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Contributors Photographs
Rohit Kothari Fié Neo Akshita Sahlot
Articles
Hardik Rajpal Priyal Maheshwari Solita Deb Shifa Miyaji Shruti Varadhana Fié Neo Akshita Sahlot
Illustrations
Trang Thao Hoang Apurva Kothari Surmai Jain Akshita Sahlot
Models
Khushi Vaishnav Suhani Bhati
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Editor's Letter To me, as an artist, there is nothing more exciting, intimidating and challenging than being given a blank space. Everything from a blank canvas, an empty memory card, to every second of every day is a blank space that I can choose to fill the way I like. This magazine is about the promise of fresh beginnings and the thrill of fulfillment, about overcoming the fear of failure and making wonderful mistakes. Every cover is going to illustrate a blank space that I will strive to fill in the duration of preparing that issue. At the back of the magazine is going to be the finished piece, like the climax to a novel. Through this I hope to create an interesting juxtaposition of the typical elements of a magazine, break the expectations of the
reader and (hopefully) give them something more. For this issue I have aptly chosen a completely blank cover and the back shows the name of the magazine, which was my chosen venture for this month. This issue contains a photography series on the various stages of the creative process, an interview with the delightful and very talented Surmai Jain, a unique exhibit of shot glasses by a very young Rohit Kothari, a gripping travel tale by FiĂŠ Neo and a lot of other fun stuff. To all my readers, may you find strength, may you find beauty, may you find wonder. And cheers to a new beginning. Hope you have as much fun reading it as I had in creating it.
-Akshita Sahlot
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Contents
6 Experiencing the unexpected .8 Literature escapes from the corner of her mouth 11 The Pilgrimage- Photography series 40 Book review- How not to get rich (or why being bad off isn’t so bad) 42 Garage sale music 44 Artist Feature 46 That neon green T-shirt 48 To buy or not to buy, That is the question 50 All hail the middle finger! 52 Travel Tales 54 Nature Spirituality 60 Collector’s item
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Experiencing the Unexpected Words : Hardik Rajpal Illustration : Akshita Sahlot
Here I sit in a warm café on the streets of Mumbai on a rainy day. I am looking at oil bokeh of the sluggishly moving traffic as painted by the rains while the sweet medieval music teases my ears. Big cities always offer you escapes in such soothing locations when you have the freedom to sit back and feel okay with it. I ordered the fusilli tossed in ‘Aglio Oglio’. This is the new realm of taste my girlfriend introduced me to. I made sure to clear the imaginary blackboard of my thoughts before the pasta arrived at the table. Beautifully, garnished with parsley leaves and oregano it tickled my salivary glands. Under the blessing of this natural bokeh, medieval hymns and appetizing aroma I pierced the gravy with my fork eloping the pasta away to a blissful reunion with my tongue. Magic! It was, the taste of garlic melting along the edges of the pasta dancing merrily with the olive oil, leaving me to witness fireworks as I am drawn to tears appreciating this work of art. I felt like a baby trying to appreciate the sense of taste for the first time. It made me feel so small confronting this giant wave of emotions on a lazy Sunday beach. Then it hit me, the mind picked up the chalk and the empty blackboard went screeching again. The art
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that moves you to tears, which makes you feel so small, that catharsis is an emergent phenomenon. It is not that individual piece of garlic or a spoon of olive oil or a bunch of boiled fusilli that make this dish a work of art but it is the creativity of the chef that blends these ingredients into something that is bigger than all those individual ingredients. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Similarly a painting is more than just paint and brush strokes, a painting that makes you cry is something that emerged so much bigger than expected. This is the moment in which we ‘Experience the Unexpected’. As Jason Silva puts it “There is a sense that something larger than yourself has worked its way through you.” And that’s what makes creativity so much bigger as it is the portal to experience the unexpected. The chalk drops.
“I hope the food is fine, sir? Should I bring something else?” The waiter snapped me out of my imaginary thinking space. “The food is amazing. Thank you very much!” I sip the wine and smile my way back into this vintage setting where the rain has left but with a sweet scent of thoughts for me.
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Literature Escapes from the Corner of Her Mouth Words : Priyal Maheshwari Illustration : Trang Thao Hoang
Dear you, I remember the top of that cliff. The moon looked pale through a puff of smoke crawling towards the cosmic heaven. The cigarette had burnt halfway through and now as it departed from your mouth,, it left the middle part of your lower lip moderately warmer and reader than the other parts. The drops of romance dripping off your hair after a midnight shower were somehow hard for me to comprehend in a single moment. The strength of this sudden gush overwhelmed me like a child being thrown in the air. In the same moment a feeling surpassed my intoxicated psyche and I’m sure it was somewhere close to how a mother feels when she exhales that milky smell of her new born baby. I started wishing for some black magic powers, which could grind our bodies into a semi-liquid-psychopath-certifiedsubstance down to intertwining flesh and soul in an urn, and turn it into a literary masterpiece for the future philosophers to find. But there was no spare
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magic left in possession of the universe anymore. So the best I could do was to try and get a good look of the still world from the inside of your starry eyes. In my pursuit, I came across your lips. And they tasted like the warm comfort I feel when the lights are dimmed, flavored with Orbit Mint Mojito and Dunhill Blue. After you, I don’t remember if I have slept dreamlessly with calm brows and whispers of shade. I have been sleeping in parts where time and space are not in a synchronized state anymore. My sleep breaks down into flashy flashes and shady whispers. Maybe because that night I looked too deep in your kaleidoscope and now I am unable to find the colors that can truly define the fireworks I witnessed. After you, I don’t remember if I have inked a parchment that would turn into a paper boat and drown in the reader navigating their ice-cold ocean of judgment. I have been beginning my poems with
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the homeless breadcrumbs so often that almost every time; I fail to sail to the soup. Maybe because my fingers treaded up and down your imperfect beautiful arms so many times, that I forgot the curvy tracks in my vocabulary. Sometimes I fear that you might perceive this to be something as mediocre as a letter that ventures to bring the shadowed policies of love into light. Sometimes I dread that you might perceive this to be something as mere as a letter that defines the atavistic resonance between your flaws and my scars. I dream of this letter being made up of tiny kernels of lily-seeds that I felt on my face as I leapt off the cliff in my attempt to soar the orange evening sky. I gushed down the thin air in a hurry for I had little time to spring on the majestic clouds that clouded my way. In the small moment when the tiny grain of sand decided to explore the bottom half of its hourglass, the sweet scent of the salty water managed to brush my hair. And then before the blink of your eye, I had traveled the depths of the oceans only to find my reckoning on the other side. And it looked like you and me sliding down the lighter shade of my purple dreams. I quested for my marveling literature but a pinning compass was all I could find. The realms of my dream bits had undergone a sudden magnification, for I felt like a turtle peeping out of its shell. Imagination was not voluntary for me anymore. Every time I would close my eyes, the leaves rustled fearlessly. And it sounded like the blink of your eye. I have now tapered the mystery enough to find the source of this fantastic escapology. But wait, I think I might have interrupted you from speaking. Because, there seems to be a questioning crevice between your lips. Were you saying something? Much love, Me
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The Pilgrimage Photography series by Akshita Sahlot
This series is about the trip through the labyrinth of emotions and thoughts in the mind of an artist. Making art is one the most scared and liberating acts I have partaken in. These photographs illustrate the different states of mind the creative journey takes me to. The chaotic wilderness of the unknown and unexplored, the beautiful and confusing maze of limitless possibilities, the fear of not being good enough and not doing justice to my art, the freedom that comes from facing those fear and starting anyway, and the awakening that comes with realization of meaningful art. That is when one knows something more about oneself than they did before. That is when the artist becomes the art. American monk and writer Thomas Merton said, “What can we gain from sailing to the moon if we are not able to cross the abyss that separates us from ourselves?� The grail that I seek is myself, today and everyday.
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Chaos There is madness in my mind Rumblings! Like murmurings in the sky Magnificent chaos Oh sweet confusion Embrace me with all your might Engulf me.
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Possibility The future, A juxtaposition of the present Reinventing itself. Limitless possibilities Exhilarating odds And every minute, every moment I paint with my imagination.
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Fear I can’t Oh How can I possibly? Can I? Can I? Fear crawling under my skin Haunting insecurities I try but I can’t I just can’t.
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Freedom Vast, brilliant, dazzling The sky has opened its arms to me I fly and I soar I cheer and I roar I paint the sky, I graffiti the earth
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Enlightenment I know the way I see it now The door to my cave has opened How beautiful, how exquisite I see now Now I know.
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Book Review : How not to get Rich (or why being Bad Off isn’t so Bad) by Robert Sullivan -By Akshita Sahlot
While being extremely comical and liberating upfront, this book was actually philosophy in disguise. Robert Sullivan reminded me a little of Kurt Cobain in the sense of the smug enjoyment he got from almost sounding like he is making no sense to the reader, but himself knowing what he was talking about. (I don’t know if Kurt Cobain’s lyrics ever made sense to him but I have a feeling that they did) He looks down on rich people but doesn’t say it. Instead he deprecates himself. And don’t get me wrong, when I say that he looks down on rich people, what I mean to say is that he looks down on the system where money has created an entire industry about itself; where some of the greatest artists and poets spent their entire lives in abject poverty and the billionaires and millionaires are the ones in investment banking. There has been
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a shift in humans where the main focus of life has gone from life itself to money. He imagines a world where there is no money. Instead the emphasis is on emotions and beauty and sadness. Where we’d be partaking in extremely important frivolous things. Playing fetch with your dog, watching sea otters or little green bee eaters (whichever you prefer) or spending an afternoon throwing a Frisbee and jumping dramatically to catch it. He paints this picture that is so mundane, a picture devoid of castles and diamonds (NOT communism) and so utterly simple yet I can’t help but think of it as a utopia we’ll probably never reach. Not as a people at least. But there is still hope, for me and for you. Well to be honest, I don’t know if there is any hope for me, but at least there is still hope for you.
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Yard Sale Music Playlist : Solita Deb Illustration : Akshita Sahlot
First off, channel your inner Phoebe and understand that by yard sale music I only mean to draw an analogy between the delightful little things that one comes across in yard sales and the delightful little things that can be found on YouTube (or Spotify or Soundcloud, wherever you listen your music from). Deb has a taste in music which can be best described as floating on a large pastel wave, after being significantly blazed, of course. I consider her to be my music godmother (though I should tell you that she is quite young) and maybe after listening to this you will too.
1. Jon Kennedy- Tell me how you feel (Bonobo mix) 2. Chet Porter- TBH ILY (Kidswaste remix) 3. A$AP Rocky- L$D 4. Jeremih- Fuck you all the time (Shlohmo Remix) 5. Mazde- Battas (feat. LissA) 6. Alina Baraz and Galimatias- Make you feel 7. Alina Baraz and Galimatias- Can I 8. Luke Million- Fear the Night (Shook Remix) 9. Tom Redwood- I’ve Fallen for You 10. Parra for Cuva ft. Anna Naklab- Wicked Games 11. Absofacto- Dissolve 12. Honne- The Night 13. Phaeleh- Afterglow (ft. Soundmouse) 14. Majid Jordan- Her 15. Amy Steele- The Wolves (Kartell Remix)
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Artist Feature : Surmai Jain We sit down to chat with the stylish, humorous and talented Surmai Jain to talk about her work. Surmai has studied Fashion Communication from NIFT Mumbai and FIT New York, and is a graphic designer and illustrator currently based in Mumbai.
What did you want to be as a kid? I wanted to be an Art teacher, and then a painter and then finally a fashion designer.
Mumbai or New York? Mumbai is close to home but New York is closer to heart (as corny as that sounds)
Why graphic design and not any other forms of visual arts? Graphic designing has a purpose. You find solutions, you simplify designs. It isn’t just about making pretty pictures. It is a form of art that lets people stop and look at things in a different way.
What (or who) are your creative inspirations? My creative inspiration lies in people and architecture. As much as I enjoy looking at works of amazing artists, they don’t inspire me. Connections to new places and people are what help me ideate.
How do you explain your work to a layperson? On a professional level I get to decide what a person thinks about a brand when they see it in the market. I take a brand’s concept and story to represent it in the form of visual language (the logo, packaging, social media etc). As an illustrator my job is to express what I feel through two dimensional drawings.
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Where do you see yourself in 10 years? Hopefully having a brand of my own that lets me travel constantly. That’s the plan for now. Check out her work on behance or at instagram at Send_prudes
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That Neon T-Shirt Words : Shifa Miyaji Illustration : Apurva Kothari
There was this bright neon green t-shirt that kept peeking at me whenever I opened my cupboard and even though I do not exactly remember how and when I came across it, I can easily describe all that one single piece of garment made me feel. After a lot of guesswork and calculations I decided that it had been brought for me by a distant relative or had been passed on to me by my older siblings. It is crazy how Indian people have this mentality that neon colors make one look dark and so should be totally avoided (because in India, fair complexion = smart and beautiful and dark = good for nothing), and that is what had gotten into my mind when I first wore it. No wonder the tee was different; it felt soft and was a perfect fit BUT the comments that people sent my way worked perfectly by making me tuck that tee inside my wardrobe in the darkest corners. I received comments ranging from, “You shouldn’t wear that, only people with very fair complexions can carry it nicely” to a mere “You were recognizable from a kilometer, pretending to be the sun?” I, being a very self – conscious person decided that I would stay away from neon colors, basically all striking colors and just live happily ever after with my dark browns and purples. But I just could not live happily, the garment was all over my wardrobe and as I write this, it is still there waiting for me to look in its eye and feel guilty, guilty for I cannot wear anything I like for the sole reason that I may look different to people and I do not have the guts to try out something new.
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How often does it happen that we let others influence our decisions and then it eventually leads us to build a comfort zone around us, with a lifestyle as permitted by the world? We do not try out new colors, well because we already know the former ones suit us, so why bother, we choose not to go trekking on a vacation instead go to a beach trip, (uhmm no thank you ,too much pain), or we look around us a million times before trying a sandwich with a combination as weird as peanut butter and pickles. Is it normal to get nervous by people’s opinions and be inclined to mould ourselves accordingly? I guess it is. But is it okay to do so? Should we really throw away opportunities and new experiences for the fear of ‘what ifs’? It really doesn’t matter whatever the hell you wear or put or make or design or eat or carry, just remember to add a little aura of confidence in it with a pinch of ‘I don’t care world, I got new things to try out!’. Who’s watching anyway? And if someone is, be an inspiration for them! Maybe they will decide to try out horrendous contrasting colors the next time they go out. Forget looking good for a change and focus on feeling good for your own sake. We all have that one particular outfit that we want to wear so bad, you’re lying if you say no! So while I go back to showing that neon thingy how well I can carry it, let’s walk straight out of that comfort zone and start experimenting.
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To Buy or Not To Buy, That is the Question Words : Shruthi Varadhan Photograph : Akshita Sahlot
Um maybe I’m ashamed. Maybe not. About how I feel, the incalculable joy it brings to buy something, particularly clothes. Is it just me? Or perhaps this is a quality associated to us women. I do not like shopping per say. With my so damn choosy and expensive tastes, it drains me economically, physically and then emotionally. Yes emotionally too. The reason is that every time I go out to shop, I’m at constant conflict with myself. My mind of logic keeps telling me that clothes are like empty boxes, making too much noise, but well, are hollow inside, quiet literally. However my heart goes out to them every time I see those awesomely designed dresses, I am overcome with joy at the touch of those fabrics, I smile to myself every time I spot someone having the same great tastes as I and I cannot stop myself from being vain at my ability to appreciate them. Those garments are specifically designed with method and theories and whatever not, and the social factors of trend and norm by which they come into popular taste, that are ‘in fashion’, they too are but mere clothes, argues my logic. They have an intense history. Clothes are each, a piece of art, says the other side of me. And to say that art is a waste of time? Art is the only thing perhaps that
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keeps us sane. But time and again haven’t I heard of how appearances are often deceptive? And found it to be true on more occasions than I can count. And clothes are but mere appearances. Only a put on, a facade, points out my sane brain. And yet I find myself, against all logic, trying to impress people with my choice of garments and constantly judging others on theirs, even though I’ve been reminded every time of how easily they trick. Yet, why should I deny myself of simple pleasure of life like dressing up? Must I go over this inane, over-the-top analysis? Can’t I just buy clothes without pondering over the abundant metaphorical resonances of humans’ ability and want, to clothe himself and every how’s and every why’s of it? Then a horrid realization strikes me. Clothing of choice is a vice only the richer class can have. Beggars cannot afford to choose. They must use any they can find. They do not like many us have the luck of having to go shopping for necessities such as food, let alone clothes. And here I am bragging about how difficult I find it to choose my clothes. What shallow, selfish person will stand here in the mall whining about having, while others simply don’t have. I find it impossible to shop now. Aw look at those cute shoes. I better get out of my mind!
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All hail the Middle Finger! Words and Illustration by Akshita Sahlot
I am insecure. I am insecure about what others think of my fashion sense. I am insecure about what my boyfriend’s family thinks of me. I am insecure. So very insecure. When I sleep at night, I think about all the things that I am insecure about. My small boobs, my scanty eyebrows, my not so flat stomach, about something someone said to me years ago. I am even insecure about my insecurities. Most of all I am insecure about my work. Every time I show my work in public I feel like a puppy surrounded by wolves. No, my work isn’t that brilliant. Yes, yes I know that. Yes there is something missing in the goddamn picture. If there wasn’t I’d be Tim fucking Walker. I am just starting out and YES I AM INSECURE. So what? And if you have a problem with that, well then, fuck you very much.
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Travel tales By Fié Neo
How do I plan my trips? Well, I don’t. I get sick of city life and I just book whatever is cheapest online. Which is why, I ended up with nowhere to stay one day before departing to Oxford. My initial plan was to camp in a sleeping bag on the streets and I was so close to doing that but ended up booking a hostel instead due to bad weather predictions. The hostel wasn’t great (think 18 people room and middle aged men stripped to their underpants and snoring all night) but either case, that’s better than being robbed in the middle of the night. Why the pessimism? Well, this was what happened few hours before my train back to London. I was by the canal with my hiking backpack and belongings, waiting for my train that was due late that night. I was happily munching on some snacks in the drizzle when someone approached me from behind and whispered, “Give me money or I’ll knock you down.” I froze and inside, panic mode was activated. Swear words leapt out of my vocabulary book and flew around my mind. However, I managed to maintain a poker face when he walked around to face me upfront. I acted as though I didn’t understand him. (Well, might as well utilize my Asian face and hope that by some stroke of luck he would leave me
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alone.) I think I must have been really fortunate or that he was feeling merciful. He examined me for a few seconds and then put both hands up in front of him, palms outwards and uttered “It’s okay.” He started walking away. My mind was working furiously at that point, my thoughts went something like “Shittt! What is wrong with this guy. I should run! I should run! Should I? Should I not?” My hands slowly reached the buckle of my backpack and I carefully fastened it around my waist as quietly as I could. My eyes were already analyzing the surroundings and my brain planning the escape route. I started standing up and that was when he turned around and saw me. Fuck. Everything started happening in slow motion for me as I froze in my three quarters squat position. He raised one hand up into the reassuring pose again and repeated “It’s okay.” I plunged back down onto the bench, dumbfounded. He walked ahead and started pestering other passers-by at the traffic light. I stared at him, unmoving for a few moments and then it hit me that he probably thought I was homeless and pitied me. Ermm I guess I should be thankful for his kindness to me? Or that I looked like a homeless woman? In any case, I’m glad I didn’t actually camp out in a sleeping bag.
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Nature Spirituality Photography Series by Akshita Sahlot
Truth is a scary word these days. It is something we all feel, but do not confront. It looks uncomfortable from a fortress of lies, yet calm and satisfying when embraced with courage. Nature is the truth. Truth, Nature
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Collector’s Item Interview with Rohit Kothari
Why shot glasses? I was 12, I guess, and I was in Mexico at that time. It was my first foreign trip and you know, I was fascinated by everything around me. My father and I are crazy about shopping and wherever we go, we make it a point to buy something that reminds us of that place. And I came across these really beautiful shot glasses and I thought that they were really interesting as memorabilia. And of course it had the name of the place written on it so it was a good way to show off. I started buying more glasses and gradually I realized that it was not about showing off. It was more about the memories. And so that was it, I started collecting and now I’m being interviewed by this fine magazine, so I guess the collection paid off. Which one is your favorite? Also why? It’s really hard to choose one. But I guess the one that I bought in New York is my favorite because
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it has ‘New York City’ written on it and probably because that city has always inspired me. Living in New York city is my dream. Did you ever lose or break one of your shot glasses? Tell us about it! Yeaahh!! And I still regret it. It was a gift from someone and it was wrapped in a newspaper. I opened it and it was a unique one made out of compressed sand with something written on it in Spanish. I put it back in the newspaper and I didn’t realize that the glass was in there and I threw the newspaper on the floor and the compressed sand became just sand. And also my mom broke one glass with HarleyDavidson’s logo on it. If you got offered $10,000 for your favorite shot glass, would you sell it?
Now I know that I should be modest while answering this and say that I wouldn’t sell it for a million dollars. But let’s be honest. I would sell it for a 10,000 dollars and I would use that money to go back to the place I got that glass from in the first place and buy another glass. Plus, I get to relive a memory. I’m Marwari; we know how to use our 100-dollar bills. What other collections do you have? Tell us about them. What collections would you like to start? I collect hard metal model cars because I love cars. I collect currency bills of different countries because I love money. I collect coins from different countries. My dream collection would be a collection of real cars. I’ve always wanted to collect stuff related to the Coca Cola Company and posters of classic singers, actors, bands and other retro posters. Some other dream collections would be expensive wristwatches, ties and shoes.
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