Sunday, October 31, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Of the sedate ochre, hiding, almost apologetically, in deeper folds of its fabric, a fiery dash of scarlet reds, incandescent oranges and a sliver of fuchsia thrown in as if on an afterthought, like the glowing embers of a cosy little fire that has curled up with the approaching dusk.
Of murmuring brooks that sigh contentedly, to no one in particular, as they meander to nowhere in particular singing a nonchalant lullaby and despite protestations, gently tucking in and putting the more tempestuous summer to sleep.
Of cobbled thoroughfares and the familiar crackle of leaves under early morning footsteps.
Of eternity tucked into a moment, a moment that lasts for all eternity.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Blame it on the mellow season or the inevitability of my approaching flight from the confines of this place, on the propitious date that shall be upon us in a matter of days or on the bounteous moon that is shining with more than its usual fervor tonight. But in indicting them for the genesis of this letter , you will be gravely mistaken. For the instigation of this communique lies deeper in the mists of time, the mists that part deferentially under the intensity of your radiance so very often, yet so much darker, dreary and desolate for the rarity with which your countenance has been kind enough to exhilarate those who pine for that one glimpse of the face, the face that, a millennium ago, could have set sail a thousand ships. I do not profess to be an authority on romantic magniloquence but I could, in that first fleeting meeting of the eyes, Oh those eyes!, I could understand the helplessness that Byron envisaged when he wrote those immortal lines:
Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not,
And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still.
And ever since that one propinquitous moment, it has been impossible to restrain the flights of imagination, extraordinarily vivid in all their brilliance during promenades through the copper-hued drizzle of dried leaves, transmuting into something so surreal when you breeze in silently as I make my way past the crossroads, the lonely forlorn figure trudging through the white clouds hanging from the tranquil boughs above. And even as I walk ,engaged as I am, in the oft repeated and severely practiced conversations, all confessing to the irreversible enchantment , some professing undying love , the fraction that is still grounded in physical reality bitterly yearns for that elusive next encounter that providence has planned for us. The impulsive thought of forcing its hands has, not infrequently, crept up on the bleak, tempestuous horizon but as often slinks back just as it seems that the sun will finally come out. The perennial winter that I find myself in, though, is not ungrateful in this state of limbo, for the ethereal promise manifested in you. And you seem to be an enigma too pure and divine to desecrate. Better to pay unilateral obeisance to the flawlessness of the deity than to drag her into the dirt of human existence as a mortal being.
And so have I fallen , as is said colloquially, truly madly deeply in love. Not with you. The pedestal on which you are is as forbidding as the figure in repose on it is alluring. But an idea of you.
And this letter is addressed to that idea.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
To Dear Deedee,I’m wishing you another year
Of laughter, joy and fun,
Surprises, love and happiness,
And when your birthday’s done,
I hope you feel deep in your heart,
As your birthdays come and go,
How very much you mean to me,
More than you can know.
my sister happy birthday dear
awake arise for comes along
another beautiful year!
of lots of studies and com-med classis
and gold medals and rock show backstage passes
and treats and lovely chopsuey to eat (Manipal :awesome food joints)
and every other day deadlines to beat
and stop not here for u lead
a rocking life.so pay no heed
and enjoy this life to the hilt
spike ur haiir, and wear a kilt
and dance like an oaf on the mess table
and roll in the mud in the horses' stable
for your lovely countenance to grace this earth
we are blessed by God himself[and say i not this in mirth]
our very own little doctor madam
with a cute telescope,i beg ur pardon
for tis a stethocope that hangs around
that dainty neck on her Rounds
round the hospital she goes around
and diagnoses ailments to confound
her sorry profs ,they've got no clue
what this sweetheart can do
for behold all ye poeple
she is both beauty and brain
though how am i going to
marry her off it ain't certain
Notes: (Com-med= Community medicine, hated among medical students, almost like Moral Science in SChool)
I now think that I shouldnt upload the one for my mom. Might not be in my best interest. :) :)
Friday, April 9, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
the scale is arnd 3 feet on my wall.
this is the original.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Now , more than ever, I need feedback :)
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The city had long since settled down, lending to the pearly sodium lamps that lined the Raj Path, barely hours earlier shrouded under a diaphanous veil of dust and smoke, a surreal clarity that seemed almost magical to behold; hear closely enough and you could almost hear the silent, murmuring sighs of the evening relapsing into the night. The astral necklace of yellow that embraced the boulevard flickered every now and then as if in silent assent to the hypnotic impression of a sheer capriciousness that the vista seemed to radiate, like the undisturbed, undulating surface of a serene lake that, with the slightest human touch or by the mere indolent descent of a dry, desiccated leaf , would dissolve into a thousand asynchronous ripples, taking away with it, the star speckled skies and the flamboyant moon that found rest and respite in its silvery expanse. The somnolent breeze meandered through the tableau, causing here a torpid feline to curl up closer to its mother, whistling there through the crevices of an improperly barred gate, playing a rhythm of its own with the staccato of the catch striking intermittently against the half fastened bolt. It caressed the trees lining the street with its fingers, the oh so gentle fingers, causing every leaf to revel in its moment of personal attention that it afforded even as the mild rustle of the dried brown umbrage added its own unique tune to the masterful symphony that seemed to permeate the landscape. Indeed, if one were to assume that that moment in space and time was one of the rare trysts when the realms of reality get entangled in the meshes of another more ethereal dimension, and that any moment now it would vanish in a sparkling shower of shimmering magic dust he wouldn't be too far off the mark.