First Post Nostalgia #MyFirstPostRevisited: Wading through Bangalore International Film Festival 2016

my first post revisited, sarah brentyn, blog hop, storytelling, book nerd,

The blog hop was created by Sarah Brentyn.
Thank you for the tag Nandini! Your blogging ethic and dedication inspires us all! Hop to her blog for relatable literary wisdom pieces.
I have re-blogged my first ever post, which was a review of Bangalore International Film Festival 2016. Not that long ago, then. Huh.

The rules for the tag are:

No cheating. (It must be your first post. Not your second post, not one you love…first post only.)
Link back to the person who tagged you (thank them if you feel like it or, if not, curse them with a plague of ladybugs).

Other rules:

Cut and paste your old post into a new post or reblog your own bad self. (Either way is fine but NO editing.)
Put the hashtag #MyFirstPostRevisited in your title.
Tag…um…ten two twelve five (5) other bloggers to take up this challenge.
Notify your tags in the comment section of their blog (don’t just hope they notice a pingback somewhere in their spam).
Feel free to cut and paste the badge to use in your post.
Include “the rules” in your post.

Completely silly rules that I’m making up as I type:

  • Drink a glass of wine, bottle of beer, cup of coffee, mug of herbal tea or whatever floats your boat after you hit “publish”. (In other words, toast yourself. Go you!)
  • Read the post out loud in a Mickey Mouse voice.

My voice is already mouse like… huh. My pot of cake awaits me…

Anyone who wants to continue the hop, full speed, you!


light writes


On BIFFes 2016 –

My association with BIFFes 2016, I like to think, started when I randomly ended up volunteering for BISFF 2014. A phone call from a friend regarding the event, an email later, I was volunteering for the short film festival. I particularly loved Line Gasoline in a Car by Massimo Amici (How do you resist a line like “Love ran out like gasoline in a car” said in between a sun set? Such intensity in emotions, those actors surely had really been through all that, did they not?) Stanley Pickle (highly recommended!) was an enchanting stop motion animation, and The Diminished Risk(really recommended!), an absurdist comedy. Butterlamp told stories of families gathering up for pictures, and The Stowaway (yes, recommended) had an orphan girl running away and staying in a blind old woman’s house (“How is the grass?” “Oh it is blue! The blue of a…

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NaPoWriMo: On the realisations


On the realisation that nothing really matters-

Like someone holding onto your backpack or coat, to tickle you,

but you need to get away so you wriggle free,

and forget your expensive coat,

or backpack with all important story books,

but you don’t care, and you run.



NaPoWriMo reads: Howl by Allen Ginsberg, Harlem Renaissance Langston Hughes

Beat Poetry: Howl by Allen Ginsberg

Beat generation is a group of writers interested in changing consciousness and defying conventional writing.

I have become obsessed with Rent the Musical, just as with Hamilton: An American Musical. La Vie Boheme is my favourite sequence, because it encapsulates everything of the New York City Artists, Poets, Dancers and Musicians scene, from the ’70s. I have read Patti Smith books, listened to music of that drug fueled creative era… And fighting AIDS.. And all of this, is in the musical, in this one super energetic song.

It makes so many references to sooo many figures and iconic landmarks in literature, music, dance, art, and culture, (some signature cocktails as well I am sure) I have been leafing through each reference, slowly, but surely, thoroughly.

Here I knew of Allen Ginsberg.

Here is Howl by Allen Ginsberg, a Beat poet.

Animation and spoken word poetry with the slightest music works so well, does it not? James Franco performed in this version. It is not perfect. But the animation is by Eric Drooker is.

The complete version follows:



Daniel Radcliffe(Kill your darlings) and James Franco(Howl) both potrayed Allen Ginsberg

Langston Hughes poems reference explained!

And a Langston Hughes poem, Harlem:



City Diaries

via Daily Prompt: Lifestyle

City Diaries: For that road trip you always wanted to take

Images and Videos from City Diaries


What started as a passion to experiment with capturing the best but affordable places in and around Bangalore has gone on to become a travelogue. College students around Bengaluru have begun to appreciate the quintessential road trip experience everyone must have in their college life but City Diaries goes above and beyond by pouring in affection for Karnataka’s refreshing beauty. Bengaluru itself is an artsy place without even trying. City diaries makes a clear distinction between the tourism and traveling.


Sourabh  Hamigi and his friends do not just see Mysuru Palace, Bandipur Wildlife Reserves and Gokarna beaches but also give you a snapshot from thier vantage point of view of Gopalswami betta, Kumaraparvatha, and Gandikota. In this way, the viewer, you, feels our thrill and wonder as well. Essentially, you feel part of the journey. The videos dance to the music of the beautiful places they see.


They take you to waterfalls, to Grand Canyon of Asia, and even our own Gandhibazaar. Observe the phenomenal sensation of sitting by camp fires under starry nights, camel rides, random coffee stops, and jamming sessions. Planning, organizing and engaging the audience in alternate travel routes has helped Sourabh to become self-aware regarding his surroundings and to become sustainable in a world hooked to the internet almost all the time.

Sourabh’s favourite trip so far was to Hampi. Why, though?

“Hampi is a place like no other. It’s unique, it’s serene and it has a VIBE of its own. Of all the travelling I have done in the past few years, of all the videos I have made from travelling, I think I put the most time and mind in creating the video For Hampi. Hampi is beautiful and it deserves nothing less than my best effort in showing that beauty and hopefully that beauty was well preserved in ‘Hampi vibes’”

A co-traveler, and photgrapher, Kaushik talks about his favourite experience- “We visited Kumara Parvata hill, adjacent to the temple in Kukke Subrahmanya. It’s a very famous trekking spot in South India, considered to be one amongst the hardest. It was a 28 km trek both ways, and easily the best one I’ve done so far. The overall experience was very refreshing. What these kind of treks do is, you’re put into testing. Your mental toughness is the main thing, besides physical fitness. What I learnt is that, anything is possible if you convince yourself so. It was mind over matter for me, while returning, it was very hard, sore knees, bruised feet, no water, scorching sun, and a bus to catch after the decent. We could not afford to rest for much. So I only told myself, I can either focus on the pain, or on the destiny.
So there is a lot to learn and experience through such treks. So that’s about this trek. It was an amazing experience overall.

And about why I like to travel? It’s all about the joy and gratification that comes with all the experiences I go through when I travel. Whatever little travel that I’ve done, has actually helped me evolve into a better person. Taking hardships in the right spirit. Getting out of your comfort zone. Meeting new people, and of course, stories! For me, its mostly about stories, the ones I come across and the ones I tell.”

For Shakul the allure of traveling is in that roadside coffee joint or exquisite tatte idly-

“I only see how much the description meets the tongue. I look for things that complement really well.

I believe that everyday we learn something. And that’s what we are meant to do maybe? To live a life, you have to explore and learn. When I travel, I am exposed to many new things which I am very keen to understand. So I learn better, get to know what others don’t. Like delicious food, of course!”

Why yes, he is a food blogger, yes!


                        “Every time I travel, it unlocks a part of my mind that allows me to see through my camera in a different perceptive” Sourabh says,”I travel to learn, to relax and to calm myself and most importantly shoot and capture moments.”

Sandesh, yet another co-traveler has plenty of tips and tricks up his sleeve-

” I learned that everyone’s perception of travel is different.  For me if it is about the raw experience of travelling in whichever way possible- Like a local bus , or standing in a general class train, or the local food- even the people who want to go in the luxury of their own cars or go by extravagant transportation also seek to go travelling . No matter how much you plan, if it isn’t a packaged tour type. Something will go wrong or different and that doesn’t matter. And it’s better to get down and try something rather than waiting and contemplating for too long when you’re traveling because you may run out of time or not experience something again . It’s better to be someone who can go for days with lesser than 6 hours of sleep than someone who absolutely needs sleep. During travel, being energetic and enthusiastic is very important. You can’t worry about being sleepy or feeling weak.”

On his images, Sourabh says-

“Do you know how stars are captured by a camera? Those pictures of the stars that are barely visible by the naked eye?

The camera’s shutter is left exposed over a period of 10-20 seconds to capture one photograph of the beautiful starry night. Now if we had to take a 2 second time-lapse of the stars, that would be around 12 seconds X 2 seconds X 25 (frames) = 1 hour of work.

The point is not to show how much work it takes to capture these pictures but to convey the fact that beautiful moments that are recorded, are as good as they are felt, enjoyed and taken in.”

Like the videos, share your thoughts and subscribe to City Diaries to see more of Sourabh’s adventures in and around Bengaluru, right here! Click here: City Diaries


Words by JRK

Images and Videos from City Diaries

NaPoWriMo: On Poetry

Although i have been reading books for fifteen years now it is only recently that i have started to read to feel.


Monty Python characters know about poetry

Until recently i had been reading running away from my world into a books world.

There is something in the poetry which I couldn’t quite get a hold of. And this has been the reason for my negligence with poetry. Sure I understand the metaphor, ironies, contextual references but understanding poetry is different from wanting to make it a part of you for resounding with the nooks of your soul’s refrigerator.

Words strung together, one after another, with a certain licence in language are more articulate about feelings but more difficult to get through with than simple words in a line.bxdivyfljpd16

Poems as not the case of most stories seems to have no beginning middles and ends in the right order. They are the continuation of musings of emotions until they run out.

All serious poetry is much harder to deal with. Poetry written for oneself is a personal part of the person. Poetry written for the 1-89masses is commercialization of that part. But does that mean it must only be pretty words wrapped with a social message each time? Maybe rhyme sequence and structure does not matter anymore, but that was poetry.

Poets are supposed to have been troubled souls. With light coming in and like coming out, of their bottles.


How much do they know about what they write about?

Who is the greater writer?

One who feels every emotion deeply and is able to transmit them into a sheet of paper…?



Sean Carter knows

One who feels nothing; they thinks they feel nothing, who run away emotions and thus, can express only from thier repressed cushion soul, yet deliver the blows to make the reader go through it all anyway…

Who is it, really?


Langston Hughes visualised


NaPoWriMo : Harry Potter/ Hamilton mash up Parody

Okay, okay I got this. I got this. Here goes. For those of you who don’t get it. Story of Harry Potter in Hamilton rap. Original song

How does a Chosen One, orphan, son of a bright red head sneered mudblood, and richest wizard Welsh man,
Dropped in the middle of a cruel muggle house with Dudders by Dumbledore’s brain rationale, in neglect under the stairs,
Grow up to be a hero and an auror?
Got the Dark Lord to cower, slimy Snape to scowl and with Hagrid he entered Diagon Alley, by being a lot Gryffindor braver.
By fourteen, he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named times four!
And everyday while Death Eaters gained powers he kept his guard up, inside he was longing to be a part of, saviour complex, the brother was ready to beg steal borrow or barter and bleed for Truth.
Hurricanes came, devastation reigned, Cedric Diggory’s future drip-dripping down the drain. His wand connected to Voldemort’s; priori incantatem! His scar began to pain, a testament to his mother’s love and green eyes gained!
Now the word got around, this kid is insane man! Took up many adventures with Hermione and Ron, man!
Get your education, don’t forget from whence you came,
And The World Knows Your Name!
What’s your name man?!
Haaaarrryyy Poooottterrr. My name is Harry Potter! There’s seven horcruxes to destroy. Just you waaaaaiiiit! Juuuuust you waaaaaiiiit!
When he was fifteen- Philosopher’s stone, toilet basilisks, dementor of bad kissing skills and a Godfather lost.
Harry could speak Parseltongue, many a time he was half dead. But Harrymade his choices, Dumbledore helped as did the Weasleys and the brightest witch of her age!
Learned the patronus from a father’s friend, another father’s friend betrayed them.
Left him with ruined pride something new inside. A voice saying, Harry you could be great in Slytherin.
He retreated and started teaching Defence against the Dark Arts.
There would have been nothing else to go if he were less courageous. He would have been better home than Hogwarts, but no! Dobby!
He started working, working to end Tom Riddle, Prophecies come and go!
Destroyed all the horcruxes he could lay his hands on, waiting for the future as Dumbledore died alone.
See him now circling Voldemort, neither can die while the other lives!
In Hogwarts you cannot apparate!
In Hogwarts you cannot apparate!
Harry Potter, the world reads for you!
They know what you overcame!
JK Rowling they know you rewrote the game!

The World! Will! Never! Be the Saaaame, wo-oh!



#NaPoWriMo An Arabian Ballad

Arabian Poem

I was listening to my course on History of World Literature a month ago. It rekindled my childhood fascination for fables, fairy tales and legends of yore.

I started to write a poem, and with a life of its own, it grew and grew until I knew the story within a story structure could be played with, infinite times, but stopped when I felt satisfied with the structure. It took my five days to finetune it, but more so, to animate it.

The animation is an attempt at making the poem more reader friendly: Arabian Poem

Here it is, anyway.

Do remember,


Music to accompany:


The Ballad of The Enamoring Adventures of Noor Ibrahim in the Valley of Famed Jewel of Pashtun as recounted by Shehrezade, sister of Duniyazade to King Shehryar

A great while ago while the worlds

Still held several unknown spectacles,

The Sands of Time blew

Shifting lands and breaking kingdoms few

Through the Sieves of Life

Building back lasting nations in strife.

A courtier’s daughter and her sister were trapped

In a cruel heartbroken King’s hand.

After their wives each had them betrayed

Sultan Shehryar and his brother had decided

Women, each one, were distrustful and deceiving fiend

He took a virgin wife, each day, to be guillotined.

The two girls, they devised a design, schemes mapped

To save themselves from lives damned.

Shehrezade would tell him a story each night

Garbed in Iskandarian red gold, muslin white-

This night, the four hundred and seventy second

She met the Caliph in chambers inlain carnelian,

Anointed with oils, the musk pod beckoned;

Scented her rose willow flower water, ambergris

In the huge glittering green and pink palace.

They loved until the sun set, jaded.

Shehzrezade was to leave to the axe man of malice,

When, as with each night, unhidden now Duniyazade,

With a petulant cry for a fantasy storied.

The enamoured Caliph agreed

For he enjoyed her tales wild and true.

Shehrezade donned the muslin of translucent hue.

Filled her pitcher with sweet water.

Before she took a sip, began with a starter-

O King of Stars and Winds, know this

In a certain realm, in certain lands,

In a little village, there lived…

A boy man, tall and red haired.

Kamal Ibrahim was a conman

He could fake his way

Out of a bank robbery in a cart van.

Then he would tip his cane and say,

“Was only the watchman, miss.”

And lo, he would be.

Then, one day he was compromised by an Heiress

Who with a flick of a finger, said, “To see

The world, I wish. Hark!”

Nargis Noor and Kamal Ibrahim set off

On a wild romantic lark.

Bright greens blues did the Heiress doff.

Every man’s eye did she snare

Besides every woman’s smile

And made even the palm trees sigh.

No farther did her father fare

To catch her, even within a mile.

They could make even priests lie.

Once or twice his eyes did glint

Like the pearls beads on her hair.

They were like stone and flint.

They fought beasts and snakes

With wit and teased rakes.

Heretofore, many great kings fell in snare,

Vainglorious, for his silver tongue.

Many Queens saw themselves among

A sly adviser and consorts.

Many tribes in terrified awe of

Nargis Noor’s water pacts.

Kamal Ibrahim’s mere presence was tough.

As chimaera became sphinxes

Water fell from Heavens only twice.

As Gods above granted rewards

Riches for men ten-fold over would suffice.

The Sands of Time blew

Through the Sieves of Life.

Noor Nargis and Kamal Ibrahim, as a crew

Had tasted success, voyages, rare honey alike a whiff.

Almost close to their fill in hindsight.

They lounged for a feast, by the fire and nightlight

Fit for the Moon Goddess and Deity Dusk

By the Musandam Fjords, bathed in wild musk.

While a fiddler twiddled of an empire lost

By the breaking of lands like a biscuit in tea.

A court bard bid them a bow haughtily-

“Ya qurban, salutations, my reader, for no cost

Here is a story! Let it come! Let it be gone!

Before the art of singing was known

When the earth stretched to fit in another God,

And Sea Djinn granted 8 wishes-

For 7 was too right- at 9 Djinn wronged

Land ifrits fell in love with mere humans!

You may be wondering how I know these old medleys and rhyme…”

“Not so!” mocked Kamal Ibrahim

The bard ignored him-

“Let the listener decide what’s at the heart of them.”

“Just tell it, old man straight up. “, derided Kamal Ibrahim,

“Once upon a time, not in your time nor in my time, but in a very good time…”

The bard cried out in a reedy voice

In a Baloch mountaineer patois.

“The Jewel of Pashtun was known

From Damascus to Baku

From Ur to Kabul

From Qandahar to Samarkhand

From Anatolia to Nineveh

From Karnak to –“

“Wherever!” Kamal Ibrahim hooted-

It was clear the oily bearded bard

Was an outlander with imagination bizarre.

“If you are going to tell a lie,” drawled Kamal Ibrahim.

Tell it so that someone will believe you!”

The bard huffed an angry rue.

“If you want any more,

My voice is sore

You can make it up yourselves.

The world ended. That’s how it ends.”

The spectators’ protestations were clipped

Noor quirked an eyebrow and a side of her lip.

Mollified, he began again with a high tenor

“Now, my anecdote has gone that way, and I’ve come this way.

Men whispered the Jewel of Pashtun in candor-

It was a scroll that wrought drought and decay.

Or was it an army of ancient trained soldiers in duty?

Some alleged it meant a woman of unseemly beauty.

Some more worshipped and sacrificed to her as a Goddess

Others believed it true with some fervor

A red gemstone, deepest of Earth’s wombs.

White flecks like crushed diamonds and stars sew

Together another Universe held within an afterglow.

To the eye, it glittered just as the waters indigo

Of these Fjords did, even more so.

A Princeling was he, who found this magnificence.

When he was out hunting

The Fabled Hound of Living

But that turned to be a simple creature ever since

Jealous of its territories

A glorious roaring lion, nothing more.

His head sought after glory of the unfamiliar.

Here he pursued the remarkable Stone of Pashtun.

Here he came to a woman in a worn cotton kaftan.

She was plucking at the grass

In her humble garden in the brown wilderness.

The Princeling stopped her

For a glass of water.

And an enquiry on her working

“Don’t you know, O persevering Princeling?

The skilled weed picker is a skilled breather?”

The Princeling was but a innocent youngling.

She went on, for he had not understood her-

“Unhappy Quester, here is my only meaning

Hard physical labour keeps the mind and body astir

For longer and maybe, ever after.”

The Princeling decided she was a wise woman

For her eyes definitely had the bearing of one.

“What and where is the Jewel of Pashtun?”

To which she answered with her accent now Armenian,

“Ah restless Princeling, the sand has been cast

That is but a legend of the past.”

Ghost cats prowl the shadows and hills

At the edges of the ravines and desert gullies.

She beckoned him in for sweetmeat, fruit and tea.

He bent in the doorway exclaimed decree-

“By fire, by father, by age, by which

I condemn you a witch!”

Outside, the sand tumbles like dust,

From her hand and soft wind seized it.

Dunes rose, umber and gold.

Vast and violet turned the inside hut.

The teleporting tapestry of Bishnagar

Hung in this strangehold

Gold fit for thieves’ caves from afar

Statues of diamonds, books of skin

Lamps, trees with fruits of jewels, mandolin

Lay about carelessly strewn like in Shanghai.

The Princeling coldly thought,

“If it is the Zumurrud of Smaragdine I spy

The Jewel of Pashtun I sought

Here it is, within grasp it is nigh.”

He knelt before the great djinni

For the old woman, one must have been

And begged favour and the Jewel of Pashtun.

The djinni led him to a chamber, another pantheon.

There, straightaway the young man

Saw the Jewel of Pashtun on a headdress.

“The wearer knows Witlessness

It leads not but to little death.

If you ask it shall be yours to bequeath

But the price is yours to meet.”

The Princeling nodded, face haggard,

He knew the deceitful bartering of djinns.

He ran to reach out for the headdress lacquered.

While quivered the old woman’s chins

The Princeling felt his throat tighten.

Presently the djinni captured young Jafar the Princeling

And wrenched from him the roaring head of a lion.

It was for her amassing- the Fabled Hound of Living.

Young Jafar strained against his cage.

He noticed the headdress reflected his image.

This he sat atop his head, the madness did ensue.

Presently, he knew what it is he was to do.

He summoned artifice, subterfuge, and guile

That the Jewel bade him, whispered in his ear.

The memories taint, insights revile.

They held him in anguished grief like a puppeteer.

He sweated as he called out the old lady-

“Which pilferer are you” he muttered desolately

“Submit to a bottle or lamp,

Or the Grand Vizier will soldier your camp.”

The old lady told him of her travail.

From the powerful djinn world

To mortal for escapades but they did unravel

Because a woman whirled swirled unfurled

In her life, she had surpassing humour.

They lived together until she grew little older.

Modest as she was, her heart was that of a Sailor.

She wanted to part from home, but sickness ailed her

But the djinni could do nothing but be Time’s jailor.

The djinni looked for remedy that no mage could doctor.

Amassing everything she could, but she had to falter

For her beloved, she could not fault her.

In throes of illness, she needed the cure

That only the Jewel with its knowledge could offer.

“Is it a silken sand viper’s venom I must procure?

Gold tooth of a crocodile from the Nile, or

The falcon sitting on a cactus and its feather?

Water by a pink sand beach, a spoonful of mirage?

Eyelashes from a white camel, herbs from hills azure?

Nothing will not be too hard to secure

If it is for my paramour!”

The Princeling told her of what he know knew.

The djinni thanked him with all her riches and words few.

The Sands of Time blew

Through the Sieves of Life

When he fled with the Jewel, the Princeling was a maniac.

That no antidote could be found even in an almanac.

And that’s the truth of the eminent Jewel of Pashtun.

Ever since then, that is the way it has been.

The tale is old. The tale is told.

There now, I have chopped at hashish on table.

I hope you won’t fail to be pleased by my fable.

For a kiss, I will tell you another true and bold. ”

Incensed, Kamal Ibrahim pushed him off the Fjord bank

Left the oily raconteur wet while Ibrahim drank.

Noor Nargis’s eyes gleamed like sapphires dual.

Kamal Ibrahim told her, “We have no need for a jewel

We make the sun shine on our own.”

She scoffed at him, with a moan

“You are a fool Kamal Ibrahim,

If I ever saw one. We lack adventure

Or have you become of your ploys unsure

Where’s the fun without another one

Quit spouting a romanticizing hymn.

Hold this paddle and oar,

Let me waddle us ashore.”

Thus they began their fool quest.

The Sands of Time blew

Through the Sieves of Life.

But they never quite found what they were looking for.

Shehrezade took a sip of her sweetened water,

“Is the father of my sons tired of this story yet?”

“A good story has many versions.

Wondrous and delightful are such diversions.

But one must serve courtly duty outright

For which I must bid you dreams of vivid sight.”

So saying, in the dark, once again, Caliph goes to his bed.

Tossing for his minstrel and her ministration,

Longing in anticipation the day they wed

No longer could he shed her blood; a dire situation.