Allow me to rant.

Vogue India ran a photo-spread in their August issue featuring high-price luxury fashion accessories as modeled by people who -- oh, what's the word -- are poor. This apparently caused some controversy. Mind you, these models were not just poor, but barefoot and missing-their-teeth poor. So poor that photographers from around the world come to India to take gripping, black-and-white shots of them in their state of bare-footed no-teethedness (sans Fendi clutch bag, of course), to highlight their, um, pooritude.

Now, frankly, I'm appalled... but not for the reason you think.

Over the past five years I've been amassing an eclectic collection of cheap used books on my trips to Bombay. At Rs.10 apiece (around $0.25 US) they aren't expensive or significant (most of them are, in fact, the very opposite), but they are valuable to me, insomuch as they are weird -- and I love weird. I have read very few of them; Of the hundreds (and by now, thousands), I have only finished a handful. There have been plans ever since I started blogging to talk about them, to read and review them, but this has so far not happened.

I was reminded of this recently when Dan blogged about his bookshelf, and in the comments I lamented that most of my books were in boxes (he suggested I just take a picture of the box). "That's it," I said to myself, "enough dawdling!" I looked through a small box of them and chose seven -- none of which I have read -- but which I think are interesting. Maybe this will give me the impetus to actually read some, but for now I will talk of their weird and wonderful subjects, their pretty and often breathtaking covers, and their all-round coolness. I hope you find them as fun as I do.

Burji is an Indian Railway Station institution. Throughout the country, stands with sizzling cast iron griddles serve up plate after plate of this stuff with soft, butter-seared pillows of pav bread late into the night. You shovel it off steel plates, sopping up every last bit with the spongy bread, and perhaps contemplating another serving (or even eyeing the tray of sheep's brains which the stall also prepares in a similar way.).

It's hard to say which came first; the silky, creamy Continental version of scrambled eggs, or this spicy Indian one (anda bhurji). It's fair to say that both could have cropped up independently, and I'm certain that scrambled eggs were invented before the omelet (everyone tries to pass off a failed omelet as scrambled eggs when they're learning).

I like both versions; they each have their purpose. The Indian, for instance, wouldn't be the best match with buttered white toast and ketchup, and the Continental would not take to chapattis very well. They're both easy and quick to make (though this one requires a few more ingredients), and are equally scrumptious.

Here I am, getting ready to take another welcome trip to the land I call Home, and I've realised that I haven't even shown you any pictures from my last trip! It was a pretty good one too, with a few days spent outside Bombay, during which these pictures were taken.

Hariharehswar is about half a day's drive South of Mumbai city, and along with nearby Shrivardhan it forms a nice place to get away to. The reason most people will go is because of a temple there, but my greatest memory of the trip will have to be the beaches.

My mother let me draw on walls. It was 1986, I was three, and we were living in a one bedroom apartment in Ghusais, back when there was nothing there except for a block of already decrepit government flats, Al Mulla Plaza (closed because of a border dispute), and a procession of electrical towers between there and Sharjah.

She got a lot of flack for it, of course. Neighbours would come round and wonder why on earth I was still alive after such a heinous crime, and then look worryingly at their own children as the young ones gaped at the sheer audacity of the red and green scrawls, their eyes luminous with the shock of seeing freedom, tolerance and understanding -- and of course, whimsy -- for perhaps the first time in their fragile lives. Several adults vowed never to bring their children into contact with my parents, not the first and certainly not the last time that was said to them.

The rationale my mother offered -- since the simple truth of "Why not?" was far too much for others to bear -- was that since it was a rental, once we moved out the landlord would paint it for the next tenant anyway as per the local norm; if the landlord objected, she was gladly willing to pay for the painting herself. They never objected, but I would have liked to see the look on whoever came to that apartment after we had gone. The building itself was torn down sometime in the 90s to make way for a compound of houses.

It was the only place I ever drew on the walls, and even I am not sure why exactly. The rationale to my three-year-old self probably had something to do with not wanting to waste paper, and the fact that if I drew straight on the walls it would forego entirely the costly and time-consuming framing and hanging processes.

Mostly I just wanted to draw, and my parents wanted great art on the walls, for which I gladly obliged.

The Mall of the Emirates is supposedly the third largest mall in the world. The parking building is certainly the biggest I've ever seen, and the shops are huge, but I still wouldn't mind a larger one to roam around (In a couple of years we're supposed to get at least a couple of contenders for biggest mall in the whole wide world). My favourite part is the huge atrium in the centre. This picture is just a small part of it, and was taken in the early evening one Friday wth the new Kodak c875, before we took in a screening of Music & Lyrics.

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.