Tag Archives: art

#Swarun Again!

To the long evening talks,

to the short Ajmera walks,

to the values you taught,

and throwing away foods that rot.

 

To being a bride,

those bumpy auto rides,

to the faces you made,

and the cakes we smeared.

To the streams of rant,

to the walls dabbed with paint,

to the jokes we cracked,

and the looks we shared.

 

From being flatmates, to being chatmates,

From getting work done by the maid, to being your bridesmaid,

From finding a home, to setting up your own,

From discussing our dreads, to you moving into your husband’s bed.

Swati, it’s been more than two unforgettable years together and hopefully many more will follow ahead. You’re one sturdy lady and never let anything bring you down! We don’t often find people who match our frequencies but when we do, it’s best not to lose them so soon.

Varun, you’re one hell of a lucky guy and lucky enough is she! Take care of my friend as she makes you slog around the house. ūüėā

Graciously Yours!

This post has doodles provided by Priya Vyas and Abha Dalmia. I’m ever thankful to them for encouraging me to blog and for showing their love towards my passion! Thank you! ūüėć

You can send me your doodles too!

Pool of tears.

image

She sat by the shore. The cold water rhythmically wet her toes now and again. Some more and then no more. She inched closer to the water. She sadly stared out at the man in the water, helplessly flailing his arms around. She wished she could help him. But she’d just come out of the water for him. She’d tried dragging him to the banks. She’d tried calling out for help. She’d tried hauling him over herself. But after a while, there’s nothing she¬†could¬†do. She saved herself from drowning. That is all she could do. He didn’t want to be saved. Yet he wanted to live.

“Let me please help you,” she cried out. She pushed her drenched hair out of her eyes. Sand was stuck on her wet palms and legs. He didn’t reply. He struggled without making a sound. He didn’t cry out for help. Her dress was soaked. It clenched to her contours. She was breathing heavily. She was¬†struggling to breathe as he was struggling to die. She dug her fingers in the sand and dried leaves around. She sobbed uncontrollably. Her lungs were searing with pain.

She looked up after a while. There was no one in sight. The water was rippling in the middle. The waves were becoming smaller. They would soon die. Just as he had. She stared at the water. Her tears were drying up. After a while, she got up, turned around and left.

She couldn’t kill herself over him. If she did that, his death would be a waste. After all, he had just killed himself over his love. She couldn’t repeat his mistakes.

Graciously Yours!

The Presence of The Past.

They say if you blink, you miss it. We waited impatiently, clicking pictures of others and selfies of ourselves, being photo bombed and photo bombing others, all the while creating memories which we probably wouldn’t refer back to again. Not because they wouldn’t be¬†memorable. But because we create too many of them these days.

We were waiting for the lights at the famous Mysore Palace to go on. They say it looks enchanting. It is a work of technology which brings out the magnanimity of the work of art. It requires a single flick of a switch to light up thousands of little bulbs. 98,260 to be precise.

The Sun had set. Darkness had fallen. People were still clicking. Cameras were flashing. And just like that without any warning, without waiting for the clock to strike a particular hour,  the lights went on! And enchanting it was!

IMG_20160214_185445_HDR

Who would have thought a century ago that beauty could be kept locked up in pixels? Who would have predicted that you could hold the whole world worth of information just in your hands? How different our achievements are from those of our forefathers. They took pride in bigger and better; we in smaller and faster. They built with brick and mortar; we build with silicon and carbon. Their memories faded with time; ours with obsolescence. Their achievements were the heritage; ours is technology.

Graciously Yours!

 
Picture Courtesy : In collaboration with Ashwini Bhat.

Her Art.

As her hand moved across the sheet,
She created the man she always wanted,
Putting her dreams on paper for all,
She wanted the world to worship him.

She gave him deep dark eyes,
A mane of hair enviable even by women,
A nose as straight as a string,
A smile to floor with just one look.

In his hand, she gave him a knife,
The dripping blood adding menace to him,
“It’s time to get back to your cell,”
The nurse said taking her art away.

Graciously Yours!