always before me.
Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

dreaming of shillong

I think I teleported in my dreams to Shillong just now. For an event, I had to go back to Shillong. It was so so so real I tell you. Pa picked me up and I was in the car and it was raining. He told me we have to Akho's house first for some gathering. And it was raining so heavily. And I remember leaving Christchurch just a few hours ago. I'd be back there soon. I even wondered how fast technology has made it possible for me to be there in a matter of a few hours from one side of the world to the other.
But it was raining so heavily in Shillong. And I was texting Debbie this exact words, Shillong is so pretty.. its raining so heavily but it is warm. But I hadn't sent it yet. I just held the phone in my hands and watched the dark pines wet with rain and the streets washed and the cemented walls at the side of the road that people scuttered around by ducking for cover.
I kept commenting to myself that Shillong is so beautiful. You know, the sort of realisation that comes on you when you have been away from a place for a while and tend to see that place in a new light. I tried to think of Christchurch and told my father it is even comparable.
Anyway, we drove past All Saints School and I think I saw Amanda who I figured moved from Bajoria to All Saints. I learnt that Suaihiampou and Chun (other cousins) will be at home too and I looked forward to seeing them.
Then when we reached we got out in the rain. I shared the umbrella with Pa. He smelt the same. He didn't talk much as usual. I told him how beautiful Shillong was, haha, I kept thinking about it. It was raining but it was not cold. I had to remind myself that it is summer in Shillong, unlike at the Southern Hemisphere. Then we rounded a bend and came upon a street like Lachaumeire's. It was small and neatly kept. I saw some shops overhung with boxes-signboards like the PCO-STD-ISD ones but it was red (Vodafone? Prophetic, me? haha) But the smell still was the same. Some incense burning and I ran my hands across a maroon gate, letting my fingers strum the bars as I walked past. I thought about how Thiu would respond (still stuck in Korea because I was going to change my facebook status to 'loving Shillong, every bit of it!'). He would be so jealous, of course. Glee.
We entered Akho's house, which i learnt was new. A dog sat at the kennel, his nose popping out of the door. The guard at the entrance let us in.
One of my uncles was there. Rev. G. Gangmei. Mama was there. She was drinking tea or something and I told her, can I have tea too? And she laughed, "its not tea, its a regular medication I am drinking." Oh. I laughed and I sat beside her. I wanted to see home already. And I still saw the shifting world outside and the swaying forms of pines moved by the rain, through the lace curtains that hazed the outside world from that cosy little room.

Then I frikkin woke up.

I thought I was in Shillong when I even woke up because it was so real. And I heard the music I had left playing J'ai Dormi Sous L'eau by Air. Then saw the reflection of the blinds of the window on the wall beside my bed. I checked my phone, no unsent text about the rain and pretty Shillong.

(I normally don't give much thought to my dreams even though they are about Shillong. But this one felt too real.)

Sunday, June 14, 2009


i hate, detest wrong music with all my heart.

isn't it..

isn't it amazing how a castle built so carefully for a long time
can come crumbling down at a whisper?

Monday, June 8, 2009

Show And Tell

The idea of Show and Tell is to do a 6 minutes talk on any topic under the sun, the condition only being that you have a pictorial help and that the picture stays up for just 20 seconds. Trust me, 20 seconds is not much at all. I didn't have any specific topic but they were all random topics that I might find interesting. Also the idea was for me to stand in front of the white screen and let the projection fall on me so that I become part of the design. That, for me, was the best part.

These photos I uploaded are not in sequence to my presentation. That doesn't matter however, because I didn't follow any line of story and sequence. Almost every slide is independent of each other.

**ze presentacione

Comparison of the Himalayas and the Southern Alps of NZ. I read somewhere that the Himalayas and the Southern Alps of New Zealand are very similar in nature. Both have very unpredictable weather and unexpected upheavals that throw lives of many mountaineers in danger. And both are not heavily commercialised as the European Alps is. Afterthought: maybe I should give serious second thoughts to European Alps remaining as my favourite destination on earth, maybe I already am at the best possible places already, that is the Southern Alps and the Himalayas.
Book Shopping in Calcutta. This remains one of my fondest memories of India. The only regret is that I never really found the ultimate destination in Calcutta where they apparently sold cheap as books on the road sides for very very almost unbelieveably cheap price. But I found some shops that were typically high in quality as of the intellectual society of Calcutta. It was a real experience.
Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon - there is no truth. One of the most influential films I have ever seen, a powerful story of a story of murder and the search for truth. Not only is it a cinematic masterpiece (where, according to the co-director with Akira Kurosawa, the camera [and the cinematography] was the hero of the story) it also carries the strong theme of 'what is truth?'. Five different versions of a murder scene, all correct (so to say) in their own ways, only difference being their perception about it. I was introduced to the idea of perception in human beings with this film and I am convinced that there is no truth. Except One. That we all know of. Divine.
Chanel ad and mystic temples in Varanasi. During my trip to Varanasi, the holiest city and also apparently the oldest in the world, I found this random Asian guy swinging some fire thing on the banks of Ganga. I caught him in photograph hand-held, SLR camera, that took 1/8 shutter speed to capture (hence explaining the slight shake and blur) and caught this strange interesting pattern that looks like a Chanel logo. Talk about irony. Chanel logo on the bank of Ganga in Varanasi.
The beaches. I am not a major fan of the beaches (atleast not until I came to Christchurch) and I have no idea why I put this photo up as a part of this presentation. But then I explained about the plight of the hippies who 'stayed behind while everyone grew up and started their lives, who stayed back snorting away in the beaches'.
Example of Bollywood Pop Art and film poster. This was probably done by some street artist for the films, but now they sell for thousands of dollars. A good example of Indian pop kitsch art. Classic.
Architecture in Bombay, the mix of English and Indian styles. About Bombay this is a beautiful example of a blend of Indian architecture and British architecture. But apparently the designer of the building (the top one) had designed for the entrance of this building to be facing this way out into the sea but was shocked and terrified to realise that the makers and contractors made it face the other way. (So yeah, you're not seeing the entrance in this photo, but if the idea of the architect had worked out, you'd have been) Then there's story that the architect who is English never stepped foot on Indian soil again.
Crazy Indian Railway
Naga food
Naga Chief and Warrior designs
more of those
Shillong Rock Music
Shillong Rains
And Andy Warhol, my favourite artist (liable to change)

Friday, June 5, 2009

from The Cool Hunter (

May 25 2009


We first stayed at 
Macakizi - the sexiest pontoon beach club frequented by Istanbul's super-chic A-list jet-setters - a couple of years ago when we were setting up TCH Turkey.

Now is the perfect time of the year to head back to Macakizi as it gets incredibly hot and busy there when the season really kicks off. Macakizi is the best place to stay in the Bodrum area.

Located in the village of Turkbuku, half-hour drive from Bodrum, Macakizi is named after proprietor Sahir Erozan’s mother Ayla. Her nickname is Macakizi, the Queen of Spades. Ayla is the originator of the pontoon beach club concept in which you never really touch a beach but instead lounge on terraces carved into the steep hillside.

Creating a perfect stage for the eye candy coming at you from all sides in the form of immaculately groomed, beautifully tanned and designer-gear-attired bodies, the hotel itself is elegantly down-played. It is concealed by the lush vegetation but the view of the Aegean is ever-present. The architecture is loosely Mediterranean, the rooms are classy, unadorned and sparse.

Celebrities and other VIPs parade from morning till night in Chanel swimsuits, Pucci sunglasses and William Richardson sarongs. Money and attitude and a penchant for gossip are prevalent, and the whole scene reminded us of a French Vogue shoot live with Steven Meisel shooting.

The highlight of the visit is always the food: absolutely amazing Turkish cuisine served buffet-style and al fresco. Having said that, now we really need another Macakizi fix! 
- Bill Tikos



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