My past is
All about you
And overcoming you...
buy it now from amazon
Showing posts with label indian author. Show all posts
Showing posts with label indian author. Show all posts
Saturday, 10 October 2020
Thursday, 8 October 2020
Friday, 10 February 2017
Workplace and the Art- scape
Workplace and the Art- scape
Recently some of my google create members were in the city when I took them out for a quick tour to my work place. they were surprised with the scope of photo-documentation that could possibly be done at the campus.
Himanshu Panchal, a dear friend and fine art curator (the best person I have met in fine art curation) insisted me to start documenting mundane textures of life.
At first, I was not sure of the idea of using my workplace for the discovery of art into the walls and people visiting the campus. But then I started exploring a bit of it and got fond of it.
After all, Its no bad to convert the workplace into an art-space. As art is ubiquitous. If my profession is a religion so is Art,
Tuesday, 17 January 2017
She and Camel Man
She and Camel Man
"My mom has always told me the stories of horse rider and her dream man. She lived in a small village of Khar Rajasthan", said Ranjeeta in her perplexed tone.
Her dreams never got quenched, as the poor lady didn't realize that man in Rajasthan come on camel as opposed to the white horses of fairy tale.
Nor that her dream of a horse rider got crashed, she became a household to the man who used to sell camel for his survival. During daytime he used to run a camel cart for the travelers coming to see the scenic beauty of vast barren dessert but he himself failed to admire the beauty of her women.
The days went by; from dusk to dawn. She lived a life because she had to live one.
Often I asked her if there is a purpose in your life. As in a reluctant dead tone, she always say, "I don't want you to be one of me". I never understood her till the day....
A camel man came to see me, with the loft of his camels riding a camel.
Monday, 9 January 2017
Life-Scapes
Life-Scapes
As a traveler, the weekends come with an urge to move around in the empty wide spaces of nature. Often i join the troll of my friends to abandon my streets for the varied perspectives of empty lands.
The ample beauty of solitude and parched lands allows me to retrospect and introspect my head-space. often I get the luxury to have a conversation with my self far away from the city shore.
Far away from the human grounds, lies a world of wilderness. where nature is wild, the hunter is a prey and the prey is the gladiator.
There is a horizon, where the water meets the sky. the earth is serene and the air is pure and fresh. The life is still there. Perhaps that's what a heaven is.
Sometimes I feel like eloping into the vast sky, way above the mountains where the boundary walls are not made of brick and cement. There is enough food for everyone, greens for the eye and love for the hearts.
The ever lasting poem of Rabindranath Tagore plays in my mind: Where the mind is without fear ... into that heaven, my father
let me spread my wings and fly away
( a bit of my version)
Friday, 14 October 2016
Every house has a story
Every house has a story
Har Ghar Kuch Kehta Hai
Recently I was doing a lot of city hopping in search of a good house. My reality agent was taking me from one house to another in a bid to pursue my choice.
I was fascinated by the stories attached to every house. And I realized, new or old, every house speaks it own stories.
An apartment is not a structure limited to its floor, walls, number of bedrooms and attached hall. An apartment is a house made with the people living in their.
An apartment may be an investment for some, but for some its a abode of light and breeze.
And then there are some empty apartments, left alone and barren telling the volumes of stories and memories they have kept hidden in their walls and flooring.
Wednesday, 5 October 2016
Stories of solitude
STORIES OF SOLITUDE
We often travel alone but seldom we enjoy the luxury of solitude. We look for silence in the noise of city traffic yet we forget to reach out for a shout when we can fill the silence with our voice. Understanding the silence and speech is akin to solitude and companionship.
Wednesday, 6 May 2015
Sunday, 5 April 2015
Goddess of stories
Let me stroke your hair,
this one last time.
The richness of your satin skin,
be wet with my sweat.
I may not be subtle tonight
but worry not, you are always mine.
Let me stroll on your waist,
tracing my tongue to the pubic line.
The shiver of your tibial sheen
bonded in the web of toes of my leg.
I may be a tiger tonight
but then, you are always mine.
Let me take you to the edge
so you can see me clearly.
The golden hue of your eyes
glazed with stories of your betrayal.
Will I let you go over,
nah! you were never mine.
this one last time.
The richness of your satin skin,
be wet with my sweat.
I may not be subtle tonight
but worry not, you are always mine.
Let me stroll on your waist,
tracing my tongue to the pubic line.
The shiver of your tibial sheen
bonded in the web of toes of my leg.
I may be a tiger tonight
but then, you are always mine.
Let me take you to the edge
so you can see me clearly.
The golden hue of your eyes
glazed with stories of your betrayal.
Will I let you go over,
nah! you were never mine.
Saturday, 7 March 2015
Sunday, 28 December 2014
Monday, 2 June 2014
Wednesday, 23 April 2014
Sunday, 20 April 2014
Thursday, 14 November 2013
Divine beauty
I was supposed to be skinny
Showing my ribs
Wagging my waist.
Huh! what a waste?
Beauty overwhelms me
Past your arms girth..
It seems world has just begin
Opening the knots beneath my skin
Once hideous is now a muse.
Ah! whats the use?
Those snake charmers
Seldom excites me
Mysterious, mystic love
Still haunts me.
Sunday, 20 October 2013
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)