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Click the image to enlarge; then, you must read this whole thing out loud. With an audience, preferably, but even if you are alone. The whole thing. This sign was posted outside a tent by side of the road. You going in? I’m not going in.
May
01
2009
Unmeatly Body ?
May
01
2009
Bespoke Bollywood
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SInce our arrival in India, I have been limited to, and quite happy with, a single vice: custom-tailored clothes. Raymond of India is the largest distributor of fabric in the country, moving unbelievable quantities of wool, cotton, linen, silk, and other ready-to-use textiles through their innumerable retail storefronts (sometimes multiple stores on a single street – you think Starbuck’s is ubiquitous back home? Meh !). We popped in one day just to check it out, and left having ordered 4 or 5 shirts, after having measurements taken and drinking hot chai with a half dozen store attendants. Each shirt, custom stitched with the fabric of our choice, was about 20 dollars in U.S. money. So this new vice is not as profligate is it may sound :)
Vice is no fun alone, and so I found a perfect co-conspirator in dear Mr. Andrew Cox. We have been endlessly darting in and out of Raymond for months now, having shirts of all kinds put together, and just recently, we commissioned a pair of three-piece suits. This was a fantastic adventure, throughout which the Raymond tailors were endlessly patient with us as we changed our minds, made adjustments, and generally made a confusing mess of things any time we entered the store. This adventure finally came to an end: last night was Andrew and Nina’s final hurrah in Bangalore, as they are moving to Italy; his suit had just been completed, and the tailor from Raymond made the delivery at 10:30 pm during our farewell party for our once-and-future Bangalore doppelgangers.
Apr
29
2009
A Lightroom Tutorial
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Step One: You will need a great camera, a copy of Adobe Photoshop Lightroom, and these cheekbones… Let me know when you are ready for step two.
Apr
29
2009
This is Not My Beautiful World
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We wake to the shrill grinding sound of rebar being cut, in the construction site just outside the window. That sound is soon overtaken by the cacophonous grind of a cement mixer, which is again overtaken by the crashing gush of a truckload of rocks being emptied onto the construction site. A cloud of white rock dust presses up against the windows. This is not my beautiful world.
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The construction site next door is active from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day. Thirty sari-draped women balance trays of wet cement on their heads while a dozen half-naked children play in the mountain of sand. Another twenty or so barefoot men scoop rocks and bend rebar and are digging six giant pits in the red earth. They are building a three-story shopping center. From my dining room window this looks like an archeological dig. I have just found out that the construction will take one year. Huge buzz kill.
We chose this place because be could live like Columbian drug lords for what a one bedroom apartments costs at home, and because it was a quiet sanctuary away from the Bangalore choking traffic and relentless noise. Now, we may as well be living in the middle of the road. Every surface of our house is coated with grit. I’m beginning to suspect that this is why the owners have chosen not to live in their dream home.
Pack your earplugs and dust masks and come for a visit!!!
