How I Chose My New Compact Camera

In case you didn’t already notice, I barely took any pictures in 2006. There were a bunch of reasons, most of which squarely came down to a combination of mild depression and acute laziness, but there were a few technical factors inhibiting my photography.

Plain and simple, our camera wasn’t working too well, and still isn’t. Since 2003 Samir and I have been using an Olympus C-4000z, a 4 megapixel, 3x optical zoom that is the size and shape of the average potato and takes 10 seconds or so to start up and take a picture with.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fantastic camera and I wouldn’t trade it for a dozen Canons. The image quality is phenomenal and while I’ve read a dozen reviews talking about how the images are too contrasty (and I partly agree), there’s a certain look to Olympus digital camera results that I just like.

Now, of course, we come to the problems. The first one is that the batteries are wonky. We use two sets of four AA NiMh batteries for the thing, different brands and ratings, but over the years they’ve become depleted to the point where they barely hold any charge, and anything they do hold leaks away within a few hours. I’m not sure if it’s the old simple battery charger we were using or some kind of fault of the camera, so I’m reluctant to plonk down on a new set until I know for sure. Despite this we’ve come to understand the quirks of the unwell batteries and can squeeze two full cards worth of photos into a session through judicious use of the screen and zoom.

This brings me to the second problem, which is that two 128MB SmartMedia cards (which aren’t available here anymore) don’t hold that many full-quality pictures. Sure, 140 pics is still a lot more than a film camera, but on an average day out even that number can be limiting. I like to use the freedom that digital cameras give me to take many pictures of the same thing — sometimes dozens — then choose the best one later. The image limit takes me back to the days of 36 shot films with the developing and printing expenses. I like to plan my shots, but I don’t like to obsess over choosing one over the other at the shoot itself.

The third and most frustrating problem is that the navigation buttons on the camera don’t work anymore. We’ve been talking about giving the thing in for repairs for months, but usually some kind of weekend trip or other photo-op comes along to tempt us and our camera away. It also is neither the fastest nor the most compact piece of equipment to carry around on a day-to-day basis.

All of these factors, plus the increasing strain of two passionate photographers with just one camera between them (the last trip to India was frustrating enough with the battery issues) made one thing clear:

We needed to get a new camera!

Back in 2003, when we decided to plonk down good money for our first digicam, Samir did the hunting. I hadn’t actively handled a camera since the mid nineties when we each had 10$, plastic lens focus-free 35mms. I learned pretty-much everything I know on that old lavender-coloured thing and still have tons of old photos (some of them are even taken from the even-cheaper and older 110 film camera I had when I was six). None of the shots are as experimental as the ones I take now but they were a lot of fun to take (development and film costs etc. meant that photos were precious, but we still took a roll a month, much more than most people, and certainly most 10-year-olds).

Samir had researched and fished around for all subsequent cameras, and was the primary user of them too (I was busy, addicted to my PlayStation): the all-singing, all-dancing Samsung 35mm, the Ricoh compact and the strange and beautiful Praktica MTL5 with a Zenit lens, our first and so far only SLR. We love to research stuff. It’s a wonder we get any work done…

…Oh yeah, right, we don’t.

He spent the better part of his free time in August 2003 looking for just the right camera, and finally we decided on the C-4000z and went out to look for it. Just wandering around the shops and looking for stuff in our price range was and is not a fruitful endeavour, which I’ll expand on later.

Getting used to a digital camera after using a film camera all my life was frustrating, at first. I wasn’t prepared for the enormous amount of lag between pressing the button and the taking of the shot. Where previously I’d just run my thumb over the dial quickly to advance the film — a two second operation if I was nimble, and a one second job using the Praktica’s trigger-like film advance — the digicam would take a more glacial approach and spend 5 seconds showing me the picture, then writing it to the card, and prepping for the next one.

This is why I got into macro photography: I could use the screen to focus exactly on the part I wanted, frame things without having to worry about a discrepancy between viewfinder and lens, and hey, I could take my time — my subject wasn’t going anywhere!

As time progressed and I learnt the ins and outs of the camera, I did get a better hang of taking outdoors and relatively fast-moving shots, but a quick scan of digital camera sites over the past few years revealed that resolutions had improved; more is now squeezed into a truly pocketable form factor; higher ISO settings (faster ‘film’) and anti-shake technologies are now available in consumer-level compacts so taking night shots is easier; and my main quibble — the lag between shutter release press and actual shot — is vastly reduced.

While most people would move up and buy a bigger camera for their second purchase, a digital SLR usually, I chose to go for a compact because I needed something small, quick and versatile for everyday use. I don’t want to end up lugging a massive SLR to the mall.

Having a good compact camera for everyday use is an important thing for a hobbyist and professional photographer. Contrary to popular belief we don’t all like to roam around with bulging equipment, and the smaller the camera the less likely it is to warrant attention from security guards in public places (this is especially important if, like me, you are an unshaven brown man). It isn’t a replacement for a large pro or ‘prosumer’ camera, but it is a necessity if you want to take pictures while living your everday life.

The Consequences of Compact

Most compact cameras are overpriced crap. A hundred years from now when we have Quantum Processor Virtual Reality Smellovision cameras, the compact ones will also probably be overpriced crap.

Photography, the use of light to form an image on a medium, has so far been based on the lens (and for the forseeable future, it will be). The rule of thumb is that the more light you can put through the lens and onto the medium, the clearer the image will be. This is why SLRs are so big: the lenses are huge. We can infer, then, that the tiny lens in your old compact camera is not letting all that much light in, so it doesn’t have as much to deal with.

I’m not even factoring in things like zoom lenses and their mechanisms, electronics, film and film advancement mechanics, meters and flash bulbs and batteries and all the other stuff that needs to be engineered to fit into a size that is about as big as two decks of playing cards. Getting all those things tiny enough and working properly means that often image quality is sacrificed; things aren’t fine-tuned as well because they just can’t be at that size and budget; and after all, 99% of those cameras are going to go out and take crappy pictures of people who are either drunk, sunburnt or some at some stage inbetween.

Are they really going to notice that high-contrast areas of the picture have purple lines around them, that their Rudolph-red nose at the centre has a millimetre level of pinching and distortion? Probably not, and they usually have enough money to spend on cameras to cover all the costs of squeezing those parts into that sleek, compact body (which they will lose after said drunken picture is taken, anyway).

Like I said, most consumer cameras are overpriced crap.

Photography, thankfully, has long been a popular hobby, and there are magazines and websites and awards given by those magazines and websites to cameras that aren’t crap. People like seeing the words ‘Award-Winning’ on the box of something, and so they might spend 20-30% more on an award-winning product than just whatever the guy at the photo shop pimps them.

Most people also know at least one person who’s ‘into photography’ so they’re the ones these people will go to for advice when choosing a good camera — a compact one — and this friend will go along with them to the photo shop like a concerned parent and grill the minimum-wage guy behind the counter on things like ISO levels and macro modes, none of which the eventual owner of the camera may use, but if you’re going to pay good money for something it might as well not be complete crap.

The odd thing is, digital cameras work in a way that actually makes it easier for a compact camera to not be crap. Unlike film cameras where physics demands that the lens has to be big enough to make a full-sized picture on that type of film (so 120mm cameras are large, and the old 110 films needed smaller lenses), in a digital camera the image is captured on a very tiny CCD. If you made a CCD the size of a 35mm film it would cost a bundle and be of a resolution that only museums and pornographers might have any interest in, so manufacturers now don’t need to be limited by the size of the film medium. Lenses, therefore, get smaller. Even a regular digital camera’s lens is smaller than a 35mm camera’s, and compacts are smaller still.

The thing I told you about bigger lenses putting more light through still holds true though. Digital SLRs, despite the smaller size of a CCD, still have full-size lenses, and while this does result in things like image noise, they do produce better results than compacts. Olympus have come up with a smaller SLR format to better suit CCD sizes, the Four Thirds Format, which apparently is all shiny and cool with 14 megapixel SLRs that are no bigger than my current regular digital camera.

Unfortunately, since cameras like these are still bigger than compacts and the engineers have more freedom to make them good, they all cost a whole lot of money. I don’t want to end up lugging a $5,000 camera to the mall.

In the quest to make a camera that has a high megapixel count and supermodel slimness, camera manufacturers also remove a whole bunch of features that anybody who is ‘into photography’ like myself wouldn’t dream of living without. Viewfinders go out the window. ‘Professional’ user modes such as Aperture and Shutter priority modes are omitted. I once saw a (film) compact from Kodak where you couldn’t turn the flash off — ever. It cost five times as much as I paid for the old plastic-lens one ten years ago! Nobody really notices this kind of stuff, because the majority of compacts are bought by people who think the ability to put flowery vignette frames around pictures of their cats is a must-have feature.

If you are a regular consumer and you walk up to your photo guy saying your camera doesn’t take good photos, he’s just going to try and sell you the newest, shiniest thing that has its own set of ‘helpful’ automatic modes, or if you look rich enough he’ll try to sell you an SLR. There are an alarming number of people I see walking around malls toting Canon D5s and taking pictures that are as shit if not more than most compacts. Must be something to do with the big, big lenses, I think.

The Quest For Digital Excellence

It started, as it usually does, when we were called in to consult on the purchase of a compact camera for a friend. I had been keeping aside some money for a compact, but nothing that was really affordable (sub $200) seemed very good, and nothing very good was affordable. I was still willing to spend up to $300 for a good compact, and while looking around the shops for the friend’s camera I was also keeping an eye on things that looked good for me.

The friend ended up with a Kyocera 5 megapixel, not a bad camera and certainly for the $150 price it was a good buy, but lacking in all those essential prosumer features such as manual settings and high ISO. I looked at a bunch of stuff in the $300 dollar range and noticed the same thing Samir and I had encountered four years ago during our last camera scout:

Dubai prices are ridiculous. It didn’t matter how old a camera was or how primitive, price seemed to be determined by how high the megapixel count was and what the brand was (Nikons and Canons being the highest price). We turned then, to our old friend the internet, and there it was only confirmed: cameras in the market here were ridiculously overpriced. Still, we needed one, so we set about doing some research based on what, to me, is the major factor in choosing a digital camera: Image Quality.

Lucky us who live in the 21st century, for while in the film era people would have to buy magazines and listen to reviews, with digital you can just go to a camera review site and download full-resolution, unaltered sample pictures taken by the camera you’re interested in. Over the next couple of weeks two sites in particular were almost ingested by us: Steves’s Digicams and DP Review.

Steve’s has a nice list of ‘Best Cameras’ and their reviews are very in-depth. Like most American sites I’ve read, however, they seem to favour Canons and Nikons a lot. They also take some really average-looking sample photos, usually of the same things. This is a good thing, because it shows you how a camera will behave in the hands of a completely unartistic photographer — showing you the typical unartistic results one can expect from the camera — and the same subjects duplicated across dozens of cameras means you can compare and contrast two models almost directly.

DP Review seems to be more European, and the sample images they take are downright gorgeous. Really, I don’t think those guys can take a bad picture with any camera. I do think (but I’m not sure) that their photos are altered; something about the perfect contrast and saturation on the samples doesn’t quite gel with my experience of any digital camera’s standard output. DP Review is the place to go to see the best results one can expect from the camera.

You’d think that all this wealth of information would be confusing, and it is, but once you spend enough time doing it you tend to notice things both in Steve’s average photos and DPR’s exquisite ones. Subtle details and quirks of camera start to show up, and based on these you can steer towards the ones you like more.

One of the first ones I looked at was the Pentax Optio M20, one of the ‘best cameras’ on Steve’s but despite their recommendation I didn’t like the sample pictures one bit. It also didn’t have any kind of manual settings or image stabilisation. That was out.

I didn’t like Canons or Samsungs either. I can see why a lot of people — especially reviewers — would recommend them, but it is a personal choice. They have a very even, ‘digital’ look to them, perfectly fine if you’re a texture artist or enjoy spending a lot of time in an image manipulation program, but I’m more interested in something with its own character — a ‘camera’ rather than a ‘recording device’ if you know what I mean.

One camera that did have character though, was the Leica M8. Despite the fact that its image sensor is so sensitive it turns ultra-violet light into hues in the image, I’d still buy one because it’s a Leica and it doesn’t just take pictures, it takes Leica Pictures.

Unfortunately it costs $4795. Yes, that’s nearly five thousand dollars. Still, if I had the money…

But wait! Leica does provide lenses for Panasonic’s Lumix cameras, and there were a whole bunch of those in the market, such as the FX07, which Cory Doctorow on Boing Boing recently declared (in typical Doctorow fashion) “The Perfect Compact Camera”(!) but Leica-shmeica: it’s overpriced, and doesn’t have any manual controls whatsoever.

It also has a Lithium Ion battery pack, which is not a bad thing, but I prefer cameras that accept stanard AA batteries. While I always carry a spare set of charged NiMhs with the camera, it is a comfort knowing that the camera is that much more usable on long trips because in a pinch you can walk into any convenience store and pick up a pair of batteries that will last you a few shots at least. Again, it’s a personal thing, but a camera is a very personal purchase.

The Fuji Finepix F30 caught my eye because of the fantastic performance at ridiculous ISO settings like 3200, but that was a little too expensive.

I turned, next, to Sony’s Cybershots. I remember six months ago another friend had bought a P200, and at the time I was quite impressed with what it was for the price. A little hunting showed that the P range were the ultra-compact, non-viewfinder, LiOn battery pack ones, and the W range was similar but had regular batteries. The image quality, while not as unique as the Olympus I had used so far, was still impressive, with little purple fringing (a purple line on high-contrast areas). The fact that the exact models I was looking for were no longer available in the market but that choice on the back burner. Also I wasn’t completely in love with the image quality; it looked ‘too digital’ for my taste.

It’s All About Image

Dozens of cameras went by and were rejected because of price, lack of features, noisy photos or just plain gut reaction. A lot of them had very aggressive noise reduction, an in-camera, non-adjustable feature that smoothens out skin tones and highly detailed areas so that they look better. Every digital camera big and small does this, but in most I found that it was unsatisfactory, turning skin into pasty smears and hair into clumpy messes. Not something most people would notice if viewing their images in a “fit to screen” mode, but it does show up when looking at it in the actual resolution. For anyone who wishes to manipulate their images later in Photoshop or The GIMP, the more detail the better — there are much better noise filters available in computer software, and you have more control over it..

Frustrated, I looked once more at Olympus compacts. Some of them had very bad video recording capabilities or the lenses weren’t very good. One that I almost decided on — the Mju/Stylus 750 — had a horrible fuzzines on the outer edges of the pictures, the consequences of trying to squeeze a 5x optical zoom into an ultraslim case. Also Olympuses use xD picture card media, which is supposedly slower than SD and also more expensive.

Somewhere late in the game, I decided to just stop looking at the cameras with an analytical eye, and just go to DP review and look for something that had pictures that wowed me. The Nikons have a fantastic film-like look, and if they weren’t horribly overpriced here (the S10 which I was considering was over $400 because it had a 10x zoom), I might own one today. The surprise contender, however, was the Kodak c875.

So far I hadn’t considered Kodak because one look at the back of their cameras and the prominent “share” button had told me that they were very regular consumer oriented. I was wary of being unable to just dump the photos from the camera, without using some kind of proprietary software. I’m the kind who doesn’t ever use Windows Picture and Fax viewer (the program most pictures open in by default) because when you rotate the image it directly, permanently changes the file. It’s always best to just keep the thing as it came out of the camera because in compacts you’re dealing with JPEG compressed images, and the more you mess with them and re-save them the more likely you are to get a loss of quality in the finer details.

Nevertheless, the photos were very impressive. Also it was an 8 megapixel camera with a 5x optical zoom and an adequate amount of manual controls. While it didn’t have an optical viewfinder, the macro wasn’t all that great (10cm minimum distance, versus 2cm on my Olympus), and it wasn’t as slim and pocketable as the others, something about it just seemed right.

I looked around town and either found it overpriced or not available at all. It seems that the high megapixel and zoom put it in league with higher-end cameras. Currently the average compact is a 7 megapixel 3x zoom so anything above it is automatically priced higher no matter what its price in the international market.

Keeping those international prices in mind I even hunted around the internet, but there it turned out that with all the shipping fees it would work out to as much as I would pay here, and at least if I bought it here I’d get local service and warranties. It was getting to a point where I had to choose between the lesser of two overpriced shops, and that is when I went to the supermarket.

Supermarkets are strange places. If you have a local one you go to often you tend to overlook all the bits you aren’t usually interested in; the dry cleaner; the little knick-knack store; the Kodak photo shop. Samir is a lot more observant than I, however, which is why, at the checkout counter one day, he noted that in addition to taking passport-size photos and printing film, the little hole in the wall also sold digital cameras. Turns out they had the c875 for a lot less than the other stores, and around the same price as it would have cost me to order it off the net. Plus, it came with a battery charger, four batteries and a 512MB SD card.

You don’t usually find a better deal at an official dealer in these parts, mostly because large hypermarkets buy in bulk numbers and can afford to have a slimmer proft margin. Small stores you can bargain in, but this usually brings them down to the listed price in a hypermarket. But here it was, a great deal on a good camera next to the checkout at a supermarket.

And that is how I got my new camera.

back to crazy

It takes some time to get used to Dubai. It's been ten days since my return from India, and those days have passed by in a flash. I literally feel like I stepped off the plane yesterday.

Not that this sudden acceleration has in any way been caused by an overabundance of things to do — quite the opposite, in fact. I was in India for less than a month and I can tell you pretty much what I got up to on a day to day basis. Hell, I can probably give you a fairly accurate description of my daily itinerary from last year's trip to India.

I couldn't for the life of me tell you what I ate for dinner the day before yesterday, however. That's the thing about Dubai: for all the fast paced, jet-set lifestyle you see on the surface, the day to day of it is frustratingly uneventful. It's like sitting on a couch watching TV: what's happening on screen may be the most exciting thing in the world, but what you're doing is just sitting there, half asleep.

Time just slips away. The very fact that I've had ten whole days of uninterrupted broadband access and haven't even checked my email is horrible — worse, because I haven't even noticed.

Much of 2006 was like this, of course (I think I may have written around three emails, total) and I've been wrestling with myself to get off my ass and not do a repeat of that whole fiasco.

I felt more alive in India. The trip was hectic and much more 'event-oriented' than I would like. It always felt like I was either coming from, going to, or recoving between some kind of social engagement, but the few moments of just plain doing what I like were bliss.

Eating burning-hot vada pav by the side of the road and not caring that I had flecks of sticky chutney all over my trouser leg (which is far less erotic than it sounds). Slurping the inch-high foam off a cup of filter coffee in a restaurant the size of a small American car. Walking into Landmark bookstore in Andheri for the first time and coming face to face with five solid shelves of graphic novels and manga — the most actual, physical comic books I've seen in any bookstore. Turning a corner and encountering a wedding reception the size of half a football field. Staring a whole Mughlai Paratha with a side of potatoes in the face and actually consuming it, then realising that doing so more than once a year will kill me.

Walking and wading in the endless, innumerable and empty beaches around Shrivardhan. Discovering that the outstanding memory of me in a person I haven't met in ten years is of me cutting loose on a dance floor at some party I vaguely half-remember.

Fending off hordes of red-ribbon-pigtail schoolgirls to climb the bus. Dadar Station road — At any time. First Class Train Compartments, which are like regular train compartments, only without the full body massage and one inch cubed of personal space.

Realising that perfectly ordinary people with perfectly ordinary jobs in a city with perfectly adequate (but crowded) public transport and completely inadequate parking are now buying cars, and therefore going from Bandra to Santacruz by the four-lane highway (which in India, of course, is a seven-and-a-half lane highway) doesn't take ten minutes like it did a year ago, but one and a half hours.

Seeing more prime time TV ads for mutual funds and insurance/investment schemes than shampoos and colas combined, and realising that India is both a lot different and also absolutely the same as when I was a kid. Freaking out the branch manager of a prominet bank by just standing around and not looking like the world was going to end.

During the entire vacation either Samir or I could be heard saying, "When do go on vacation?" It was pretty annoying now and then, but despite it all we did manage a few moments of total fun. It's hard to explain to people that you go on vacation not to either:

a) Meet everyone you're remotely half-related to and stay for rice and curry.
b) Hole up in your place of choice, enter a semi-comatose state and eat rice and curry.
c) Eat rice and curry.

I have nothing against rice and curry. I do have a lot of ill will towards chilli-water disguised as curry that most people seem to think is some kind of measure of your Indian heritage. You aren't a pukka desi is you don't like at least six chillis in your dal*.

* And believe me, dal is by far the mildest of Indian dishes. I think I've elaborated on my general dislike of the term 'curry' and what it has come to represent before, so the short version below will suffice for now.

Try telling these people that chillies were only introduced into India five hundred years ago, that Rama, Krishna, Buddha, the entire Maurya dynasty and most of the Mughals never, ever ate one and would probably look at you funny if you told them it was synonymous with India, and they'll give you the same expression of being genuinely affronted that most Indians get when any of their sacred cows are even slightly questioned.

It's a look I've come to know well.

Also telling people that this whole concept of eating a heavy breakfast of cooked food first thing in the morning is very unhealthy and that you'd prefer a glass of hot water and later some fruits provokes a similar reaction and cries of "That's not our culture!"**

** Actually, it is.

I go to India to be alive. It's easy, because you're thrust into life headfirst and see all of it, even moreso in Mumbai. I guess I'm trying to find life in Dubai, certainly of a verisimilitude that can be found over there. If not I guess I'll have to invent it.

Which brings me back to this site, and you. I've tried the whole designer thing for a while, and it's been nice — I worked on a couple of things last year that were fun and fruitful and I should post about them soon — but I've generally been frustrated and depressed and comatose. Not a great start for someone who wants to rule the known universe and outlying territories.

A couple of years ago I said I'd be better off a couple of years later, and since that hasn't happened — twice — I seriously need something that takes up a large amount of my time that the jet set lifestyle and bevy of beautiful, vapid girlfriends isn't taking up at the moment.

Forget 'back in the saddle' — I need to find me a horse!

Getting the domain was one step (it's allVishal.com for those who didn't read the previous post) and new content should be coming to the site. It's mostly silly stuff, but I hope that it's entertaining and you come back for more. I haven't drawn in ages, but there are fresh sheets of paper waiting right next to me so I should get back to that.

There may be a redesign at some point, but when is anyone's guess. If the content outgrows this current one, then yes (and I hope it does reasonably soon).

Until then, thank you for being here. Happy Valentine's Day and Happy Everything Else.

I'll talk to you soon.

V

piri-piri

It’s raining outside, and has been since around 8 am. The first shower was a good long one — not heavy by Mumbai standards — but certainly the heaviest rain I’ve seen here in a while.

Now it’s down to being ‘scattered’ as the weathermen say. I’m Indian, so we love the rain, and we look forward to it no matter what. If an Indian says, “It’s a gorgeous day!” they probably mean that it’s overcast and raining, vis à vis the traditional warm and sunny definition of the term.

It’s a gorgeous day.

The tennis open is going on across town. Yesterday the papers were plastered with pictures of Maria Sharapova playing tennis in a makeshift court inside Ski Dubai, which is this town’s latest hot thing. When the Burj Al Arab was the hot thing they had Tiger Woods teeing-off from the centre of the suspended helipad a few dozen storeys up. Now all that is passé, apparently, as the Mall of the Emirates (*huge exclamation point*–third biggest in the world–*huge exclamation point*) with its attached ski-slope and snow park has taken centre stage. From the top level parking the ski slope looms above you, a pulsating plasma display of lights along a strip in the side. It
looks like the giant nacell of the Starship Enterprise, and from that angle it’s very impressive, and immediately brings up earnest desires of building and owning starships — instead of ski slopes.

Haven’t been inside the snow area — somehow the fact that I’ve never seen actual natural snow makes me reluctant to try the manufactured version. Up against the large glass viewing windows some of it gets thrown by kids, our faces the target. I put my nose up to the glass and take a look at it, smeared there. Looks like ice chips. Doesn’t look like the crystalline fractal flake patterns I would expect from real snow.

All this for a romp in a large freezer?

I’ll wait for the real thing.

Sharapova’s quote on playing tennis inside an artificial ski resort in the middle of a desert kingdom is, understandably, “Surreal.” I wonder what she’s saying now, standing on the edge of a drenched tennis court in an otherwise parched desert kingdom. There have been more sirens heard in the streets in the past hour than in the past three months. Obviously all those top-of-the-line cars with their ABS and intelligently designed tyres are in severely lacking in top-of-the-line squishy flesh things operating them.

Unlike the rest of the world, Indians just love rain, so you can imagine how Indians react in this country where this is probably the only full day (if it lasts that long) of rain we’ll get all year. Anjali called me up in the morning, and she’s been calling everyone, rallying them with stories of masala chai and bhajias. The chai I can
do, but there’s no chick-pea flour in the house (or any potatoes or onions) so no bhajias.

My mind wanders to chill breezy monsoon evenings that seem both like yesterday and lifetimes ago, of slicing potatoes and whatever else we had on hand to experiment with (mushrooms, broccoli) while my mother mixed up the batter. I’ve eaten a lot of bhajias, and so have a lot of people I know, but all of us agree that my mother made the best ones. Crisp and crunchy with the merest, milimetre-thin layer of soft batter between the outer shell and the steaming, floury slice of potato. Salty and spicy with the slight unfathomable (umami?) taste of the chick-pea, the rounding, mineral taste of cumin and the metal tang of ajwain. We never had the need for chutney with those, even when it was around.

It’s funny, but you never really think of asking you mother to teach you her recipe for bhajia batter because she might be dead in a few years.

Meanwhile it’s sad, pudgy, spongy things from the local cafe. The closest I’ve ever had was this vada-pav guy opposite Fountain, tucked away under the arches of one of the buildings. It was great, but not quite the same. Too much salt, no ajwain. Also, 2,000 kilometres away. On my last trip to Ghadeshwar (pictures of the place are in the work page) I managed to snag the last batch of bhajias from the one stall propped up on the slope. Little yellow chips, gone soft in the damp atmosphere, but still bhajias in the rain. The classic combination.

I vaguely remember learning the recipe from her, and it was more of an hour-long experiment with different consistencies and spice-levels and the thinness of the slices. I get the feeling that each time she madeit she taught herself again, and it was willingly forgotten in the subsequent eating, the gulping down of too-hot, gingery chai and too-strong South-Indian coffee. Part of the fun of cooking I learned from her was the forgetting of things. To re-learn the process every time is a vital part of me. I get the same feeling when I’m drawing or writing or taking a photograph. The sense of discovery is as important
as the sense of successful operation.

The number of times we’ve been in the kitchen — especially in the later years when Samir or I were doing the hands on work and she was instructing — and and some point halfway through the traditional recipe we’d just decide to chuck something in or change something is far too many for me to recall.

When I look through her handwritten recipe books I am always struck by the fact that there are no ingredient lists — the recipes directly begin with instructions. Heat Oil. Add this. Add that. Cook it. A dash of this, etc, etc. There are some rudimentary measurements on the way, but that’s all. Again, it’s the very visceral nature of just starting up the fire and putting things into action; cooking as a private performance, as meditative self-discovery. She never started cutting things up before she lit the fire (I do. The onions are more evenly cut, but the food is a little dead, if you know what I mean). She never cut tomatoes on a chopping board, prefering instead to slice uneven chunks right over the pot.

No one can teach you how to cook. You have to teach yourself.

Hmm, the mosque-guy has started a speech. He never does that on Thursdays. Must be the rain. If you think we love rain, imagine an entire culture that is only used to seeing it once a year.

The rain, like good bhajias, is a very elusive thing.

Nevertheless, it’s a gorgeous day.

V

watching basanti

There’s a new Aamir Khan movie out.

Usually I would be avoiding theatres like the plague now, waiting until next week or so when I can watch the movie without the excess chatter of first-day-first-show types who really aren’t interested in the movie so much as being able to say they’ve seen the movie. However, thanks in part to UTV’s extensive, news-channel heavy marketing campaign for their new film, and my father’s addiction to said news channels, I knew it would be inevitable that by midweek I would either overhear the entire plot (it’s a house where sound carries very well — I can hear the TV in the bathroom), or more likely it would be narrated to me by my excited parent.

Look, I’m a polite person, and I’ve even asked him — several times — to just not discuss anything about forthcoming movies with me, but still he persists, eyes wide like a five year old who’s just seen two of his teachers kissing behind the canteen, in rattling out the latest, juiciest gossip. He knows I don’t care who Abhishek Bachchan is supposed to be currently dating, so he likes to impress me with the latest he has gleaned about the movies I intend to watch. I can’t exactly punch him in the face when he’s driving down a highway at 120kph, can I?

I don’t like movie spoilers. This is why I never watch more than a teaser trailer for any film. I’m thankful that Indian films start off with a ten second teaser, then release a bunch of ‘song’ teasers leading up to its release, and only show ‘plot’ trailers about a week before, at which time I’m avoiding the TV anyway. I’m also thankful that none of the English theatres seem to show any theatrical trailers of movies I’m actually interested in (What? Jennifer Lopez and Jane Fonda don’t get along in Monster-in-Law? Nooo!).

With all this in mind, and prepared for a week of tense spoiler-avoidage, I was a little thankful that Candy had a sudden urge to go see the movie this past weekend. I was weary from the previous week’s Guestgiri, and nothing would have pleased me more than to watch a good Hindi movie. Still, I had a few reservations.

“We won’t get tickets,” I said. “It’s an Aamir Khan movie on the first non-working day since its release. No way, except maybe in one of the multiplexes, and that too we’ll get crappy seats and be surrounded by idiots*.”

*(okay, so this is the main reason I don’t go to Lamcy Plaza anymore, because — other than the smallness of the screen — there you’re always surrounded by idiots. I remember missing the first half hour of Parineeta because we had taken the last three available seats in the row and the guy next to me — who had come in 15 minutes late — was trying to convince me to scoot over a seat because someone of his was expected. I wasn’t going to scoot over into an already taken seat even though it was at the time empty. Ten minutes later the two from those empty seats show up and it turns out that they are with the annoying guy next to me, and in fact they had booked their tickets together but somehow left three seats in-between.

Idiots.)

When we got to the theatre I decided to just throw caution to the wind and let my father get tickets. My god, it was as if someone had asked him to commit murder. I finally know where I get my jittery/nervous/deer-in-headlights response from (lucky for me I also inherited my mother’s Athena-meets-an-immovable-cosmic-constant expression, which works).

Somehow we managed to send the kids (i.e. my Dad and Candy’s mom) to get the tickets. The theatre was nearly booked up, but thankfully it was free seating. Another advantage of going to the multiplex, although the ticket price is higher, and I usually pick seats near the front which are always empty because apparently no self-respecting Indian wants to see a movie from a seat where the screen appears any bigger than his 21″ TV at home.

We actually had to queue up — this has never happened at a Multiplex and it was apparent from the expressions on the cinema staff that this was a new occurrence too. Baffled non-Indians passing by looked on, their extra-large popcorns trembling under the weight of a shattered world view. A packed theatre, with a queue… in Dubai!

While there was a large crowd in line ahead of us, they were good Indians and headed straight for the nosebleed section of the hall, smug grin announcing the fact that they had got prime, picture-skewing ‘corner seats’ (the other coveted position of the Indian filmgoer, if travelling in a couple). Candy, Samir and I headed for the first row past the central aisle, roughly 1/3 away from the screen. They’re great seats, look straight ahead at the screen with no skewing, and the only thing in front of you is a balustrade and the aisle, just the way I like it. It doesn’t have the drama of Stalls Row 18 at Regal or First Row Centre at Eros, but then, what pre-fab multiplex has? My father and Candy’s mom headed straight for nosebleed. We never saw them again.

The theatre filled up behind us, with only the fashionably late arriving with petite tubs of popcorn and cotton candy shuffling into the seats next to us, complaining that all the ‘good ones’ at the back were taken.

At this point the ads started up so thankfully all this chatter was drowned out by CineStar’s louder-than average sound (another good reason to go there. It was a little treble-heavy during Van Helsing, but when we watched Serenity the seats literally shook when ships passed by onscreen). Nancy Ajram’s ‘Coke fizz tickles my nose’ ad is as bleh as
ever. The other one with the woman trying to get her le parkeour on is slightly better, but still underdeveloped (the woman is supposed to be a real life music video director. What she’s doing swinging from chains while Nancy suffers coke fizz assault is a matter that must be looked into). The Dodge Charger ad is very black, steals equally from the trailer to Torque and a million different car commercials before it, and goes by in a blur of post-processed neutral grey-blue and forced rap ‘jingle’. What happened to the good old days, when Peugeot’s African arm was showing people pelting through the Congo doing dangerous stunts in a stock hatchback and getting a “Bravo, Jacques!” from the narrator?

On to the movie trailers (they showed English ones before the movie, and Hindi ones at intermission, but I’m grouping them together here). Ooh, the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie! Teaser trailer, so I don’t mind. Hmm, the producers seem to be playing the “Let’s make it even more like The Secret of Monkey Island!” game. I swear, Davy Jones even has LeChuck’s writing beard, only with postmodern hentai tentacle-sex references thrown in. It’s subtitled ‘Dead Man’s Chest’ at which point I was forced to utter, out loud and in full earshot of the decent, moral folk surrounding me, “Shaved or hairy?”

The sound of the next trailer starting up drowns out the screams.

Memoirs of a Geisha looked underwhelming when I saw the trailer on TV. On the big screen the same trailer looks gorgeous. I still don’t give two hoots about the story, but it has Michelle Yeoh, and I’m going to go see it just for her and the awesome cinematography. Next!

Oh look, it’s that blond guy who was in everything. Ooh, he’s threatening to kill someone’s girlfriend, but there’s a gun pointed to his head, and you almost feel like cheering for the guy — no, wait, wtf–aaaatomcruiseaaaaa! So, Mission Impossible Three looks a bit… generic. I can’t remember anything other than that opening monologue, and that Tom Cruise, fresh off impersonating James Bond in the first and Revlon Haircare products in the second (while doves flew in the background — do not forget the doves), is now some kind of hybrid of Sam Fisher from Splinter Cell, that dude from Syphon Filter, and every other black-ops/espionage/tactical/squad/stealth video game out there. Thankfully there were no overt Solid Snake references, unless the film opens with Cruise regurgitating a pack of cigs. You’d think that with JJ Abrams involved we’d at least get a Sidney Bristow-style cherry-red wig, but noooo…

The Hindi trailers were quite welcome, after that. Earlier I had no interest in Taxi No.9211, but the teaser trailer impressed me with its witty theme song (“sone ke sheher me sone ko jagah nahi” — sorry, the pun is untranslatable), the trailer’s lovely moving typography, and the fact that it’s produced by Ramesh Sippy and directed by Milan Luthria. You sold me a ticket, boys.

The teaser for Krrish, Rakesh Roshan’s sequel to Koi… Mil Gaya was next. Not only is it one of the first true sequels to a Hindi movie, but it’s a full-fledged superhero yarn, and I don’t recall any Hindi movie that’s tackled that well. The wirework looks nice, the cinematography bright and unusual, but the costume looks a bit iffy now. Still, I underestimated this team before when I went to see Krrish‘s prequel — came out pleasantly surprised — so I won’t understimate them again.

There was a very brief and quickly put-together teaser — well, it was more like a series of  studio shots of the cast set to music and flat Flash graphics — for Priyadarshan’s next, Chup Chup Ke (I hope I got the name right; there are so many movies with variations on ‘chup’ and ‘ke’ that a boy is bound to be confoozled). It didn’t look particularly interesting. Rajpal Yadav behaving like Rajpal Yadav. Neha Dhupia doing… well, something. I can’t even remember who the hero is, but hey, it has Kareena Kapoor. Worth a rental on that basis alone, although cinema-sized Kareena — when they do her makeup right, like in Asoka and Yuva — is a wonder to behold (her new Pepsi ‘Cafe Chino’ ad is a wonder for all the wrong reasons, however).

On to the actual movie (um, I’m doing an actual review later, this is just all the peripheral stuff, that’s why it’s in Out-and-About rather than Review-o-Matic). The first thing you notice when watching a Hindi movie in a usually English/American movie heavy multiplex is the sound. It’s LOUD. An American movie is quite even and pretty quiet, with even the loudest volumes reserved only for the biggest of explosions and events. Not so in Hindi movies, where everything from the dialogue to the score — especially the score — is pumped up to the maximum. I remember Farhan Akhtar saying that when they were mixing Lakshya abroad they kept asking the sound guys to make
it louder, something they were a little apprehensive about. He told the sound engineer that if he didn’t put it higher people watching it in India would rip out the seats and throw them at the screen. Remember, we are the culture that screams into phones when it’s a long distance call.

The colours were magnificent and the print pin-sharp, and it being only the third day of screening there were no scratches. There was this sick feeling I had during the title song a half hour in when the AC3 cut out and the system fell back on the flatter, softer , but by no means less comprehensible optical stereo track for an extended period of time, but luckily it rectified itself and the rest was smooth sailing.

I waited through to the end of the credits (Indian film credits are pretty short anyway — we aren’t contractually obliged to thank everyone and their agent), but that was mainly to listen to the excellent song ‘Roobaroo‘ in full surround sound glory.

Outside another, even larger line was forming for the next show, and, quite overwhelmed by the movie I’d just seen, I staggered out into the throng of the mall, satisfied that come what may, no spoilers would wound me now.

On this note, stay away from most reviews of the film, as they are spoilerrific as hell. Taran Adarsh over at indiafm even gives away the ending! Blasphemy.

I’ll try to keep the review short. I could go on and on about numerous aspects of Rang De Basanti, but in short: it r0XX0red my b0XX0rz.

V

reesetto!

Oh look, a new year.

Hard to believe we’re already in the second half of the 2000s. Just yesterday we were all getting hot and bothered about the millennium bug, and those silly sunglasses with “2000” won them were making their appearance on drunk faces in Times Square (one wonders how the manufacturer plans to tackle the 2011 edition?).

I’m back in Dubai, where, if you’ve been keeping up with the news, we’re having what can only be described as not the best start to the new year. The ruler of this emirate died yesterday, and the funeral is going on as I type this. The much-touted annual Shopping festival was all set to start and has been put on hold. I suppose they’ll start it up by Eid next week, but until then the roads are relatively empty, malls are apparently full of closed shops except in the food court and a million dollars worth of fireworks that was set to kick off the festival is now sitting idle.

As I’m not a fan of fireworks, that last bit comes as some twisted variety of good news.

Other than that the new year seems to be going as well as the last. I have somewhat recovered from wedding-itis though the sore throat and dry cough still persist, not helped by the fact that while Mumbai was unusually cold — 12ºC at night — Dubai is much colder and drier. I’m suddenly much more thankful for the yellow Minnesota Vikings hoodie my cousin bought me from the states. I don’t know much about the Vikings, except that they play that completely unfathomable variety of sport called ‘football’ (I can, however, shout “First Down!” at random intervals). Also I live in a country where the temperature is well above 30ºC for most of the year — a thick hoodie is the last thing I thought I’d need. But, lookie, now I can do the morning walk without freezing to death.

(Look, I realise that for most of my American friends 12ºC is considered a nice spring day, but this is the tropics, and that too in a metropolis that suffers from acute Heat Island effect. If you want to eat an ice-cream stick you start at the bottom where the drip is and hope that the top of it doesn’t fall off before you get to it!)

Yes, I just spent the majority of this post talking about the weather. Well, the year so far has been that interesting, and other than taking a general survey of what needs to change in my life if I need to fulfill my dreams (lose weight/eat well, clean house/learn to cook better, develop skills/make money) I haven’t been up to much.

I owe all of you emails of various lengths, and so off I go to type them up.

Happy New Year.

V

new crops

The Dubai Marina is a property development roughly halfway between the city centre and the industrial free zone at Jebel Ali, and is right now the most visible of Dubai’s freehold boom. There are probably a hundred skyscrapers — all residential or hotel buildings — in only a few square kilometres (parking and traffic will be an utter nightmare when this is all complete, mark my words) with an artificial waterway running through it. Only around a third of the buildings are done but because it’s fully accessible to the public you can get some great contruction photos. Two more after the jump.

the tilted bridge

moving on up

scalar

Been a while since I did some macros…

Click ‘Read More’ for the rest.

return of the good gumbo

vintage

sundial