that afternoon in your house, i felt as if i was telling you my dragon name. and now you know it and you can do with it what you will."
"...according to the legend, the dragons remember your name in the old language. and you must never disclose this name. to tell anyone your dragon name is to give them power over you. any time they call out to you, you have to go to them, you are drawn to them.
unnati and abhinav and I are here in Mukundgarh to make a film,..Unnati's film,a documentary, on her ancestral village, Mukundgarh, we've come here way early (the rest of the crew joins us later) to let the town seep in a little into the blood circulation.
And the seeping has been potent, I find myself waking at 6 am to catch the shadows forming on the terrace of the beautiful haveli we live in. Simple lines are amusing. It's so quiet,that I can hear myself think.Then I stop thinking.
mukundgarh makes you feel like it's waiting for something
waiting for a person
a celebration
a mourning sometimes
the furniture waits,the sun passes over. politely. searing its path through
the people stare into the distance
quite like the faces in the frescoes
plastic bags slide past on the empty road scratching noisily at the surface
sluggish, heavy
the streets speak strange languages here
sound echoes
the scratching sounds incredibly close
LPG cylinders travel the same way the plastic bags do
people are shy, they can be woken into curiosity
they need their space though,and it's an idea I've come to work out as a method in my head for some time now
I give them space in the compositions too on this 8 Mpix cam I accidentally got my hands on.
after a long time ceramic diodes stare me in the face from the tops of electric cum street lamp posts(you can just about see them glint in these dark photographs)
i don't think i ever studied about them in engineering,these beautifully shining ceramic pieces caught in the jumble of wires,
we skipped past the obsolete pieces,such as these ceramic fixtures,while studying electrical components.
one just about studied enough for the exams, and writing thoses exams were what i'd imagined arranged marriages to be like, you get strapped to each other and then you don't do the parts which you were never asked about. Perhaps in rebellion.
.
very functional pieces of abstract art.
i can't imagine why i didn't study about them, the damned things, how the hell can you know what it means to have electricity if you don't know how these beautiful creatures keep this little town's pulse going!
i guess engineering missed all the interesting bits.
I watched an old man, part of the cast,sitting on his assigned chair as the gaffers set up for the next shot.
He'd come on the set with a little bag,the size of a toiletry case with a strap,the kind my grandfather carried with him whenever he was making a journey.
He made his way through all the wires and furniture and people to the other end of the space., treading carefully,so he wouldn't stumble. He set his bag on a table,took out a plastic glass and took a sip of the water he'd brought with him from home. He found a half used bottle of mineral water nearby,and refilled his plastic glass,replaced the lid. Then he took out a little tin of dried fruits and munched at them, hurriedly, looking to the sides as he tried to swallow. He probably didn't want to delay the next shot,though I knew it would be another hour before he'd be called to take his place in front of the camera. He zipped his bag, choosing carefully a new location in the midst of the jumble of wires, so it wouldn't come in the way of the set up.Then he went back to sit at the place he'd been shown to sit by the casting assistant.
And then we sold a brand new bar of soap.
