Vidhana Soudha lit up in red and yellow for Karnataka Rajyotsava. Outside, autos and scooters weave through the traffic, people gather along the railings, and phones go up for photographs. I like how much is happening in this frame—everyone finding a little space to stop and take in the sight.
This day holds another connection for me: Chhattisgarh, where I grew up, also celebrates its Sthapana Divas (Rajyotsava) on 1 November. A shared date for two places that have shaped my life.
This feels like such a typical Bangalore street-market scene. Baskets of loose flowers crowding the counter and thick garlands hanging overhead. There is so much colour packed into this little space!
I love this aspect of Bangalore. Flowers are part of the daily routine for so many people: buying a handful on the way home, replacing yesterday’s flowers at the altar, offering fresh ones with the day’s prayers. During festivals, the stalls get busier, the garlands more elaborate, and everything feels a little more heightened. But the everyday demand for flowers keeps these stalls woven into neighbourhood life.
And then there is Puneeth Rajkumar’s photograph in the background. Flowers, daily worship and affection for a film star, all finding a place in the same small stretch of the city.
Ashok and I were at Sunday Farmer café on Castle Street a couple of days ago when we spotted these twin cottages across the road. One blue, one peach, with matching gables, little octagonal windows and tiled roofs. We found ourselves talking about the Bangalore they belonged to. I didn’t have my camera with me that day, so I stopped to photograph them today on my way to the printers.
Castle Street, Wood Street and the nearby lanes formed part of the civilian neighbourhoods of Cantonment Bangalore. Anglo-Indians, Indian merchants, professionals and people whose work supported the military establishment lived in these neighbourhoods.
I have since learned that the cottages’ pitched roofs and decorative details suggest the Gothic-influenced domestic architecture that developed here during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Bangalore’s “monkey-top” houses belong to this tradition, which local builders and residents adapted through ornamental timberwork and elaborate porches. I still don’t know when these particular cottages were built, or who lived in them.
I especially like how the much taller wall behind them makes their small scale so apparent. Looking at this photograph, I feel I have caught a surviving fragment of the residential Bangalore around which today’s commercial centre has grown.
A Memory Wall
I have always said that teaching was my calling. Of all the jobs I have done, it was the one that gave me the most satisfaction. The one I thoroughly enjoyed.
Of course, I hated parts of it, too. The 24 hours of teaching every week. Grading a cumulative 1,500 scripts every semester across three CIAs (Continuous Internal Assessments). The never-ending portions to be covered, and the unreasonable deadlines within which they had to be completed.
But then, there were the young boys and girls.
Their questions, their enthusiasm, their arguments, their moments of discovery, the sheer energy of being around them. Their engagement was my oxygen. I loved talking to them, listening to them, watching them find their feet and, sometimes, seeing them discover something in themselves they hadn't known was there.
Teaching was hard work. Sometimes, impossibly hard work. But it was also a privilege, a joy, and perhaps the closest I have come to doing what I was meant to do.
This bulletin board in my office is a memory wall from that beautiful time in my life. Photographs, handwritten notes, little cards, messages from students, words of appreciation and affection. Each piece holds a memory; together, they hold a whole chapter of my life.
And this little wall? It reminds me that some of the most meaningful things we do leave traces long after the work itself is done.
I believe anything you nurture blesses you with something beautiful. Though I suspect this may not be universally true! 😄
We’ve been tending to our garden quite conscientiously. Whenever I’m on a phone call, I take the opportunity to walk around, pluck dry leaves, loosen the soil, check the moisture, and make sure no mealybugs are lurking about.
So, every time something flowers, I feel a little thrill. I like to think of it as nature rewarding me for all that care and attention.
But then, a flower doesn't bloom for me, or anyone else. It simply blooms. It doesn't compare itself to the others or wonder if it's too red, too big, too much. It doesn't worry about whether it belongs.
This amaryllis just showed up in all its spectacular redness, apparently without a moment's self-doubt.
And I stood there, camera in hand, admiring it.
A visitor on our wall today, and a memory of a little boy who believed that our house belonged to everyone who lived in it, including the insects.
Years ago, when I was clearing cobwebs, Kunal burst into tears. He was upset that I was destroying the spiders’ homes. “You think the house belongs to just us and not all these insects?” he asked.
He was obsessed with insects as a young child, and we eventually reached a compromise: I could clean away abandoned cobwebs, but freshly built ones, or those still in use, were off-limits!
I am often reminded of that moment whenever I see a little visitor like this one.
I don't know how long this little visitor will stay, or where it will go next. But today, it reminded me of a lesson a child taught me a long time ago: we aren't the only ones who call this place home.
I love this wooden shelf - its earthy simplicity, the symmetry, the warmth of the wood, the brass and other metals. It feels a little like Ashok and me: grounded, solid, uncomplicated, and comfortable in our own symmetry.
Ever since we got married, we’ve prayed together every morning. We light the diya, say our prayers, and sing the aarti. It’s our way of connecting with God before we begin the day, but it’s also something more personal. A little time carved out for us, to pause, to be grateful, and to begin each day together.
After all these years, I think that’s what I love most about this ritual. It brings us closer to God, and to each other.
Day 1/365
Took my camera everywhere today. Found inspiration nowhere. Then, in the IKEA parking lot, I found this shot.
Not quite the start I imagined, but here we are. A photo a day for the next 365 days. The goal is to show up, slow down, and find something worth capturing, even on days when nothing seems worthwhile.
Here's to the challenge ahead. One day, one frame at a time.
Vidhana Soudha lit up in red and yellow for Karnataka Rajyotsava. Outside, autos and scooters weave through the traffic, people gather alo...
