All posts filed under: Letters to self

The Colours of November : A Photographic Journey

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Second last month of another year will be done soon. December knocks or not it has arrived. Many a times words feel weighty and probably this could be one thing for a writer which is nearly impossible to establish through his writing. A long Silence. Or the absence of presence. He may distract and not talk about a certain thing or may even carve out a poem. But silence is something that is personal to any breathing being. This November was that silent noise for me. It came as it is going. Like life, like age. It is not I who feels older still but only while observing my parents. streaks of hair, dehydrated skin, puffed eyes. Things are certainly moving towards a direction. It was a busy month. Filled with many memories that we as a family collected, and me in my own archival way. Away from expectations or even results. May be I have learnt the way of a writer. Yet still I am and will always be ‘in-practise’ an imagemaker first. Sharing …

Have a Little Faith: 5 things to Achieve by the Year end.

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I am writing. I have been writing. And even though I was away from Road to Nara, I kept writing on paper. I kept remembering everyone here. And it is now after thirty days of thirst, i finally opened this dying computer. How have you been? How is everyone doing? Please do tell me. Say it out loud. I will be very happy to read from each one of my co-traveller here. It is true that once the rhythm breaks, whoever you might be and whatever you do, life presides over. Life consumes even that time which once was someone’s. Like mine was for the Road to Nara. I tried to write on the 16th of this month and then on 26th but it took my might to break this monotony. Truth be told that there is no going far away from here. I missed writing here. I missed sharing here. Because words are as important as the ones reading them. Because these days, these months, this year is very important. And i would like …

How I found my self ? And sooner my strength- I

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In the silence of the night, the only sound that started coming was of the rain drops dropping, infrequently from the leaves above. Soaking in as soon as they fell on the road I was walking. The darkness had intruded beyond the trees standing like guards on either side. Their canopies meeting above making a roof, even making the drizzle feel like a poem sailing through the air. Till then I had my phone in my hand. My priced possession, I had bought after two months of work at my first job as a photojournalist. As i neared an approaching lamppost that once looked far, my shadow stretching behind me. Without any sound or intuition a hand caught me by my neck from behind. For a second I really thought it must be somebody known, a friend’s prank yet still unlikely. Within another second I got a strong hit on my back. Falling flat on my chest on the wet road. And realized that I was being hit nowhere but only on my face, a …

Learning from Mahatma, knowing Gandhi

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There were many things i never liked about my school. And the foremost was that it unintentionally took my freedom away or so i think. I was never introduced to any ancient Indian texts, neither I learnt anything about Yoga or even Sanskrit till i was 13. A child like me who only wanted to see and know of the world was made to sit and learn answers to the question for examinations after every three months more like a parrot. So much so my unlearning started before i could wake up my interest for higher learning. And soon it started effecting my results in higher classes or that is what i think of it now probably because i couldn’t pursue anything apart from five subjects at school. I feel liberated at the thought that I am not in school. And more so there is no more need to answer questions about Gandhi’s contribution to India’s freedom struggle. School history curriculum was also one reason i did not take Modern History of India as my …

The Paradox

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Who is observing the observer? Are you in front of the camera or behind it ? Or are you it ? Do you realize the change Changing? We walked up to the oldest virgin man. The sevak of shiva sitting on a hill, under a bright summer sun. His skin had earned blocks of pentagon, shaped into numerous lines criss-crossing his whole body. Once wrinkles turned into scales, crafted like on a snake’s skin. For a moment when he stood, I moved and touched that skin. But it felt nothing like it instead it was soft as wool. We walked seven steps together and then he sat in the shadow, near few men who had come from the nearby village, singing. He was humorous. He looked at Maharaj ji and told him that you look older than me! abhi bhi dum lagate ho? Do you still smoke Chillum? And started laughing at his own prank. But when he did, i could see through his mouth till his almost neck, bereft of any bone. wide, narrow, dry and …