Category Archives: photograph

Chasing time 2017

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That time of year is here. Nostalgia personified. Time to count blessings, looking back and pondering what all happened. What all could not happen and what all could have happened.

As if it were just yesterday, the same day, the same time. Same flowers blooming, same migratory birds nesting, same temperature, rain, snow, chill in the air.

Like a flash it went by! Every wish sent to people, like it was written yesterday. The same parties, thankfully  surrounded by the same people. Some new additions surprisingly seeming like old acquaintances. Same cheer in the atmosphere.

Same emotions wreaking havoc. The same homeless, cold people on the roads stirring deep emotions within the soul. Same sense of helplessness, restlessness and pain.

Same sense of joy and pride watching your children grow. Love, companionship amongst young and old in the family. Same sense of gain when a new member arrives in the family. The extreme sense of loss felt like a huge void, everytime remembering those lost.

Years passing by one at a time but like on a speedboat, zooming past. Memories merging into each other like a dream, senselessly mixing people , events from past and present together.

Like a joyride, rollercoaster years, same posts, photos, comments, likes on the social media. The decorated Christmas trees, the dancing , singing , drinking, New Year’s Eve parties. Identical situations yet…

The year is brand new, time lapsed, 12 months gone, countless breaths drawn. Mind absorbing pain and pleasure like a sponge. Countless moments lost, countless moments acquired. Bonds formed and broken, relationships strengthened, weakened.

The familiarity of “Sameness” embracing in comfort. The excitement of unknown giving sense of adventure. Family, friends giving  love, hope and the strength to go on. Go on chasing time!

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Thanksgiving

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Like the air, invisible, untouchable but paramount to life.

An emotion, a void filled, completeness, paramount to happiness.

A feeling, a whisper, a simple touch, paramount to survival.

A fantasy, an imagination, a dream, paramount to ambition.

Family, friends, a society, paramount to continuation.

Celebrations, festivals, customs, paramount to joy.

Like a soul within a body, otherwise just muscles, bones, blood and nerves.

Love is paramount to existence.

September-2

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The sky is getting clearer, clouds beginning to disperse with winds of change.

The wind is getting cooler, Sun beginning to shine more often over mountain range.

Days, evenings not somber anymore, grays converting into vibrant landscapes.

Wetness drying up, no more downpours, colours popping up like lady’s drapes.

Relief from heat, break from the rains. Seems like the Earth is ready to exhale.

September

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Bunches of red, contrasting with greens of leaves.

Little flower umbrellas, sheltering insects from grieves.

Cool September breeze, giving respite from the heat.

Making flowers blossom, getting ready for Autumn greet.

Veteran leaves turning yellow, saying goodbyes ready to let go.

Magic of Autumn hiding within each fold, forests waiting to transform in motion slow.

Monsoon 7

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Brilliant white surfaces when washed with rain water.

With just a hint of yellow to break the monotony.

Facing ,turning towards the Sun.

Soaking up the warmth after a wet humid spree.

Dragon fly resting peacefully, unaware of the beauty around it.

Green leaves, waiting for their turn to take center stage.

History

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History peeping coyly through windows of far forgotten forts, palaces and temples.

Doubtful of how it is remembered, how it is twisted, how it is incorporated to attract, serve tourism.

Standing its ground for centuries, committed to the river that once embraced and washed its feet now swallowing sins of people. Being worshipped so that it would keep cleansing their souls while they pollute her.

Remembering the tenderness with which the sculptors chiselled each design, caressing, worshipping each goddess they carved.

Rustle of the silk of Queens, following their feet. Soft tender, adorned with heavy tinkling anklets.

The sound of the brass bell just before she entered the temple. Remembering the fragrant, colourful flowers she offered  with her eyes closed and soul awake, pure, in reverence.

The blinding reflection of swords shining mercilessly in the first light of the Sun, metal and water of river turning into gold alike.

How it was, how it is remembered now, how was it written by whom? How it was kept true and intact, how it was changed! History like an old lady remembers helplessly, peeping through the windows of palaces, forts and temples.

I Am

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I am my life, my happiness, my joy.

My death, my pain, my despair.

 

I am my actions and their consequences.

I am who I chose to be, who I strive to be.

 

I am my own gift, my celebrations.

My fairy, my demon, my boon, my curse.

 

I am my best friend, my worst enemy.

I am my grandest and most disappointing love.

 

I am my dreams come true, my horrifying nightmares.

My conscious, my subconscious, my morals and ethics.

 

I am my best teacher and guide.

I am my explorations, my experimentations.

 

I am the God within me, the spirituality, the salvation.

I am who I am because of the creator who created me…

…with all that I need to be, just the way I need to be.