A curated cellar of musings.
Kindly, fade into this world. A vertical year had passed, digitally. With his conflicts—balanced out, purposes—irrelevant, and the audience taken away he was but a brooding mold contained in the mugginess of a nook. Addicts of the right angle were interpreting circles, on the telly; while the room, his abode, smelt of turpentine: new paint. The…
Read More "The paint’s turpentine and a walled-in afternoon"
Lyrics from the song “Chiragugal Njan nee dhooramay” by Anwar Ali, from the film: Njan Steve Lopez and photography by me😬.
Stains they are aplentyAiry dark patchesLoom and zoom in at randomCrowding the lit, awkwardly Yet, they equip our brightness Light is not light—without its dark cousinShadows tell light’s secrets—the code in all the glamourLight and Shadow a rhythm like no otherKannan
These photographs of mine are old. Pandemic has distorted the charm of my home town. This slide show is a tribute to its remarkable vigor. The BGM is from the film Charulatha, Charu's theme, composed by Satyajit Ray.
Lazy Sunday’s idyll—promising yet fragile. A stony path attracts, assures grassy possibilities. The path curves, swerves and entices, repelling the quaint milieu. The unwary drifter meets a dipping stone, The path imbibes him onto the earth. Into an oblivion of reality. Sunday’s gullibility—befittingly exploited. Kannan…
Surrounded by honking predators, Hell bent on putting me off my path, I tirelessly meander through the sea. The endlessly zigzagging traffic talks in a hybrid tongue. Part human, part auto: the language is but noise tucked into profanity. A sea of wheeled humanity, More inclined to stop my progress than to move, Yells, “Stay…
The waves were immense! Beach’s stretch did its best to offset the dread, for the swelling brine Strikes fear and invites, at once. The trained eye uttered caution, “High tide” it muttered, wisely. The waves attracted buzzing amateurs in hoards Eager to get their feet wet—and probably drown. The majestic waves kept beating away,…
The evening was tender, sparing in its revelations. The light was reflected, always soft and never penetrant. An organic, naïve and a pure cactus blooms - ever so gently, Ever so gently, Ever so gently. Sunsets, Cool breeze and the noir air’s heaviness befriend the cactus. Inevitability has a name – sunrise. The sharp,…
