Month: July 2022

The Grand Night of Shiva and A Day of Beautiful Meanings

The morning arrived. A big day. Like a loved one’s birthday. And everything was planned. Even the time calculated for leisure. But leisure comes at a price. Millions abstain from eating that day. Reason could be their own. Mine was to celebrate. I had already spoken to Pandit Ji, I will be spending the night at the temple and hence I was taking the day lightly. I ate Moong Halwa, whatever was left of it. And stepped out for a stroll outside, to see the clouds, to breathe a few times deeply. To spread se beans and chapatis for birds and a ferocious black dog with whom I shared a biscuit and since then we were best of friends. Nearby I found a trail and was looking for the stream following its sound, when a local woman standing on the roof of her home, located on the top of that cottage hill called me thrice in succession. She stood right up at an angle close to 90 degrees asked me again if she can come …

Silent Poems From My Ancestral Village; A Photographic Tribute

These images come from my village. Right here where my grandmother sits peeling potatoes, there i was born. But left within three months as I was told. The hand you see on the wall comes on Indian walls when a daughter leaves the house after marriage. This home also witnessed my earliest phase when I first started making photographs with our only family Kodak Film camera KB10. These are some of the Earliest images from my village home and probably the only time I could photograph my grandmother, peeling potatoes. Made in 2005. : ँ : Thank you. If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste : ँ : I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About me and importantly; As a co-traveller, will take you through the Ten Lessons I learnt from several years on the road, before you coarse on your own Road to Nara. : ँ : You might also like to know about My Little School Project. If you wish to come over for a visit someday, that …

A Short Visit to the Museum Of Almora; An Introduction to the Life and Struggle of Govind Ballabh Pant

The Museum was empty. If I ignore one woman sitting, scrolling through her facebook on phone. There was no one and nothing but the fragrance of hanging dank wood welcomed me. A feeling which comes just before entering a wormhole. Or the back side of a cinema, closed long ago. As I put first few steps walking parallel to the blue wall looking at the old, outdated, never cared for large sized prints of venerable Temples and this city; nostalgia started to evoke silent, irrelevant screams out of those bare prints.