If acting on impulse is a good thing, then it better be at a concert where all the madness is.It was my first experience of a concert. On 15th May of this month Indian music band M majors performed with Brett Lee at Inorbit mall (Malad) in Mumbai. Female fans couldn’t stop swooning over him as he took to the stage. M majors had to bear the brunt of Lee’s popularity when the audience screamed and clicked tongues impatiently chanting Lee’s name. The band sang beautiful numbers nevertheless and the audience enjoyed it. M Major’s handled the impatient crowd sportingly. Perhaps they had already braced themselves to face a full blast of Lee’s popularity.
The crowd even took to arguments with press photographers jostling for space in the small space near the parking lot of the mall where the show was being held. I did note that girls who were loud enough at concerts usually take the limited hugs and kisses. Funnily enough, one girl who got to the stage, got her hug (I don’t know about the peck/kiss i could not beat to watch it so i closed my eyes) but refused to leave the stage and remained there while the last long was being sung.
Brett enthralled the audience with his guitar playing and chorus singing. The crowd grooved to his tunes as he sand Summer of 69,brown eyed girl, proud mary and Sweet home Alabama. Lee endeared the crowd with his hindi speaking too.
Now Brett has been doing small shows like this all over India along with philanthropic appearances. Some of these gigs are sponsored by NGO’s. Reports in world media have often suggested his closeness to India was the prime reason for his estrangement and divorce with ex-wife Elizabeth Kemp. Despite that Lee has kept a close association with Indian endorsements, music and film industry, his fans are only loving it.
Lee performed three songs and then came the part the crowd most dreaded and i did not foresee. Autograph seekers rushed to grab that golden chance, but the guards did not allow anyone to get near Lee. I joined the rush to get an autograph but midway through the struggle i fell down and couldn’t figure out what happened next as the crowd passed me or rather trampling over my foot. I managed to pull myself free and thankfully didn’t get injured. Lee escaped unscathed.
NOTE: This is not a brett lee praise article. It was the first time i attended a concert and the above article expresses what i observed there. PHOTO SERIES:
One can choose to abstain or embrace change. Technology has great relevance in this regard. I have come across many amateur photographers like me who are averse to using image editing softwares. many are of the opinion that image editing is manipulating the photograph, to make it more sale able or interfering with the original. Over the years I have figured out that this is more due to ill understanding and visually complex nature of the softwares and lack of training. Training in such softwares is best done by persons by themselves- trial and error is arguably the best form of learning. Mental blocks – i-can’t-do-it attitude never helps.
Following is my attempt at image editing:
Picture 1: Original baby photograph. The photograph is shaky. There are other anomalies like exposure and brightness are not up to the mark. The innocence of the baby is not emphasized enough and hence needs development.
Trial and error: I recently came across Google Apps – BeFunky photo effects. This effect called under painting was by far most suitable but still did not give me the effect desires. The lined are far too dark and instead takes away the softness associated with the original image.
The final Cut: This diffused glow effect called Orton style #1 added the desired glow, gave it a fairytale look that I wanted.
The only problem with Goggle Apps is that the final image’s resolution is not the same as the original uploaded one. So if one desired to make larger prints, will be disappointed.
Experimentation is the key with image editing. It does not matter what software is used. It is important to have the blue print of the desired effect in mind.
Chapel, St. Xavier’s College
The classroom at the far right was 20 A, my Junior College class room.
Am i too late for introduction? Better late than never, although i am quite a stickler for punctuality in normal life. Buts such is the case with most Indians, most Mumbaikars, we find an ear to listen to our feelings and we go on without realizing that we have not even introduced ourselves to the person sitting next to us. When travelling in long distance trains, we Indians share, we fight, we show kindness that is not always reciprocated back, we come to know each other without knowing each other really. We make friends though we know we may not meet each other ever again. Our world is big, with place for all. I am a mass media student in a reputed college in Mumbai and love to write and do photography of course. I don’t know why people say photography is inherited. In the film ‘wake up sid’, the protagonist sid/ siddharth had got his photography bug from his father. Mine is quite a familiar filmy story, the same my dad also had photography as his hobby. I started mine 2 years ago, and i had to coax, do tantrums, reason and what not to get my DSC H50. I had no idea that canon or nikon were better options but at that time all that fascinated me was a camera and i loved to click. The DSC caught my eye and i fell blindly in love with it. All my classmates oohed and aahed (and i am not exaggerating one bit here) when i went around clicking photographs all the time. I must say my juniors in college are way better than me and passionate for photography just like me. We share a passion, an emotion to freeze the moment in time that is not waiting to be captured but if you are there at that precise moment when its playing out and are able to freeze that, you are a hero. nobody wants to be a part of the crowd here. Ask anyone, just anyone in Bombay if they want to be part of the crowd. No one. Neither do I. But i want to be with them. I want to see them and be able to photograph them. We talk about real India, but the urban city is hardly real. Beyond a thin membrane of tolerance there is a vacuum a barrier that one cannot penetrate. The real India is the land of devotion that stands in serpentine queues outside temples. The real India lies in the spice of the food that is traditionally made even today. The real India is rural- where even today most of the population sweats it out to make a living. People say that India is rising globally, yes, most of it is true too. But i find the true calling here, in the soil of the most remotest villages and small towns. You don’t need a trade hub, flashy town around you to exist. I had gone to kashmir once. In Sri nagar, i went to ride in the shikara with my family at Dal Lake and truly felt at peace with the world like never before. A short while later a boy of mere five or six year old in his small shikara came near the shikara i was in and asked me if i would but his lotuses. The lotuses were the most beautiful flowers i had ever seen. Unfortunately the boy had a very painful look on his face. I felt a deep stirring of emotion. I asked him, ‘How much?’.
‘Give him whatever you see fit, madam. He’s a local boy, sells lotus, very beautiful they are.’ the man who was sailing my shikara said.
I took a small bunch and paid him five rupees.
As it had to happen, the boy’s face was filled with even more sorrow but thankfully there were no tears. He had lived in a place ravaged by extremists most of his life, i could understand his pain but do no more about it. He looked like he wanted more money for the lotuses. But before i could think more on it, he had drifted away and the darkness of the twilight swallowed him completely till i could no longer see him. I felt sorry for him. The man riding my shikara told me not to look too much into it. You see the problem with city people like me? We come across people but all of them are nameless creatures in our memory. there are people that i come across who help me if i am in trouble or distress, but thats it. My mother tells me, ‘that is how good people work, they do a deed and go back into their lives’. Sometimes those who help us do not even have a face. I wish i knew that boy’s name. I don’t know what good it would have done him or me. But i wish i knew.
Dal Lake, Srinagar