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Looking for a smile a friend a date in jamalpur
A comfortable of thousands at Person Ali Most, we make to let it out. For social, in the social of ads, there is a time cross. I also other you to meet in as well and women smiles that you need in the world around you.
A traveler isn't a tourist. But then, skile are interpretations and this one was a beautiful one reminding me of the travels I sought, the places I dtae of visiting aa the encounters I hoped for. And there are no real hippies anymore. There are only extensions of such nostalgia of counter culture movements that grew out jamlapur political and social contexts. Although I have faith that it could be art. But then this isn't a review or a critique. Long ago, in a quaint little town called Vernon Downs in Upstate New York, I had been assigned by my newspaper to write about Hippiefest, an annual event.
It was funny how the they sold an idea and how it became a fashion statement more than anything else, I had written in my notes. It was July and I was younger by a decade almost. Sometimes, we write to let it out. Peace, love — and Christian Dior? Dreadlocks and lace, etc? At first glance, a walk through Vernon Downs had seemed like a trip into the past. On men's bare chests, painted peace lockets proclaimed "make love, not war. It has those psychedelic patterns. It made you think of the lost eras that never actually belonged to me even though I was born at the fag end of s.
Dr. Rajan Bir Singh Thind (Thind Dental Clinic) in Jamalpur, Ludhiana
Jn Turtles took the stage, long-haired people wearing tie-dye cheered but then this Hippiefest was very much vate event of the present. Some concert fans fridnd Coach bags and Christian Dior sunglasses. But it was all for profit. Beers in hand, they smoked and danced. They spoke of peace and happiness and freedom. And then about peace again. And then, in the Lookint order they mourned and they recalled movements that made them or unmade them, those they were part or aspired to be engaged with. In the s, skile was Vietnam that galvanized the Hippie movement. Wearing beads, flowing skirts, tye-dye tees, they made peace with the fact they would forever remain wannabes, that they would forever long for that freedom and resistance that had its roots in a more sophisticated understanding of the world.
The hippies traveled, sometimes even to maybe watch sunsets in different cities, and perhaps knowing that "otherness" is meant to explored and jakalpur was what came from travels. At the Hippiefesr inthey wore "granny" sunglasses Looking for a smile a friend a date in jamalpur swayed to the music from xate s. The hippies in them had waited for this moment. We all love that era. We love what we can't be. We are dafe exploiting such movements and making fkr trends again. But what the heck. It brought back memories of the Rainbow Community's tent city during Kumbh.
Love comes and love goes. The Looking for a smile a friend a date in jamalpur is pretty with notes and postcards and it belongs to the designer as she goes about looking for patterns and prints and weaves. My travel notes are scribbles and photos of abstract things. I go everywhere looking for love. I go everywhere looking for bits of the past. Fashion can be so many things. It can be a powerful expression. A show can be an experience, which could teleport you to spaces known and beyond. I like being transported to other places, times zones.
This one made me remember my commitment to visit Cuba, Mexico and Peru. That's how you interpret a show. If it makes you long for something. A yearning is all that needs to be there. Pero's travel diaries made me go through my own travel notes. As he narrated his memories to me, I took notes. We come from the same place. We both saw how the landscape changed when we sat by the window in a train that first took us to Delhi. Many years ago, former Harper's editor Diane Vreeland had lived a life of adventures and travels. A film dedicated to her was called "the eye has to travel" and we have connected the dots as storytellers do.
Our eyes traveled from the windows of trains. Trains prepared us for journeys into the unknown. We are in the end memory keepers. They lived in the railway colony then and because most of his family was in the railways, he remembers having said in an interview that if he ever became a fashion designer, he would design uniforms for the railway staff. Imagine a boy wanting to be on each of the train that stopped by the little mofussil town. He slept soundly through the nights and dreamed of this one particular train - Brahmaputra Mail.
The way the train entered landscapes like scene changes in a theatre. He would make imaginary maps, make up landscape of golden fields. Years later, he finally headed east in the same train and saw the golden fields of Assam where he would work with the golden threads of Muga silk, which is on the brink of extinction and he recreated the maize and wheat of the landscape the Brahmaputra Mail offered in gold threads. The train bore him to many places with so many stories and so many skies and all he ever thought was to paint them on the garments and preserve everything in golden hues, Chauhan says. Everything in this collection is memory itself. It is also the memory of wanting to go to a place and imagining it.
It is a tribute to imagination, to the mysterious and the familiar as the train in my head glided past villages, their thatched roofs that looked like caps, pulled over them, the wheat and maize fields that gleamed like they had been made of up a million golden threads, the river we had read about in the geography books and had always imagined it to be like a rope binding us all. Over time, I had even started making up meanings of the names of stations and then in time, I could even divide my life with these markers. Delhi was via Patna. And only a train comes here whistling its arrival through the dense fog of time.
They say if you can complete your prayers before the train disappears into the horizon they might come true. In the other offsite show, I was happy as a child as I climbed onto an old railway engine. I have never been to Jamalpur but I have read about the railway town in books. On some evenings and afternoons, they played in the Gymkhana Club and once upon a time Ivan Evangelista played with his Volunteer Band. He had never heard the notes floating and breaking the monotony of summer afternoons. Somehow the trains culminated here, Chauhan says.
As he watched from the bridge, he wondered what they brought and what would remains in them - a speck of dust, a whiff of the air from faraway places. What was he Looking for a smile a friend a date in jamalpur for? An escape route on an imagined map? But any place has surprises if you cared to look into its history. Jazz, the designer tells me, helped him make sense of the life, its comedies and tragedies. Jazz, to him, was nostalgia. It took him back into the realm of oral history of stories passed down to children Now, that they live 8 kilometers away from Jamalpur, he sometimes let Jazz take him to the town whose monuments have gone unseen, its past unheard, and perhaps this how a nostalgist can make an attempt to conjure memories in his own medium.
Imagine a railway town on a hot summer night when the wind carried the Jazz notes and ripped open our hearts, drowned out sorrows and maybe that's what it is - listening to Jazz and remembering a town 'Unadulteratedly Railway' and the Volunteer Band that Ivan Evangelista brought to Jamalpur in He wasn't born then but then you don't have to be around to experience the past. Memory transferred is also nostalgia. There was another world out there of fields and Looking for a smile a friend a date in jamalpur and towns and homes forsaken or inhabited. It was a solace to sit by the window and watch the colors of the world through square window frames.
All I had to do was to walk through these frames and slip through the bars and become a part of everything that lay outside the window. Has it ever occurred to you that a train standing in the rain is a lonesome sight and when raindrops beat down its corrugated roof and and all those in transit those with a destination and those without - the escapists, the realists, the wanderers - are looking outside the window and some are finding solace in the shattering of the rain drops that everything falls and breaks and that fragility is a beautiful thing and even raindrops seen from the window of a train are vulnerable like us.
It made sense when the train would stop at small stations. This is how places offered themselves when people climbed in and greeted other travelers in bits. And that's why journeys were revelations. On silk the designer wove the narratives from those days of staring out of the train windows - the maize, the barley, the wheat, the trees and the flowers, the white and gold of the landscape. He remembers when he was at home a train whistling past made him see his grandfather, who used to be a train driver, run up the staircase and wave a white flag to another driver.
The whistling train would signal his friend's arrival. I tried to capture the way the inhabitants celebrate life through artistic expression. Two sisters sharing a laugh while working on a painting From girls as young as eight years old to the elder most lady, women in every house of Raghurajpur passionately indulge in the art of Pattachitra. Earlier, women were only known to paint the lacquer coating, however today, we see them bringing in innovations. Married women are encouraged by their new families and especially men, to learn the art technique and let their creativity soar. However, Raghurajpur is not the only crafts village in Odisha and there are many many more.
Read this article with some gorgeous images to know more: Katta refers to the hangout locations or hot spots for the vibrant youth and is the place where topical conversations flow, young minds merge together, ideas are brewed and profound social issues are discussed. The city has quite a bit of diversity and these kattas have helped dissolve our differences, provided us an atmosphere to bond over a cup of tea and develop a balanced world view. A flash of colors at Haji Ali This year I want to change that and start my own business.
I want to save up more money and buy a nice Sony phone this year! Ahmedabad - Stories of celebration during Uttarayan In Ahmedabad, I travelled across popular lanes and markets in the city to gather insights to what Uttarayan means to locals and capture their special moments around the festival this year. Shweta giving a confident smile: Jaideep Mehta and his wife Ruchi Relaying their experience about Uttarayan, Jaideep Mehta and his wife Ruchi- a couple from old Ahmedabad said "This is a community festival and so we keep our house open for two days.
People come, share our meals, fly kites on our roof and celebrate with us. So is this it? I am a man on a mission and my mission is to capture smiles and spread some happiness.