This is another one of my totally senseless cloud shots. I've never tried a high shutter speed, such as 1/4000. This is the first shot I took at that speed. Thats why its here. Period.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Windmills
There isn't another town in Karnataka, that I know of, where windmills have been used to such a large extent, as in Chitradurga. Besides the obvious aim to harness the wind energy and generate power, one does begin to wonder, if the widmills didn't actually improve the beauty of those serene hills. It is quite a sight: long rows of windmills, with their blades moving in the wind, overlooking the valley below.
As one approaches this old city, with many a myth attached to it, one also gets to see these huge rock boulders strewn all over the place, some of which are placed rather precariously. But looking at the bright side -- most motorists, suspicious of the rocks, tend to be very alert along that stretch of road.
While driving back to Bangalore, along the road that kissed the outskirts of Chitradurga, I saw the silhouette of these windmills, juxtaposed against the setting sun. I didn't waste much time, to stop the car and run out, and then shoot this picture. My only regret -- I wish I had a telephoto lens.
There isn't another town in Karnataka, that I know of, where windmills have been used to such a large extent, as in Chitradurga. Besides the obvious aim to harness the wind energy and generate power, one does begin to wonder, if the widmills didn't actually improve the beauty of those serene hills. It is quite a sight: long rows of windmills, with their blades moving in the wind, overlooking the valley below.
As one approaches this old city, with many a myth attached to it, one also gets to see these huge rock boulders strewn all over the place, some of which are placed rather precariously. But looking at the bright side -- most motorists, suspicious of the rocks, tend to be very alert along that stretch of road.
While driving back to Bangalore, along the road that kissed the outskirts of Chitradurga, I saw the silhouette of these windmills, juxtaposed against the setting sun. I didn't waste much time, to stop the car and run out, and then shoot this picture. My only regret -- I wish I had a telephoto lens.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Abandoned
It isn't that I haven't seen these carts before. They may not be as ubiquitous on our city roads, as they once were. But many a times, I have managed to see a bullock-cart, and those weary oxen yoked to it; I’ve also seen the tongas, or horse-drawn carriages, jostling for space in the labyrinth of our city’s roads, fighting for every available inch, with the unsympathetic motorist.
But the total isolation of this cart, in the middle of nowhere, caught my eye. Just like the lonely farmer that I was to meet a little farther on, this cart too had that feeling of abandonment and unexplainable isolation attached to it.
I’m sure that this wasn’t the case always. It must have had oxen yoked to it at some point during its life; it must have been owned by a farmer at some point in time who greased its wheels regularly or, tended to a broken rail. But on that day, there were no signs of anyone. Neither the oxen nor the farmer. The cart just stood there, alone, beside the long road that stretched on for miles….
It isn't that I haven't seen these carts before. They may not be as ubiquitous on our city roads, as they once were. But many a times, I have managed to see a bullock-cart, and those weary oxen yoked to it; I’ve also seen the tongas, or horse-drawn carriages, jostling for space in the labyrinth of our city’s roads, fighting for every available inch, with the unsympathetic motorist.
But the total isolation of this cart, in the middle of nowhere, caught my eye. Just like the lonely farmer that I was to meet a little farther on, this cart too had that feeling of abandonment and unexplainable isolation attached to it.
I’m sure that this wasn’t the case always. It must have had oxen yoked to it at some point during its life; it must have been owned by a farmer at some point in time who greased its wheels regularly or, tended to a broken rail. But on that day, there were no signs of anyone. Neither the oxen nor the farmer. The cart just stood there, alone, beside the long road that stretched on for miles….
