The Exquisite Charminar

Charminar. A new movie called Ricky Bahl reminded me of the Charminar. I remember my dear IBS Hyderabad friends did not want to go to that part of Hyderabad, and were so surprised by my interest in the place. I craved the old city, the lived history, the rich culture, and the monument that withstood so much.

When I was in school in India, we would get a sheet called, “Monuments of India” from the nearby stationery store called Bittoo’s (wonder if it is still there). That’s what I knew of the Charminar. We used to use that sheet of paper to merely cut out photos of these monuments and stick them on posterboards (known as charts in India).

Who knew I would actually cover some of these monuments in my life? And that I would remember my childhood interest in such monuments enough to enthusiastically pursue it despite peer resistance! I got to visit the Charminar with my best friend from school time, Akanksha, a.k.a. Aku, and her graduate school friends.

I must say that at first I, too, was a bit disappointed in seeing the crowded dirty streets and the stuffed in gate-like Charminar after a long and stuffed rickshaw ride. It was only a matter of getting closer to the minar that I noticed the life around it. This was no longer the time of the mughals, but a bustling marketplace where pearls and lakh jewelry, renowned from ancient times, was being sold at extremely high prices, which required for the tourists to negotiate at length.

The ticket was a minimal cost of Rs. 5/-. I dreaded that it may not have been worth it to come here after all, if the Indian tourism industry had also priced it so low. I realized now that I was at the Charminar, I had no idea what it was all about. I climbed the narrow stairs of the Minar, hoping that my friends will be pleasantly surprised and amazed by the history of their country.

As soon as I climbed, I felt the breeze of culture seep in, and immediately knew I loved this monument. I had an inexplicable excitement on witnessing something legendary, something that has outlived so many generations. I saw my first view from the Charminar from a big balcony/window. The view of the autorikshaws lined up along with the vegetable sellers, with women walking around in burkhas, and men in the muslim hats (what are they called?). It was breathtaking – to view India from this angle – to have been to different worlds – and to then return to India and understand the photos seen in the National Geographic or tourism books on India that lure tourists to this fascinating country of beautiful people and so many colors.

I moved to the next view from the charminar, which led to another monument altogether. The security guard explained that there was a surang, or underground pathway from a palace to the Charminar. The third window is what completed my view of the Charminar. It explained to me the one thing I wanted to remember about the Charminar – it was the one minaret which showed you the entire city of Hyderabad, from all four directions. Each balcony/window faced the four main roads that led into the city. The city faced the Charminar, and these wide windows of the Minar allowed for the city’s beauty to pour in so that generations to come could behold this novel-like sight.

The third door also tempted the visitor by allowing a partial view of a beautiful mosque, the Jama Masjid of Hyderabad. I saw the serene water and the birds from the balcony, and wished to take darshan (yes, I’m still Hindu), but realized the shortage of time and anticipated my friends’ disinterest, along with the need to have dressed more appropriately for the mosque. I captured the scene in my memory, and imagined my presence inside that mosque; I imagined the energies that I could feel from up above being closer and stronger while in the mosque. And in this manner, I took darshan.

I saw the entire city of Hyderabad with only Rs. 5. I realized that pricing is merely a reflection of people’s value of the place. For me, it was worth much more. I needed to be there; I imagined history and imagined what may have transpired to lead to the current year of 2011. I saw the city from the eyes of this Minar, who saw it all. I am not sure exactly what I learned, but I know I felt alive. Perhaps it was knowing that so much life had happened as the monument stood witness. It made me appreciate my life, my history – so much life that generally happens! Something within us stands witness to our own life. It made me realize that from time to time, I want to encapsulate all the experiences of my life, and view them from an internal Charminar – the Charminar that sees people, times, and changes, and stands resiliently in its own beauty amongst all the hustle bustle, growing older and maturing with life.

Returning to the original window, I chatted and took photos with the locals and their kids, who smiled beautifully with their surma-ladden eyes, as is common among Muslim children. They reminded me that they are the future, and I shall be past. I lay down history for them.

The Fourth Dimension

Something has to be said about capturing memories. I think I talk about it so much and I do it so much, in so many ways, that it is time to become explicit about it. Yes, I love doing it. Ever since I was little, I have done it. I don’t know why, but I need to capture my life. I think it is important. I have written when I was sad, written when I was bored, and now I write when I am happy. Why?

I don’t know. Perhaps because I am not so religious. I feel that life is all we have. And I really don’t think it is all about suffering. Eastern religions, as much as I love them way more than Western ones, often talk about life as suffering. I do not want to wash myself of all material world, nor do I want be drowned in it. I want all of it. This is what being "Hindu" should be about. I think every little moment matters. Actually, I think I very strongly believe it.

So, then comes the question of HOW do we capture? Obviously what this blog is about is a sentiment shared by many other humans – for we have gone out of our ways to create paintings, sculptures, cameras, video cameras, etc. We have experimented with dimensions to keepsake the moment as it is.

I think of this blog as my 4^th dimension. It means a lot to me. And I often wonder if I should be writing myself out on here. Then I think, I have lived, and I matter. So, this is one way that I capture myself. While there is reader risk in the anonymity of this blog, I feel I minimize the risk by being truly honest when I do post. While there is reader risk because the writer, I, may not know anything at all, I encourage my readers to be skeptical of me. I give an important window of my life to the reader, but I remind the reader that there is only so much a window can show.

This brings me back to the issue of photos. They too are just windows. What’s fascinating is that there are just way too many (I want to say infinite) dimensions required for a true and complete capture of any one thing.

Now, should I be offended that people call me photogenic? Well, I have heard several cases on this matter. This, also, is a matter that needs to be explicitly addressed, and I guess, today is the day. Some friends have tried telling me that it does not mean I look better in photos than in real life, but that my energy is captured well. That is the most optimistic explanation of someone calling me photogenic. Even though it is not very convincing, I like it.

Am I photogenic because the camera captures more dimensions? Obviously not. I am photogenic because I have become smart enough to figure out my best angles. And my mind efficiently calculates my best possible position in the 4 seconds before someone clicks the camera despite varying contexts. Now, THAT skill is what people should be complimenting. If they wanted to say I look good, calling me photogenic is just torture.

I may be photogenic because my true energy is captured in the 4 seconds. Believe it or not, I do genuinely try to stay honest to myself, even (and perhaps especially) in the 4 seconds in which I spend the first second wanting to look good for the future viewers of the photo to see. This would imply then that I think my true energy is what’s beautiful. Well, I don’t think that’s so untrue. But if that were the case, people would not be surprised from photo to real life – energy in person should be there just as equally, if not more in person. After all, real life a.k.a. in person – the most dimensions possible.

So now, I do not only know my best angles, but also my best dimensions? Daang! That's when you need to beware of me.

Ending the topic of my photogenic-ness, we revert back to capturing dimensions. So, (bear with me again here for a moment –this is about honesty in capturing) I began to find ways that I would put profile pictures that captured my energies and were unconventional for the category of “Wow, she looks so good” pictures. I tried to stay away from people saying I look good in photos. I wanted there to be no surprise from reality to photo. I wanted the capture to be honest and true to reality.

I then began thinking about editing photos. How do I feel about that? For a long long time, I felt that editing a photo to make yourself look better was obviously cheating. The last thing I wanted was to make myself look even better in photos by editing the color, lighting, etc. My best friend would always change her photos to black and white mode and such; I thought it was just because she thought it was cool looking as a photo. Maybe, I still don’t know. She’ll tell me after this post.

What I realized I DID like about editing photos was that sometimes, a camera just isn’t enough. Even the best of the bests are not canon enough! The deep seated purpose of photos and videos, I realized, was not to show them to the world and to get their opinion on how you look. Instead, the real purpose, is to capture the moment, the memory, and your sentiments, your perceptions. Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, not in the eye of the camera. The eye that beheld that beauty can and should edit as it deems necessary for a truer capture. That is a more honest photo, despite the editing. It shows and shares what you saw. Of course, to avoid nostalgic remnants that can contaminate the honesty of a photo, it is best to minimize the time between the time of the capture and the time of editing.

I try not to feel guilty when I truly want to edit photos to capture the energy I beheld at the time. If I saturate, it is because in some photos, it is clearly some aspects of my face that matter more than others. If I make the photo more warm, it is because I felt warm and full of color, even if my face did not look like it from the camera’s objectified and standardized lens (what a creation! People nowadays are so obsessed with standardizing and creating metrics. Vision can be standardized through the camera, but you view the photo again with subjective vision – how nuts!). I add tint sometimes when the scenery I remembered did have it, but the camera had filtered some light out.

I try to use the blog in a similar way. My obsession about being honest really is more nuts than I ever realized. I realized that being a researcher, trying to be honest, and trying to be neutral does make me want to capture things JUST the way they are. But, I am human, and a passionate Hindu. I am not trying to neutralize. I don’t want to. I love life and all its dimensions. I don’t need to de-emotion everything in order for it to be honest. I reconcile by letting the world know that while I do try to start research from value 0 ( as difficult as that is), I add value in capturing the things so close to my heart, because it is those values that I want to capture and keepsake. It is the reactions, emotions, and values derived from the experience of this "material world" that I try to grasp. I think Siddhartha from Hermann Hesse's Novel would agree with me on some level. The passion, the subjectivity, the humanness, and all the dimensions – that’s the fun part!

A little extra tan

It’s always nice to not take a photo, not have a video, but to write a post instead. It’s especially nice when there is so much you have been wanting to write, but just haven’t gotten to. I leave India July 5^th. It was just a little bit ago when I came with my luggage all packed to live my life here in Mysore. Here I am now, still listening to the good old Atif Aslam songs that were with me when I was in Beaty Towers in 2007. I remember laying on the carpet, listening to him, Irina’s reading light on, reflecting and enjoying that moment.

What makes this moment absolutely note-worthy is that I have run out of water, and shampoo is currently in my hair- Good old pantene from Costco, and a relaxing American-like hot shower wanted, but um, the hot water tap is working, and the cold water isn’t. So, I now have to wait for the hot water in the bucket to cool down for me to enjoy this relaxing shower I have waited for all evening.

**Sorry, needed to wash my hair off with mildly burning water or I’d be dripping shampoo over my keyboard as well. In any way, I have come to realize that in India, there just isn’t enough time to blog.

I had wanted to compartmentalize my writing and to tame it. I had created different blogs for it, but I never got to it. Perhaps because I could not compartmentalize my thoughts – I wanted to cover all trains of thought in one post. I guess what I am trying to say is, though the incidents and the experiences have been extremely new, my voice has not changed. I may have matured or de-matured, but I remains essentially and solely me.

I will truly miss India. I have been called “Chaddi Chopra” here for wearing Priyanka-like shorts in the hostel in Hebbal. Why shorts? I fell while I was chasing the laundry aunty’s son in the hostel. Sumanne! Just like that. I actually had to get a tetanus shot and all the fancy dressing junk. It did give me an excuse to let my knee enjoy some air. I was a little scared to run again, so I have rested for the week.

I did, however, stop and watch some ferocious kannada volleyball. I then decided that the Mysore breeze has enticed me to play the game that I would cringe to play even with my close friends back in the US for fear of hurting my forearms. I saw no point in such a game. Ok, just one, and I guess it’s decently good – it’s about the most fun looking team sport. In any case, knee and hand injured, a somewhat foreign language in the playground, I still jumped in. I didn’t do too bad either.

While in India, I have had extreme amounts of American chopsuey with fried egg on top – which SHOULD really be in America as well. I also have had lots of chitranna. I have made lots of Annas and Thammas. I have seen many of my friends get engaged/get married—some even getting pregnant.

I now hear the orchestra of all the cold water taps running. Wait…

**Ok, so I have really begun to appreciate my tan. As I write this blog post, I can feel the color back in my skin. I feel sensual again. After all, it is only a matter of reviving your senses. It is a matter of realizing and reflecting on the fact that you have lived – and all of it matters. The scabs, the tummy to be lost, and the little extra tan. Remember also all the chilly chicken, all the bazaars, the Indian Pizzas, the omelette wraps, the Indian Taco Bell, old best friends reconnected, and new friends made, the CD wala, the cleaning aunties, the tailors, the shopkeepers, the autowalas, the metro, Chetan Bhagat books, the girls with the Delhi accent, the nonstop coffee and tea, the hardening hair (okay, maybe I won’t miss that), the Mysore smiles, Ooty, Bangalore, NDTV report… and still hamesha so so much more.