Do Dooni Char

Do Dooni Chaar

The National Awards this year seem to have brought a few question marks to people’s minds. The one film, however, that seems to have got everyone’s nod is “Do Dooni Char”.

I was convinced for all these years that Rishi Kapoor didn’t know how to act and that he had become a star just by flashing his sweet smile and by generally charming the ladies in the audience with his chocolate-box looks. But this film has made me change my mind for good. Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh are better actors than all the high-paid heroes put together.

The best part of the film was the screenplay. The dialogues were so true to life and the two children straight out of any middle-class Delhi family. Gone are the sweetie-pies of old films where they existed on screen only to pull tears or laughter out of the viewers. These are real kids with real rants and real aspirations. At last Indian viewers can stomach reality.

The pace and editing were fantastic and the casting of the two children was spot on. What came out over and above everything else was the message of the story. In the land of Guru-Sishya parampara, this was long overdue. What teachers go through everyday and how undervalued their jobs are is a message that one can not miss.

Perhaps the rest of the world will wake up and understand that Indian films have changed and that there are some really interesting stories being told by the young filmmakers.

For those who remember Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh from their romantic films from the 70s “Do Dooni Chaar” will be a treat. We see the middle-class couple in their shabby clothes but we know that they are really the hip couple who made us dream, laugh, hum their songs and dance when they were young.

Rishi Kapoor, Neetu Kapoor

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Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Se

It took me months to get hold of a DVD of this film and that fact alone shows how badly it did commercially because in India DVD piracy is a fact of life. You can get a DVD copy of any film for thirty rupees these days. Again it is no surprise that this film went unnoticed by everybody and no one could even remember this name within a year of its release. History just isn’t anybody’s cup of tea in India.

Clearly this is a labour of love because a director like Asutosh Gowariker isn’t that ignorant about people’s preferences and yet he went ahead and made a film which tells the story of the Chittagong Uprising in all its details bringing the past alive before our eyes. Unfortunately there are very few people who actually know about this episode of Indian history and who can connect emotionally or intellectually to this story. Ask anyone under the age of 40 if they had ever heard about this daring attempt to shake the British Raj and you will hear a resounding “No”. It was not only a tale of courage but also a very tragic tale.

How can it be that such a heart-rending story of our Freedom Movement is so absent from our curriculum? It is quite possible that the stories of the Bengali Revolutionaries were deliberately suppressed. Somehow people, including the Bengalis themselves, feel ashamed to admit that there was a violent revolution. The Indians want the world to believe that independence was won through Gandhian non-violence. Of course, this will also make the Nehru-Gandhi legacy continue, making it more convenient for everyone.

On the plus side of this film’s production is the casting. Abhishek Bachchan was very aptly chosen to play Master-da. After all he has a very Bengali face, being Jaya Bhaduri’s son. He also had a purity about him which was needed for that role. On the other hand Deepika Padukone was not convincing at all. The way she chose to wear her sari, which was too low at the waist for a character who is supposed to be fighting for the country, clearly showed that she was more interested in looking attractive than being Kalpana Dutta.

The sets looked authentic, specially the exteriors of houses, but the minor characters didn’t look too real. There was something in their clothes and hair-styles that wasn’t quite right. Having said that, it has to be admitted that the research that has gone into writing of the script is amazing. The film is based on the book by Manini Chatterjee (Do and Die) who is the real-life daughter-in-law of the main female protagonist, Kalpana Dutta. The producers may not have recovered the money that they invested into this film but they deserve our gratitude for bringing to the world of cinema such an important collection of historical facts. So what if the entertainment -crazy public rejected this very well-made film? It can become an invaluable part of audio-visual teaching material in class-rooms.

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Review: Dhobi Ghat

dhobi ghat

When this film fist came out I was really not interested in watching it because I had no special feeling for Mumbai. But over the months I was more and more curious to see the performance of Prateik. And that is what finally pushed me to get a DVD and see it. His mother Smita Patil was my favourite actress and I can still remember the day she died. I was about to have my morning cup of tea before getting ready to go to work. Before having my first sip I opened the newspaper and saw the news of Smita’s death. I remember I was so shocked, so heartbroken, that I couldn’t drink my tea.

I first saw Prateik in a film called “Jaane Tu Ya Janena”, one of those usual Bollywood films. He had long hair, which was quite striking, but it was not only his hair. His face compelled you to look at him. One could already see that he has his mother’s looks and surely some of his mother’s talent too.

In Dhobi Ghat he plays a role of a washerman and is somehow connected to the central characters. He plays this role, which has a streak of innocence as well as the ambition of every young man of Mumbai, very convincingly. There are scenes which really remind you of Smita’s very natural style of acting.

I am glad that Prateik made me want to see the film because now I know that Indian cinema has finally come of age. The script has a maturity which proves that new directors have started thinking of a film script as a piece of literature. Kiran Rao has very skilfully woven the different characters into one story which is actually the stringing together of many stories. She has written from her own experience of what it is like to live in Mumbai, where everyone is alone and yet in a strange way connected to everyone else.

At last, one can see the everyday reality of urban India and at last, we have characters which are painted in various shades of grey. They are real flesh and blood people who speak the language of the urban Indian. There are many elements that make the viewer instantly connect with reality – the laundry boy who aspires to be an actor, the artist who wants to be left alone, the NRI woman who wants to get to know the real India, the young bride who is homesick and lonely, the underworld and its connection with the wealthy…
The great city brings the high and the low together.

For a first film this is a remarkably sophisticated work. However, this does not come as a great surprise. After all, Kiran Rao is Aamir Khan’s wife and has been in the field of cinema for a while. The element of surprise is that the writing is as well crafted as the direction. The fact that this film is the work of a woman somehow makes you sit up and watch it more carefully.

Keep it up, Kiran Rao!

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This is India!

In 2008, while I was in London, my mother was living alone in Pondicherry. One night while she was walking home alone two men came from behind on a motorcycle and the one who was sitting behind snatched my mother’s gold necklace. They speeded away and disappeared in the traffic of the main boulevard. My mother, in a shock, knelt down and tried to see if she could at least find the pendant which might have fallen down on the road. Just then two very kind men from the Ashram came along and helped her to her feet and took her home. They also helped her to file an FIR at the police station stating that her gold chain had been snatched by two thieves. My mother, at that time, thought that it was not worth the trouble. But the two men convinced her that it was her duty to complain, that crimes which go unreported go unnoticed.

In the weeks that followed there were some more cases of gold chain snatching in and around that same area in Pondicherry. The thief, confident about his success, then went a bit too far and snatched a very heavy gold necklace from a woman who turned out to be a minister’s wife. He used the same modus operandi. He waited outside the Ganesh Temple one Friday when hundreds of people come for the special puja, then went on his motorcycle with his accomplice and snatched this lady’s thali, which was probably half a kilo of gold. The minister immediately got the whole Police force to start a combing operation and the thief was caught. When the police searched his house they found several gold necklaces which he had cut up into small pieces. He was going to sell each piece in a different town of Tamil Nadu. Actually, he had already sold several necklaces in this way, cut up into little pieces, in Chennai.

A few months later my mother received an intimation from the police saying that the gold that had been found in the thief’s house would be melted and made into little ingots and each of the victims who had filed a complained would be given a piece. We could not believe that this was actually happening. Surprisingly, the police had decided to give each victim the same amount of gold that had been stolen. My mother at first very naively believed someone who told her that some necklaces had been found in the thief’s house and each victim would be asked to go and identify her own necklace and take it.

I too very naively believed that my mother would have to just walk into the police station and walk out with the ingot. When I went to the office of the Senior Superintendent of Police I was told that I would have to engage a lawyer and file a petition asking the court to restore the gold to my mother. The long chase began. I had to go more than once to the police station to find out the right man who I had been asked to contact. The inspector who was supposed to help me gave me the address of a lawyer to whom he explained the situation. Finding the lawyer was one long adventure as his office was in a dusty nameless lane. Several months later I was told that the case had come up before the judge but at that time my mother was not in town so it had been dismissed. When I tried to start the whole process again the inspector through whom I had contacted the lawyer had been transferred. When I phoned the lawyer he said that in any case the gold ingot would be given to my mother when the thief was convicted. He thought that it would happen in a year’s time. I was convinced the case would drag for ten years. I went back to the police station several times, then to the court several times. This time I was told that the judge had been transferred and that the new judge had not yet been appointed. When the new judge came to the post it was time for the summer holidays of the court. I waited for an entire year before again going back to the court via the police station. This time miraculously there was a constable who understood what I was saying. He immediately called a lawyer who was somewhere in the vicinity. He looked like the typical lawyer. I mean, if I had been making a movie where I needed a lawyer I would have cast him as one. He had that glint in his eyes and the usual smooth talk.

Within minutes the forms that had to be filled up materialized before me. “I’ll have them typed,” said the lawyer and disappeared in a rush, his black gown billowing behind him. He was back within half an hour and just as he was about to get my mother’s signature, he mentioned very casually that he was going to charge an amount which was about three times the amount that he should have asked. When I looked at him in amazement he said, “I would have charged you more but the constable asked me to take something less because you are two helpless ladies.” When he turned his back the constable told me that he had never said anything of the sort. Obviously, the lawyer had wanted to squeeze something out of us because indeed we were “two helpless ladies”.

I bargained with him and got him to come down to two-thirds of the amount. He insisted that he was asking so much more because he would get everything done within three working days. “And you have to only come back once more to the court,” he added. Then he collected 50% of his fees. The next day the constable phoned saying that I had to get a couple of documents as proof of identity of my mother and come to the court so that a date could be given for the hearing. I ran with the copies of those documents to the court after which I was asked to contact the court clerk. When I located the court clerk he just looked here and there and in general behaved as if he was physically in pain or that he couldn’t speak. I just could not extract an answer from him. The lawyer saw me from far and came running. He wanted the remaining part of the payment. I couldn’t understand how he thought I was going to hand him all the money when he had not even got a date for the hearing. Did I look that dumb?

The next day I was told that the date had been fixed for the next day. My mother and I presented ourselves at noon but had to sit there for more than an hour before being asked to come back the next day. We went, with two cushions and a water bottle, knowing that we would have to sit on hard wooden benches for hours. An hour later we were asked to come back the next day. When the lawyer saw our look of disappointment he said, “You should not complain. After all, you are getting something back by God’s grace. Have you ever heard of the police returning stolen gold?” We realized that what he was saying was absolutely true so we went home. Most of the time the lawyer behaved as if we didn’t deserve any respect. He didn’t hesitate to come running and asking me to keep quiet because I was asking how long we had to wait.

We had to come back to the court several times again, once because the clerk had decided to take the day off and we could not get our hearing scheduled, and wait for long hours before finally we were told to come to the magistrate’s chamber. We waited again for half an hour then the lawyer said, “Take your shoes off before entering the magistrate’s chamber. It’s disrespectful to stand before so high an authority with your shoes on.” Were we in the times of the British Raj or what? When I turned around I saw that neither the lawyer nor the constable had taken their shoes off.

Finally, the magistrate handed us the little ingot. “There is a certificate which guarantees that this is 12 grams,” he said. I asked him if there was a guarantee about the purity of the gold. “How many carats is that?” I asked. The magistrate laughed and said that the paper said nothing about that. I took the ingot out and it looked like pure copper to me. I held it against my mother’s gold bracelets and it looked too red to be gold.

As we stepped out of the court room, the lawyer came near me and said “You know, the clerk wants to be paid something.”
“I am not going to give him a rupee!” I said strongly because I hadn’t forgotten how we had to go back one day because he was absent.
“You must be from France,” said the lawyer, “that’s why you don’t know that it’s normal practice to pay the clerk some bakshish.”
“I am not from France. Why don’t you give him something from the money you have earned?” I told him.
“These are honest people!” he said, as if to say “These are aliens from another planet.”
That is when I understood that inexplicable look in the clerk’s eyes some days earlier. I hadn’t got it then!
By this time we were heading for the lift and the lawyer was running after us for the remaining part of the payment. After paying him I understood that he had been asking me to pay so much more because he thought I was a French national.

I was right. It was too good to be true. The court was not giving back to my mother what had been stolen. It was, in fact, trying to get her to come so that some other thieves – the wily lawyer and the clerk – could steal something more.

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‘The King’s Speech’


The temptation to watch “The King’s Speech” was almost irresistible. So, along with a few friends, I saw the film a week back and felt that it deserved every award that it has won and all the nominations were totally justified. The story is a page from British history that I know quite well. But the film goes beyond history, right into the deep recesses of the human heart. It is less about a king and more about a man struggling to overcome his weakness. His perseverance is extraordinary and inspiring.

What the king does is so much akin to an athlete trying to cross that hurdle without falling or jump over the bar without touching it. Every actor, dancer, singer must know this – how hard it is to make your body do what your mind wants it to do.

The film definitely succeeds in bringing across a message of hope and compassion. If it gives the courage to even one human being to take the difficult steps that lead him or her out of a personal difficulty then the money spent to make this film is money well-spent.

I must say that I was baffled to hear Helena Bonham-Carter call herself a “loser” on Oscar night. She has already won other awards for this role and she surely knows that in the end people forget the awards and remember the role. Maybe being a star she doesn’t know this. Maybe she has never met common human beings like me who are not so well-informed about all the awards but who can never forget a performance they have enjoyed or have been inspired by. Surely, that award has a greater value which is given from the hearts of the admirers across the globe and which Helena Bonham-Carter will continue to receive for many years to come.

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Alexandra David-Neel

What a week this has been! I have been on the sets of the of the forthcoming film based on the life of Alexandra David-Neel. The role of the traveller, writer and seeker of Truth is being played by Dominique Blanc, the well-known French actress. It has been a joy and an honour to be able to act with an actress who has received so much praise and so many awards for her work. The story of the film, itself so fascinating, would have attracted me anyway – but this is an added bonus.

It has been a great learning experience watching the French crew work. Their dedication, their intense desire for perfection was something worth observing.

I hope that when this film is released a lot of people go and watch it and get to know about Alexandra David-Neel, the woman who travelled fearlessly in the physical as well as the subtle world.

Alexandra David-Neel

Alexandra David-Neel and Yongden

Troupe of Tibetan performers, 1921 (photo: Alexandra David-Neel)

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New Year Kolam

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Sharon Yamamoto – The Colours of Inner Peace

The Muse


Learning to Fly


In an age when art defies definition and seems to be beyond the common man’s understanding, this artist’s work comes as a breath of fresh air. Sharon Yamamoto’s paintings answer many of the questions with which we are confronted as we go through life. There is a clear idea in each of her paintings and it is communicated in an effortless way. Her recent exhibition, after a trip to India, only confirmed that her source of inspiration is the same spirituality that binds all human beings.

Sharon Yamamoto travelled to India in 2009 and discovered for herself the land about which she had heard so much. She and Tony, her husband, set out with very few expectations and they were constantly discovering things. She said, “We were surprised in the best way on our first trip to India by so many things – the kindness of people, the sophistication, the humour, the graciousness and the wealth in all ways, material, spiritual and of relationships.” During her short trip she managed to see quite a bit of India’s ancient art, the high point being a visit to Ajanta and Ellora, where she could admire the Buddhist cave paintings and where she was impressed by the monumental aspect of Indian sculpture.

The artist, now in her early sixties, has lived for three decades in the United Kingdom but Sharon Yamamoto is actually a third generation Japanese American who, in her upbringing and education, is more American than Japanese. After she graduated in fine arts from the Illinois Wesleyan University she has had a long career in teaching art alongside her life as an artist. She is married to an Englishman and has brought up her children in Britain. Keenly interested in the history of religions, she studied for sixteen years at the College of Psychic Studies in London and draws on this knowledge when she paints.

Although she is the product of several cultures Sharon’s work is entirely individual and doesn’t look like the outcome of any one of these influences. She can draw inspiration from her Japanese roots as much as she does from Walt Disney’s early animations but in the end her paintings reflect her own thoughts. Her work looks deceptively simple but it is neither naïve art nor children’s illustration, not even religious art. It is something beyond all this even though it has elements of all of these styles. Her subjects spring from the experience of daily life, from the common human experience of trying to live in harmony with oneself and with the world.

Recently Sharon exhibited her work at the Holland Park Icehouse Gallery in London. Hidden away behind tall trees and flowering bushes this venue was perfectly suited for Sharon’s paintings. Her works, which always carry an atmosphere of peace and harmony, are peopled by humans, animals, birds, trees, streams, oceans, the night sky or the dark woods. There is often a narrative element which gives to her work that fourth dimension: time.

Talking of the recurrent theme of the child in her paintings she says, “I don’t consciously create symbols, it happens on an unconscious level. However, I am aware of the universal symbols. A child represents the unencumbered soul before the personality takes over.”

When you have had a good look at what Sharon Yamamoto has created you understand that you are looking at her inner world, or perhaps at the collective inner space of all human beings. One finds a connection to things that can not be explained by rational thinking and certain concepts, such as the idea of the soul, man’s true self, come naturally to her. This luminous being which is recognised by all eastern systems of thought – known as the atma to the Hindus or the ‘Buddha nature’ to the Buddhists – is there in almost all her paintings.

She says, “My paintings come through me, not from me.” Interestingly, although she has never lived in Asia, she seems to have a natural attraction to the kind of thought that has always been considered more Eastern. She brings into sharp focus the wisdom of our inner life, that part of the human experience which gets lost in the hurly-burly of the outer life. We have become so much a part of the society which is in a hurry to produce, consume and create statistics that we have lost sight of who we really are. Sharon reminds us that we are souls who are living an experience of earthly life through which we fulfil ourselves.

Like all artists, Sharon Yamamoto has her favourite themes. Many of her paintings speak of journeys, inner journeys of self-discovery while other paintings speak of the two opposite parts of our nature with which we have to live – the practical and the creative, the destructive and the compassionate, the beastly and the angelic. The themes of some of her paintings are also about nurturing and loving and finding happiness in the little joys of life, pointing out to the viewer the significance of the seemingly insignificant. Not only does the theme of the mother and child come back in the various collections but also her work is full of compassion while she touches on the common feeling of insecurity, of not knowing what the future will bring for one’s children, which is at the heart of every parent.

One of the most unique features of Sharon’s style is the way she uses light. “Light itself is a symbol,” she says. In all her works the central figure is lit up by an object or another figure and that brings out the meaning of the painting. One of her recent works shows a little being sitting before a human figure and casting a golden glow on him. The title “Muse” explains it all. Often it is a golden child who, with the light that radiates out of him, guides the main figure of the picture. Her paintings engage us emotionally and intellectually while we are appreciating the beauty of forms that she has created.

“Every human being is potentially an artist,” she says, “but only some go ahead and develop the skill one needs to express oneself.” But having developed that skill to perfection she chooses to allow her inner voice take precedence. She admits that she shuts out her reasoning mind when she starts a painting and allows the image to come out of her in a spontaneous manner.

As you go through Sharon Yamamoto’s work you become aware of the true role of an artist in our human society today. They are the ones who should uplift us from the mundane and the ordinary and reveal to us the reality that is hidden behind what we see with our physical eyes. Sharon is an artist who stands apart, not only for what she expresses but really for what she can see.

http://sharonyamamoto.com/

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New Book: Following in Their Footsteps

Only two weeks have passed since my second book came out but it feels as if it has been longer than that. “Following in Their Footsteps” is the fruit of nearly ten years of work- travelling, reading, writing, checking details and taking pictures. Giles and I had been looking forward to the publication of our work and now we have the joy of sharing this moment of happiness with all our friends.

To mark the release of this book we had a little meditation with friends and I read out a page from Sri Aurobindo’s book “The Mother”. It was the passage about Mahasaraswati, reminding ourselves about perfection in works.

Although almost all the essays have been published before, reading them in one collection, accompanied by colour pictures, is quite another experience.

The book is available from SABDA

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Hammersmith

On 24th July we took the train to Hammersmith and waited for the others. One by one our friends turned up and the group got bigger and bigger. By 11.30 we started walking towards the St. Paul’s Open Space, which is hardly ten minutes away. This was the beginning of our inaugural Sri Aurobindo Walk in London.

Under the canopy of the large trees in the little park we had a simple picnic with dhoklas and biscuits, pastries and fruit juices. Then we walked towards the Hammersmith tube station and continued on the road that took us to Goldhawk Road. We walked in twos and threes, exchanging news of ourselves and of our friends.

Soon we were on St. Stephen’s Avenue. It is strange how it always looks the same, always deserted. Finally we were before the Blue Plaque. “Sri Aurobindo, Indian Spiritual Leader, lived here” it said. Those who were seeing it for the first time stood before it in happy amazement.

The walk back seemed short because we had so much to say to each other. Although there were many ways of getting from Hammersmith Road to St.Stephen’s Avenue, the one we took seemed to us to be the shortest. We had the satisfaction in our hearts of having taken the road that Sri Aurobindo used to take to go home from his school everyday, so many years ago.

We hope to make this an annual event and hope to include all those who couldn’t make it this year.

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The Carmen Blacker Lecture

1276788142MoonandfallresizedYesterday we went to the British Museum to attend a talk given by Donald Keene on Carmen Blacker organised by the Japan Foundation. The lecture hall was packed even though it was a talk about a relatively unknown person. Obviously this shows what a great interest there is in Japanese studies and Japanese culture in general in London.

It was very encouraging to know that there is so much that is still happening on the level of the one culture trying to understand another. As Carmen Blacker had tried to establish, there is nothing so mysterious about the Eastern cultures. One can know the way others live if one is truly interested.

Just sitting in the lecture hall was such a joy. These are steps towards human unity that are not so visible to everyone but they are surely being taken. What we read in the newspapers about war and conflict is one reality but a lecture hall full of people listening to a talk about a woman who dedicated her life to studies of Japan and making the country better known in the Western world is another reality too.

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The Printed Image in China – exhibition

285x285_Chinaprints

We went last week to see an exhibition of Chinese prints at the British Museum. The older prints were intricate and delicate while the more modern ones were vivid, colourful and were more representational.

The one thing which struck me was that there were explanations of Buddhist terms and I was happy to see the translation of the name Amitabha – Immeasurable Light. Generally it is treated as a name and its etymology is not given.

Apart from the prints there were some ceramic creations too. The most interesting ones were a set of four conch shells. Shells are naturally so close in appearance to ceramics that at first glance one can easily mistake ceramic ones for natural ones.

We walked into the next room where there some Japanese exhibits. There was an attractive recreation of a tea- house in almost life size. It made us nostalgic about our trips to Japan.

The Chinese invented printing. Would they have ever thought how the world would be transformed by this technique?

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Paris

Paris-book-market

Paris in summer is at its best. The weekend we spent there was most restful. We were in a quiet area, in a hotel just off Park Georges Brassens in the 15th Arrondissement. We spent the afternoon there, either walking or lying on the grass.

On one side of the park, which is built on the site of a horse market, there is a market for second-hand books. To our surprise next to one of the stalls there was a little board indicating that the books were being sold by weight. 5 Euros per kilo, the board said.

The rare books were on one side. There were even important issues of well known magazines. We could have spent the entire afternoon just looking at the covers of these books. Some of them were printed in the 1940s and 50s.

Are books going to slowly die a natural death? Will people read everything on the internet? Will books one day become objects that are collected? One thing is clear – books are beginning to circulate. They are resold, sometimes at throwaway prices, and more easily given away.

This can only be good news to those who love reading books because if one waits long enough all the expensive books which seem so out of reach will one day become easily available.

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Portuguese Governor’s Mansion, Pondicherry

Portuguese-Governor's-Mansion

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Ananta’s Island

Ananta's-Island-2

Ananta's-Island-1

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Leaves and a Lily Pond

Leaves

Lily-Pond

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Park

Park

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Palm tree reflections

Palm-trees-and-reflections

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New Year Kolam

kolam-1st-jan-2010

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After the rains, India

View-across-p

Temple-behind-Ramakrishna-V

Canna-flower-1

Canna-flower-2

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