interlude

Once upon a time, there was a bird. He was adorned with two perfect wings and with glossy, colorful, marvelous feathers. One day, a woman saw this bird and fell in love with him. She invited the bird to fly with her, and the two travelled across the sky in perfect harmony. She admired and venerated and celebrated that bird. But then she thought: He might want to visit far-off mountains! And she was afraid, afraid that she would never feel the same way about any other bird. And she thought: “I’m going to set a trap. The next time the bird appears, he will never leave again.” The bird, who was also in love, returned the following day, fell into the trap and was put in a cage. She looked at the bird every day. There he was, the object of her passion, and she showed him to her friends, who said: “Now you have everything you could possibly want.”  However, a strange transformation began to take place: now that she had the bird and no longer needed to woo him, she began to lo...

my camera is very very personal to me..m not very attached to it per say but it has been a companion for more than 3 years now! I love it...it absolutely is what i need to express myself or capture things as i see. a friend always tells me that i make a things look better than they actually are...i think that is only possible because of this dear darling...it came in my life as a tool but today i think it is much more than that! i am not very possessive about it but i recently realized that it speaks about me, resonates with me and more that anything else holds a persona of itself...so when i got bored of the regular black strap, a rugged denim came handy to personalize it... one weekend, one camera strap, patch of denim, needle, threaded something i love.!

an excuse to ramble away from everyday routine... breakfast with closest of people and cutest of creatures.... Leaping windows Indira nagar, Bangalore

Why is paper still alive? WHY??  because you and I are still alive... yes, it is as simple as that... Today we might choose to put our thought on blog than to maintain a diary & make our lists on a smart phone...might even confess our love over a text or e-mail...but honestly...can anything match up to the special touch of that piece of paper, that rustling sound when yo unfold it to read those sweet nothings...scribbled on one corner, little off center, may be in a really bad hand writing but only for you..? It might not be neat, messy rather and not even convenient...yet there is something about that handwritten note...the message on that crinkled paper, dabbed with ink and some finger prints...which says this bond is special... Message might be of utmost importance at any given occasion, but the medium of paper has been the priceless...be it a thank you note or facilitation, a wedding invite or some document for some boring meeting... paper has been at your serv...

simple things in life are usually the most sought, for a simple reason..they are not complex. and it is reflected in the character of the bearer. I may be drawing a far fetched parallel but clay seemed to draw such a contrast. a material so simple and yet so complex, embracing millions of possibilities, just like life. just like everyday. 

It is raining outside...reassuring me that I am alive... Did i mention, I have an unfailing relationship with rain. Either of us is always there...mostly me, but then it comes to renew my soul, pouring everything...drenching me, consuming me... Pain is familiar, common...even normal...but the disturbing truth is that it is also non-existent these days...in those abstract moments of interlude between reality and dreams...when i see you settling on the window panes...i think of times which could have been...between the vapors of desire and impressions of confessions...soaking me, musing me...not only the conversations but the comfort of the stories we could tell each other in silence....

....sometimes desire is in the air; sometimes desire is liquid...and every now and then, when everything else is air and liquid, desire solidifies, and the body is the magnet that draws its weight.”   ― David Levithan, The Lover's Dictionary.

20th July, 2013

Bearing the demons of early 15 century of Florence and royalties of Dwapar yug..in a small, logical mind.... on a very very cold morning in Bangalore....in the dilemma of half asleep half awake...I sit sipping from a cup of tea (my only companion this morning)... contemplating the virtues I have imbibed from two very different tales of history..two completely contrast cultures...learning...their greatest strife is the same... More power... but to profess? More land..to keep &to forsake? More love...to alter destinies but for what?? ~dedicated to palace of illusions & da vinci' s demons... Credits: indiannerve.com credits: suas-series.blogspot.com

~ set in the grains of an old paper are the tales of times we can only imagine...times where mystics and myths were being compounded and breathed...The charm of its fragrance is poetic and poignant, reminding of the love and hardships it has experienced, how it has been cherished and then desolated... Reliving the marks of a paper, i realized that each fold had an impact on how I perceived the words squandered on it...and thus the texture started to speak...it's touch against the tip of fingers started unveiling an entirely different story....thus explorations began...sometimes with a fresh sheet, replicating the turmoils of an old paper....sometimes with old ones...trying to understand their destiny...as they unfolded mine!

It usually happens...hidden in the glamorous folds of happiness, sits the pain of unknown...quietly thriving on the hollow smiles, made-up conversations and bleak yet intentional innocence. But there is one thread that binds it all together..a thread not so feeble...a thread of grief, of fear and of joy..of beginnings and of endings. It is contradictory isn't it...but is it? The thread of stories, weaved like delicate lace, like freshly settled dew...compelling. Some speak of stories which made them what they are, some...of what they are not because of the stories never happened....& blessed are the storytellers, the ones with unspeakable power...intense and interesting to play God...thrilling yet dangerous but very satisfactory... it is interesting to notice how some glittery boxes of emotions can be used, it is all at the disposal of the narrator....how some strings when pulled bring the deepest, darkest hidden memories to shore and how some can make you weave the ...

 ...so many passerbys, so many empty souls,  so much pain, all in vain! but who am I...nothing but a victim of my own thoughts....  I made, what you are!