Going Neck And Neck

This Race Is Sure To End In A Tie

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Yes, they're my ties. Yes, I have a fondness for striped ties. No, I don't only wear striped ties - I have others as well. Yes, I wear a tie and suit to work.

And yes, a lot of my ties are chosen by Mrs Authorblog and the Authorbloglets.

Even when I was in boarding school at St Joseph's College, North Point, Darjeeling, we had to wear striped ties seven days a week. We had no problem with that, as the weather in the Himalayan town, famous for its schools and it tea gardens, was always cold.

Down on the plains, in the sweltering Indian summer, it would have been an uncomfortable imposition to wear a tie to school every day. But up in Darjeeling, nestled among the mountains, it was never a problem.


On normal class days, we wore dark grey suits with our striped house ties. Each house was named after one of the Jesuits from the school's early days and I was in Fallon house, with a proud eagle as its symbol and with a house tie that was resplendent in dark blue, light blue and burgundy.

On Saturdays we wore the North Point school tie with our dark blue blazers and light grey slacks and on Sundays we wore the same tie with our dark blue suits.

And what colour was the school tie? Light blue stripes on a dark blue background - so it's easy to see why I still have striped ties in my wardrobe. And yes, I still have a North Point tie.


Visit TNChick's Photo Hunt. Today's theme: "Striped''.

K Is For Kaleidoscope

Photography Isn't All About Black And White

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I was very little when I used a kaleidoscope for myself. I was instantly enthralled. Not just by the vivid colours, but also by the patterns that emerged and changed with each turn of a hand.

It gave me a deep and abiding appreciation for hues and for symmetry – all so crucial for a photographer of any level of experience.

When I was 13, I embarked on a great voyage of understanding photography that was to have very far-reaching consequences. I was in my first year in the Upper Division (senior school) at St Joseph’s College, North Point, Darjeeling.

Each student could elect to join two activity groups, in addition to all the sport we played right round the year. It’s interesting, in retrospect, to look back on my choices – my first preference was the photography group and my second was the horticulture group.


My interest in flowers, sparked by growing up in a huge home with a rambling, colourful garden, is still an abiding passion that I have passed on to the Authorbloglets. And my interest in photography, kick-started by the joy of using that early box Brownie, has taken me to many amazing places around the world.

For someone who had barely entered my teens, they were pretty significant choices.

So that year, I learned the intricacies of using a darkroom. I learnt how to mix chemicals in the correct proportions and where to place the trays. I learnt the value of safety in a confined space. I learnt how to work in the soft glow of the red light in that room. I learnt how to develop films.

I learnt how to use one of those beautiful, angled, sliding enlargers. I learnt how to print images. I learnt how to cut the emulsion-coated paper. I learnt how to ensure that contrast was always maintained in the prints we produced. And I learnt how to use the fixer tray so that the black areas on each print didn’t turn brown.

It was a world that I approached with great enthusiasm. At the time, I didn’t realise (and not surprisingly, given my tender age) that the world of photography would hold several keys in my life.


Back then, of course, it was all black-and-white photography in the realm of spool film. As I grew up, I realised that colour photography, even though it was so much more expensive in those days, was just as intriguing.

Yes, I appreciate that the classical masters of black-and-white photography defined an era to be cherished. But equally crucial is the appreciation that technology has changed so rapidly, especially in the last five years, that the world of colour is what defines our surroundings.

My darkroom experience in the many-sided art that is true photography is precisely the reason I do not edit images or use filters with my camera - the challenge is to produce an acceptable image of decent quality without any of the electronic equivalents of the darkroom era.

So it's just me and a camera in the outdoors - and it does not get more fulfilling than that.

Those early years taught me many facets of the art, but I know this – no one can tell you the correct approach to photography. You have to define your own path. You assimilate. You learn.

You appreciate all the advice that the experts give you, face-to-face, in books and on websites. But the true definition of art is in establishing the boundaries for yourself.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

Knots Landing

Welcome To Tie Land

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I guess not many of us look this closely at a tie. I certainly don't even look this closely when I'm choosing them in a shop. I'm told that when I was a kid I enjoyed wearing a tie now and then - and let's not go into the number of family photographs that show me wearing one in my early years.

Then of course I went to boarding school at St Joseph's College in Darjeeling - and we wore ties every day. On Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday we wore dark grey suits with our respective house ties (I was in Fallon house); on Wednesday and Saturday we wore blazers and light grey slacks with our school tie and on Sunday we wore dark blue suits with our school tie.

This shot was taken some months ago. I was just about to remove this tie when I thought I would do so with the knot intact, just to take a quick shot of the fabric.

I still wear ties every working day. But come the weekend and it's strictly Levi's and T-shirts for me.

(The Odd Shots concept came from Katney. Say "G'day" to her.)

Branch Manager

Everyone Needs A Social Climber (Sometimes)

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When I was a kid, my parents' garden at 3 Dumayne Avenue in Calcutta (now Kolkata) was full of flowers. There was an amazing variety and the aroma and sea of colours suffused every corner of the huge property we were lucky to live on.

But for some reason I don't think we ever grew orchids, although I remember being aware of the plants. I also seem to recollect seeing them grown in pots at the annual flower show at the Horticultural Gardens.

When I was eleven years old, we travelled to Bangkok and Singapore and I remember the airline staff giving my mother a beautiful pink-and-purple orchid which she proudly pinned to her dress.


At boarding school in St Joseph's College, North Point, Darjeeling, in the foothills of the Himalayas, I was once a member of an authorised group of schoolboys who were given once-a-year permission to trek to nearby Lebong, set up camp overnight and spent about 24 hours examining local flora.

We also had special permission to carefully and responsibly (and what important caveats they were, both then and now) take certain plant specimens back to the school greenhouse.

I was thirteen when our group spotted a splendid orchid high up a tree. Among our number we had basic tree-climbers (me), talented tree-climbers (about ten) and supremely gifted rock-climbers (about three) but not one of us could get to the branch that held the orchid.


After about half an hour a "kancha" (a Nepali word for "little boy") came whistling down the hillside. We looked at each other just like cartoon characters do when they are endowed with sudden inspiration.

Our leader had a quick word with the lad, who would not have been more than about eight years old. He nodded, eager to prove his skill. And when our leader added the inducement of a handful of boiled sweets, the kancha could not have approached his task with more zeal.

In less time than it would take you to read this post, he had climbed the tree, grabbed the orchid, come down safely, accepted his reward and gone whistling on his merry way.


Visit Luiz Santilli Jr for the home of Today's Flowers.

Snow Patrol

There's Always Time For A Backward Glance

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Sometimes we are privileged to gaze on paradise, but we don’t always realise it. Mountains have been a part of my life since my high school years, when I was a boarder at St Joseph’s College, Darjeeling – which probably explains why I spend so much time photographing them wherever and whenever I can.

A few weeks ago I was in Canada at the invitation of Yukon Tourism and literally a few hours before I flew home, Charles McLaren of Shadow Lake Expeditions took me on a memorable four-wheel-drive ride.

We explored the Coal Road area outside Whitehorse and when we returned to his vehicle after one stop, I was just about to put my seatbelt on when I spotted this sight. I asked Charles not to start up and not to move his vehicle an inch.

He looked at me quizzically, but I pointed to the rear-view mirror mounted on the left-hand side, where this mountain was reflected clearly in the glass. Yes, I could have got out and probably got a better shot, but by taking this from where I sat, I was able to capture an unusual view.

Around the perimeter of the rear-view mirror you can see the hillside in front of us, while the reflection itself shows the mountain that was directly behind us.

In retrospect, this would have been an even more spectacular shot a fortnight later. You see, the fall colours were just starting. A few days later the hillside would have been covered in reds and yellows, forming a virtual wreath for this mountain reflection.

Then again, the real challenge for any photographer is to capture the moment, not to wait for a better opportunity.


Visit TNChick, creator of Photo Hunt. Today's theme: "Reflection".

Dough, A Dear

Is This A Mental Contest Or A Fiscal Contest?

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

So there I was, running up the steps. As I always do. I think steps were created just for me. To some people they call out, "Climb me slowly". To me they call out, "Run up me, R U N". So I do what I have always done. I run up 'em. Quick smart, like.

Yes, I even ran up all the steps from the Upper Division playground to the change rooms and lockers and study hall at my boarding school, St Joseph's College, in the Himalayan town of Darjeeling. The steps went all the way up the hillside (the "khud" as we called it) and then they turned around at an angle of almost ninety degrees and went from the road all the way up to Fraser Hall and then there were the broad wooden interior steps (wide enough for ten schoolboys running abreast) to the locker room. Whew!

How many steps were there? Dunno, exactly. Maybe seventy-odd. Maybe there were too many to count. So, yep, I still run up stairs. All stairs.

And while I ran the other day, I noticed this sight. So naturally I got my camera out and took these two shots of the currency exchange outlet. For the first one (above) I waited until the throng of office workers had cleared and I had just one person in the frame. The angle had to be just right so that the person could not be identified - but it worked well because his figure provides a perfect sense of perspective.

Then my inquiring mind wondered why someone had stuck a lolly wrapper right in the middle of one "O" so I took the shot below.

Thank goodness I obeyed The Great Photography Instinct, because on Friday I noticed the place had closed its doors and it was being converted into a shop. The sign had gone.

See this shot below? That's where Abba got their inspiration for the lyrics to their hit song. I think.


(The Odd Shots concept came from Katney. Say "G'day" to her.)

Rainbow Connection

Who's Been Painting The Sky?

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Can there be beauty in a threatening grey sky? Yes, as this series of photographs - taken about ten days ago - will show. I was out in the back yard, trying to divine whether the gloomy sky was a portent of the rain we need so desperately. Behind me, however, the sun in the mid-evening western sky was so bright that it was reflecting off the roof tiles of a neighbouring house. I took a couple of shots of the unusual light shining on the tiles and then a few minutes later a rainbow appeared in the east, so I took the shot again, this time including a segment of the rainbow.

So I had dark grey clouds in front of me in the eastern sky, yet behind me the sun was bright. Did we get a drop of rain? Nope. But I was about to go back indoors when I noticed a second rainbow had appeared, so I managed to get two or three shots before it started to fade.


When I was a kid, I remember being open-mouthed in amazement as my mother explained to me that rainbows are actually doughnut-shaped, but because we generally view them from the earth, all we see is a semi-circular arc.

I remember asking my mother how she knew this. Remember, this was long before the internet, long before Google. But my mum was my Google, because she knew everything there was to know and everything that was important to know and she could explain it to me in three languages, English, Latin and French. So she wasn't fussed about being asked such an irreverent question by an inky little schoolboy. And that's when she told me that as a student, she had once seen a full rainbow from a mountain town in India.

"Will I ever see one?" I asked.

"If you're lucky," she told me.

Later, when I completed primary school, I went to high school at St Joseph's College, North Point, in the Himalayan town of Darjeeling. Our school looked out onto an uninterrupted view of Mount Kanchanjunga, the world's third-highest peak, and during my wonderful years there I saw many majestic sights that drove home the message of Nature's power and beauty. But I never saw a full rainbow.

Then I became a sportswriter shortly after I graduated from university and I travelled constantly, flying to one amazing city after another. But finally, in 1982, I saw a full rainbow for the first and only time in my life. I flew to Kathmandu, Nepal, to get an exclusive interview with the just-retired Bjorn Borg (you can read the story of that helter-skelter trip at Interview with Bjorn Borg) and as the Boeing 737 took off from the airfield of the Himalayan kingdom, I looked out from my habitual window seat and I was blessed with a view of an entire rainbow that I will never forget.

Then in October 1987, my wife took a photograph of me at Niagara Falls. Being the meticulous person that she is, Mrs Authorblog motioned me to move until she was able to take the photograph so that it looked as though the rainbow over the Falls was actually coming out of my head. We often look at the shots from that holiday and I grin and say to the kids: "That was the day Mum found her pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

But I think Mrs Authorblog has got them brainwashed. She just arches her eyebrows and replies, "Yeah, right," and the Authorbloglets echo her in chorus. One day they'll slip up and say "Yep".

No Bully Beef

No Quad Wrangles In This Quadrangle

The quad at North Point, Darjeeling. Photograph copyright: AIJAZ QAIDAR

A couple of days ago, I saw a very interesting post on bullying at One From The Cuckoo's Nest and I promised that I would respond with a follow-up.

There is one inescapable fact about bullies - they always pick on people whom they can dominate. When was the last time you saw a bully throwing his or her weight around with a person who was physically stronger than them?

I was fortunate enough to attend boarding school at St Joseph's College, North Point, Darjeeling - and not once in my years there did I ever see an example of bullying. But like most teenagers, I simply took certain things for granted: a) that my personal space would not be invaded; b) that the Canadian, Belgian and Indian Jesuit priests who ran the school would function as the surrogate parents of every schoolboy, from the six-year-olds to the seventeen-year-olds; c) that bullies were ogres you only read about in fiction and d) even though all of us boarders were many hundreds of miles away from our parents, the priests who were entrusted with our safety never, ever, compromised it.

It was a couple of years after I left school that the wisdom of the Jesuits suddenly struck me. I was eighteen years old and had returned to the school for a short holiday. While I was there, the student editor of the schoolboy magazine, `Among Ourselves', interviewed me. His final question was: ``What would you say is the best thing about North Point?''

And that was when it hit me. It was all crystal clear, so lucidly and so suddenly. Father Henry Depelchin, the Belgian founder, had set up the school in three separate areas - what we would call ``exclusion zones'' today. There was the Primary Division, for boys from Grade One to Grade Five. The Lower Division was for kids in Grade Six to Grade Eight. And the Upper Division was for lads from Grade Nine to Grade Eleven. Each of the three Divisions was a separate wing of the school, yet an integral part of it. The PD kids had their own refectory, study hall, playground and classrooms. Likewise the LD and UD. You did not mix with kids from other divisions unless they were brothers or cousins.

But it did not stop there. Kids in Grade Five were prefects, looking after the needs of the younger ones. When they got to Grade Six, they were the small fry in the Lower Division. In Grade Eight, they were seniors once more, entrusted with responsibilities beyond their years. In Grade Nine, they were again small fish in a big pond. Result? No ego problems, no sudden need to impose their will on others less powerful than them.

Thank you, Fr Depelchin and all the Jesuits and lay teachers who followed your example at North Point. We thank you, with equal measures of love and humility. And we pledge to spread your message. We humbly acknowledge our greatest debt to you. Today, we are men at peace with ourselves because of your vision.