'Heaven'o Clock'

"What time is it?" I asked. "Seven, I guess" replied my friend who did not bother much to look a little longer at the watch to be sure. A strong voice of disagreement interrupted – "No. Its heaven'o clock..." declared another. As cliché as it may sound we all did agree, still looking away in different directions to make up for what the other one was missing on.

Tarkali is no Bora Bora or Hawaii but it happens to be one of the finest beaches on the Konkan coast in Maharashtra, India, or so said our research. Not like we had many options with the tight budget, time and other trifling issues. The moment we reached, we knew it's not the place which needed for us to dig our heads into guide books and make it an orchestrated trip. This one had its own pace and we contently favoured to flow with it.
The basic means of transportation, Rickshaws, were very accommodative by all means. It was a regular sight to see one of them overloaded, with people sitting even on the either sides of the driver. It did not take too long to befriend the native driver, 'Savant Bhau' as we fondly called him, who would come at a given time and wait patiently for us while we explored, always seeming to understand why we took so long each time around.

Walking through the tapered lanes we could see few houses with food shacks and affordable lodges between the greens. The shacks were nothing more than four walls, sheltered by a thin layer of cloth and flowing fabrics by the sides suggesting wind directions. The one we settled for had distinct blue curtains with silver sequins; it must have been a marketing technique to attract more customers, I guess. As my friends binged on to the Malvani Seafood delicacies made from crabs and fish, I, a loyal vegetarian settled for the pseudo North Indian food in the rich eastern coastal lands of India.

A quick rain put an end to our ambitious outing of snorkeling and dolphin sighting. Trying to make something out of the drained day we decided to head towards 'Devbagh', an estuary. We did not go with many expectations and so we asked Savant Bhau to come pick us up within an hour. My first remembrance of the place is seeing a narrow stream of Karli river mutely flowing against the imposing mountains. The local fisherman and his son were ecstatic to give us a boat ride around the backwaters. A 180 degree turn and we were experiencing the confluence of the Karli River with the Arabian Sea. A quick stop at a miniature sand laden island and the next thing we know, we are 12 feet away from the island and 3 feet in the water.

As we floated somewhere between the grey sky and immaculately pristine waters, the clouds parted giving way to the sunshine. As I lay there on the bench of the boat listening to the narratives of the fishermen with rhythmic back score of the waves; I closed my eyes to feel every bit of what I had seen and take it in before the harsh sun could evaporate it all away. That very moment from a tourist I became a traveler. It indeed was a 'Heaven'o Clock'.

Time Traveling

There are more than many reasons why trains are called the ‘Lifeline of Mumbai’ and it is open to interpretation for all. For most Mumbaikars though, their train journeys are more or less like a spiritual, soul searching experiences. Well, sort of (We do have our daily dose of the hell time too).

But when I say spiritual I do not mean peace and tranquility. It’s more like coming in terms with the reality, I would say. It’s weird though how the most indispensable part of our lives is something that we do not wish to be associated with at all.

I know for the fact, that 90% of the people traveling in the trains wish not to be there ever again. That determination makes them show up at the same station every single day. It’s more of destiny that determines who leaves the tracks behind and who gets lost in it.

But what I see, are the stories, the ambiguous relationships that creeps through these unthought-of of desires, the meetings and the separations and the fights. I see the talkers, the observers, the sleepers, the pick-pocketers and common amongst all; the dreamers.

I, the loner. I see. I see my life passing by. But I also see that the tracks never end and they never will.

A million smiles, cries and tries…

I see frames everywhere, not only because I am on my own little self-exploiting journey of becoming a photographer, I always saw them. I saw people, I saw their mood swings and I saw their straight faces with gazing eyes, searching for something to cling on to and find comfort from. I never saw things, I saw characters; characters of the people who touched them.

As a kid my favouritest place was to sit on the stairs next to my local café. I sat there for hours. It was like watching television and surfing through the channels rigorously. I got to be a part of their lives like this anonymous, invisible character. Anonymous but not completely non-judgmental. I saw them subjectively and more I did that more predictable they became.

Everyone left a part of themselves on that coffee table. Sometimes a little warmth in the froth left behind and sometimes coldness in the empty chairs.

I always took these leftovers with me.

Inside my little brain I have a huge corner reserved for these leftovers. A million smiles, cries and tries that I have saved up for years, makes me who I am today.

Even though I walked down those stairs years ago I find a part of me waiting there for someone to pick up on my leftovers. Until then I walk up more stairs and capture more lives.