356 days a sunset. 

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What would you do,

on an evening,

when a dreary thought crosses your mind?

You see,

the homeward bound flocks

against the golden rust turning blue,

You feel,

everyone is in motion, but you.

There is a moment of plain stillness,

when the heavy air engulfs you whole,

and all you hear is white noise.

Would you,

breakaway and run, out in the world,

or hide, in the silhouettes of the twilight?

356 days a sunset, and again. 

When you start to,

question the very necessity of your existence,

gather meanings, from every action.

When you

think of your own failures,

and wonder, how the day has passed by,

without a single win.

Would you

put all your energy, in desperation,

to the last few hours of the day?

Or

would you,

think of a fresh start,

with the warm rising sun?

How would you,

convince yourself?

when you are not convinced.

What would you do,

on an evening,

when the sun is down

and not a single star in sight.

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The Tale of a Song

A beautiful little red bird,

Perched at the knot of the Willow

A tale, many spells ago.

 

Green meadows, waters ran cerulean

Her plumage, gloriously shone scarlet and rust,

pride of the vast Willow.

 

When came clouds with thunder,

She feasted on the sweet morning’s dew.

Nighttime, the Willow, her haven.

 

She fared faraway lands too.

On return she; the Willow stood leafless,

searched the tree for warmth.

 

Gingerly, she touched down upon,

the frozen branch, of her faithful guardian.

Kindled with her heart’s flames.

 

She broke into a cry,

The song of her ancestors, and her’s,

from another time, another place.

 

Pristine snow around the tree,

bore ashes, red and rust turned grey.

Night heard Willow’s silent cry.

 

Come day, the frost melted.

The willow donned an armour of green.

Scarlet wings rose from grey.

To the humans of WordPress..

Thank you all. You have been too kind. 

I have been away from my blog, from WordPress for over a year now. Writer’s block, (if at all I qualify as one) or a creative dead end, whatever it was, it kept me away from here. I used to get random notifications, out of nowhere, of people liking my old posts, following my blog. That is really what has prevented me from deleting this blog. I am not saying that now I am experiencing a bout of creative ideas right now, but one can always hope. 

I am glad that people have been liking my posts, commenting and following me. That has been the sole activity on my blog for the past year.  Thank you humans of WordPress for keeping my blog alive!  

The Red Sky

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I took this picture one evening, from the balcony, of a place, I used to live in. It had been an average something day, I was immersed in my own thoughts, bringing in the wash that had been hung to dry. I looked up and saw this. I had never seen the sky like this.In awe, I dropped the clothes, ran back in and brought out my camera to capture this.

Ever since that day, I made it a point, to look up. Every evening, on returning to the place which had become home, I would rush out to the balcony and check out the sky.

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That place, I realized, had a rather depressing view. From the second floor, I was stuck, looking at the tower. So on duller evenings, I would sit with my camera, look out for a bird or two, sometimes chat with the third floor neighbor’s baby or look at the plants in their balcony. They always had roses.

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In an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Ross tells Joey, that due to the lack of a sex life, he has been able to appreciate the finer things in life-such as the color of the sky. To which, Joey replies, “Sky is blue Ross and I had sex yesterday.” Secretly, I was searching for the red sky. It had been such a rare sight. On days like these, I knew that the sky was onto me.

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Still, I kept going. I stopped expecting a red sky. I took what I got. If I was home in the evening and if the sky looked different, I took pictures of the same frame.

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The sky did not look dramatically different everyday. Yet it wasn’t the same.

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Strangely, at times, it was a reflection of my mood.

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Sometimes, it just wanted me to make a hot cup of chai and sit down with my favorite book.

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My affair with the evening sky went on and off through four years.

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Sunshine, rain and rainbows have come and gone. The sky has remained a faithful companion to them and to me. It was time to go. I was looking for closure-one last glimpse of a red sky. Maybe orange was the new red. This was the last picture that I took. That was last summer. It’s been a late goodbye.

The middle Indian crisis

India, my country, is a land of confusingly diverse populations. There are so many of us, so many kinds of us. 27? No wait 28. 29 Maybe? Yes, over a billion people, living in 29 different states. We speak different, we eat different and we drink different (some prefer not to drink at all). Our Hindi comes in Tamil, Gujurati, Bengali, Haryanvi and a wide range of accents. Yet funnily enough, our English comes with ‘the Indian accent’.  We manage to live in an oblivion of a chaotic harmony. 

 To an outsider, we are just colors in a desert, or red turbans, or a marble tomb, or the people with a rape problem. Stereotypes, clichés. Don’t we all hate it when people do that? It is even worse, when the insiders do that. The darker among the dark complexioned people have got to be Madrasis, when-the-clock-strikes-midnight-jokes about Santa Singh, fish loving Bengalis, Bihari hating Marathis and the seven states of the Chinese-Indians. 

The south and the north of India exist with an immense diversity. After having lived in the south of India for a few months, I had begun to develop a regional identity crisis. A common question, in a mixed social environment- 

“Where are you from?”

“Nagpur, Maharashtra.” 

To this, a South Indian would reply, “ooh! You are a North Indian!” while at the same time, a Delhi dude would immediately refuse to accept that and call me a South Indian. I have had to deal with things like, “how come you don’t understand malayalam. Dont all south Indians know all south indian languages!”,” But hindi is your mother tongue. Shouldn’t you be defending your mother tongue?”

So, one day I sat them down. Explained to them the concept of Maharashtra. Of Marathi. Of Bhosles, Mangeshkars, Tendulkar, Thackerays. I told them about Gadkari and Fadnavis. Ganapati, Dhol-Tasha, Puran-poli, kande-pohe. Mumbai, Pune, Nashik, Kolhapur. Punekar, Mumbaikar and Nagpurkars. I told them how the ‘zero-mile’ of India or the exact centre of India lies in Nagpur. 

“Ooooh! I get it. You are a middle indian!”, said my mallu friend. 

“That’s right. Yes I am a middle Indian.” I replied, finally accepting a regional identity. 

To new beginnings

Howdy!

I ‘ve been away for a while. Things have been confusing. End of college, being back home, weddings and moving to a new city have kept me away from here. In a few days I ‘ll move to Bangalore to start my internship and things will be more confusing.

I hope I get to write and photograph often enough as I wish to. I hope this academic year is free from creative blocks and more productive than ever. Mixed feelings and everything.

All those things aside, today, i feel content.

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Today, I smile because the grass is green on my side of the fence.

Have a beautiful day.

Photo Project : Bus Stop Seats

I seemed to have developed an immense liking for bus stops. This is my third bus/ bus stop related post! And I never even use this particular mode of transportation.

So bus stop seats. Why? Good question.

Sometimes in the evenings, I go for a walk. It usually involves me, music in my phone and a sidewalk, nearly a kilometer long. Sometimes my camera likes to tag along.

One particular evening, my camera wanted to try some long exposures. But the tripod was sick and didn’t want to venture out in the dark. So we found these empty bus stop seats, for support.
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We were both happy with the photographs.

It was late, I decided to return home. Walking back, we reached another bus stop. It had different kind of seats. The camera wanted to click those.

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You shouldn’t let your camera take over your head. Imagine the amount of weird stares I got from all those strangers at the traffic signal.

I finally decided to walk ahead. Again we crossed a bus stop. It had different seats too. My camera gave me a look that said, ‘Let’s click this bitch! We iz going to be rich!’

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And so we did. That is when I decided to see if the other bus stop seats on the same stretch of road were different too.

Thus began project bus stop seats!

I began taking my camera along for walks every day. After long patience-requiring waits, I finally managed to click the most crowded bus stops, crowd-less.

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Ironically, the most crowded bus stop on this street had no seats! .

Regular people from the street, like vegetable vendors, stuffed animal sellers, auto-wallas and fellow evening walkers were now accustomed to me and my camera. The weird stares had now reduced. Even I had begun to notice these people more. A kid, who sold vegetables on the street,t usually wore a checkered green shirt. His mother had beautiful long hair, always neatly braided into a thick plat. As the weeks progressed into the summer, the guy with a sugarcane juice cart had propped up with his family.

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These commuters, apparently, did not care that I had my camera pointed at their backs, while they waited for their bus.

This bus stop is significant. It means that I ‘ve reached home. Again no seats.
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A week after clicking this, I found out this place to be completely dug up by the corporation guys.

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It was now inhabited by the dog mafia. If they formed a political party and decided to stand for the current elections and rule the humans of the earth, they’d have my vote.

I did not know where to stop. So I let my feet decide.

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It was my camera’s idea to include my shadow in the picture. He can be brilliant at times!

I have been doing this, almost for a month now! What have you been up to guys?
Cheers 🙂