Closure

I see you always closed

Not an inch you give away.

What is that you say, I cannot hear.

When I say something you are never there.

Not a day passes when I don’t try.

Not a moment passes when I don’t think.

Never open, always locked.

Never giving in, always closed.

How can I get past you?

How do I get over you?

Together we perish,

You there, Me here.

Wondering and waiting.

Wandering and waiting.

For the door that never opens,

For the person that will never be mine.

I hear the sound of you, I seek the sight of you.

I long to come over, if only to be pushed away.

But never to wait again, never to long as much.

Frozen in time, you and me. Never to be together.

Word Power

This is a word which has been haunting me ever since I came to know of it. The power of it extends much beyond what it says, it goes out to show how much a single word can accomplish, its eerie capacity to haunt you and a breathtaking ability to hound you.

Is it in the exotic tenor of its sound, the way you have to twist to get it right? Or is it in the roundness of its pronunciation, or the newness it brings to my palate of words. Wait, it might be the far reaching meaning it conveys, or the ring of aloofness it has to it. No, it is melancholic strand in it which resonates with my own or the profound bearing it possesses.

The grief for the lost places can be only experienced and never be explained. The grief increases every single day and the weight it carries will eventually pull you down one day. That which you had, and lost is a symbol of the distance you have come to. Not necessarily good or bad but merely something to remind of what has been successfully lost, dismantled and never to be regained again.

How does one get back to a home that never was, never ever existed and never will. It takes a lifetime to get over this one and then you realize that it takes more than that, a lot more.

Doubts

An overcast afternoon, a listless mind and an uninteresting workday. Listening to the drops of water bouncing off the heartless concrete while a gentle voice croons in the background reverberating my thoughts. Ruminating on things decided which will have far reaching effects, things I have set off in motion but those that have already moved ahead, consuming and discarding me. Doubts that swirl in and out leaving more confusion and chaos, than which were around even as they were taking shape.

What if, have been the two words preceding various thoughts on numerous occasions of late. What if – they promise to make everything real seem surreal, they take me far away from the present where everything is just what I want to be, and they hold a promise which otherwise seems amiss. They leave me bereft of words sometimes, but I wish they left me devoid of thoughts at times.

All that has been worked for till now has been threatened. All that was nurtured destroyed swiftly. All that has been dreamt off squashed mercilessly. Will it be spring or will it be doom, or will it be neither just an endless, tasteless life worse than being either happy or sad? A lost chance, a sinking disappointment or a life lost, which of them will it be….

Three years on

The first time I visited the Falaknuma Palace, I was a child for whom the huge Palace meant a day out with Family. When I went there three years back to do a story, it was a story of a lifetime to watch a beautiful Palace being restored to its prime. Third time was lucky too, when we went there last month to shoot. Its beauty only grows more luminous by each passing day and I was still enthralled by it, its splendor doesn't not dim you, it takes you in its shimmering folds.

To think that we who are capable of creating this should now find refuge in things which should never have been raised in the first place. That one who who has set his sight on such splendor should witness the regular in an instant. That such beauty should exist amongst such torpor is an inherent contradiction, or maybe its just a co-incidence.

The Lowland

So many thoughts swirled in and out of my head when I embarked upon a start to finish campaign of Jhumpa Lahiri's , "The Lowland" today. My first reaction to it when I received the book was that it's color was so appealing - green, full of life and brimming with promise, flush and radiant, hopeful and benign. Not the green you see on leaves when it rains nor that which covers a parrot but that of a green in transition from one serious tone to another, that of fresh grass at its radiant best. I couldn't read it for two days after I set my eyes upon it but today I resolved that even a headache wouldn't take me away from it.

Was it the best book I've ever read, of course not. Did it reach out to me like the aching loneliness of "The Namesake" no it did not. Did I unearth some life changing truth from it, no such thing happened. Then why have I been so captivated by it? In the initial stages when two love stories bloom, I found myself pacing restlessly eager to know how they turn out to be, when a character floundered on his way to receive love which was rightfully his I rooted for him and when finally an exile ended I was soaked with peace.

I realized that the reason it appealed to me was that the scale it was set was so appealing. It didn't harp on a happy ending or a bad one, it basically allowed the ebb and flow of life to be captured so lyrically that it was hard not to be drawn to it. Jhumpa's writing has a clear, evocative style to emote, one that rises from the book and wraps itself around you. You cannot but be a part of her writing, you transcend from being a mere reader to a pivotal character, at least in both the aforementioned books.

Nothing beats the pleasure of a good story reaching its deserved destination. That it lives up to deliver what it promised is as much a joy as the act of reading itself. It leaves you satisfied, making you feel satiated as after a  hearty meal, a hungered conversation or a herculean act of facing what you always dreaded. Till the next one comes along, of course...

Sometimes

Sometimes I feel that you are with me.
Sometimes it drives me crazy that you do not even think of me.
Sometimes I would give up myself to start over.
Sometimes nothing can makeup for the lost love and misplaced notions.

Sometimes, I wish that you were here.
Sometimes I wonder how that would be.
Sometimes all I think about is you.
Sometimes I would give anything not to think of you.

Sometimes I wish that life would be cruel enough to let us be together.
Sometimes yours is the first and last thoughts of my day.
Sometimes I wonder at the power you still exert over me.
Sometimes I ponder if you ever think of me.

Sometimes I wish you never happened to me.
Sometimes I wish things would be different.
Sometimes your thoughts drive me to insanity.
Sometimes you are the only one that keeps me sane.

Sometimes you and I are one.
Sometimes there is no I nor you.

Chandra Taal - Where Man meets the Gods

This is the image of the lake Chrandrataal, where apparently Yudhisthira left his mortal body and moved to heaven. Did I ever imagine, that a reluctant traveler would leave his perch in the Deccan Plateau and leap for the mighty Himalayas? That would make a great story but for now, I was there and I, an almost comatose photographer clicked the image.

Did I think I would make it ever, to leave the zone of my comfort and move towards the unknown. I who turn my back even to the known? I cannot answer but to say that I was there and that is what matters.

More will come, but for today a reminder to myself that surprises do lurk around the corner and they need not always be bad.