Tuesday, June 28, 2011

At a distance

there is this distance. sometimes, it's a happy stride. living through a cycle, of ends
and beginnings. at the ends,
each time, it only seems like we are almost there.

***

to my left, i noticed a glass bowl of walnuts. full of them, and in the distance, each alike.
in the course of my waiting this is
the sight i chose. and in my sight they remained, for long seconds.
each in its own way, hard, whole, contained and at ease in its own skin.

***

i am finding my view towards a beginning.


at view


Monday, June 20, 2011

The Dads

I learned to make a snowman out of cotton. I learned to make a windmill; eventually the first I had ever seen.  It started in those days, and it has been going on, ever since..

But among the lot ( of best moments ),
I look back to the days when we both went for long rides in our hometown.
We spent many such evenings, sometimes he
would ride by his
old school, tell me stories of his childhood and teachers.
Somehow, deep within, I have always felt living there was best when there was dad around,
it made the place feel more like home, for everything in and about
it has been a part of his life. And he talks more about his life ( something he rarely does ) when
he is in our hometown.

I continue to admire and love his simple heart. And yes, he has always been there for me.
. . . . . . . .

" Commodore Kundankali once called me and said, "Chief, what wonderful handwriting you have !". Such comments to have come from him, oh it felt so good. Now, see my hands?...."

He held out his right hand; aged to a near 90, with visible tremor.

" I can barely write letters now."

Grandfather has never been idle. From the day I have known him till
recently, he has been busy making walking sticks, clocks, polishing furniture,
remodelling things, writing letters, all out of the leisure time in his life. Today, there are a few things he can't do by himself, unlike his mind, which somehow hasn't aged.
He has a wonderful life story. And every moment of his life's past is now almost an occassion
in his memory. He still talks of the car he drove in Germany,
of how he lost his way in Rome,
the farm he went to, the milkcan he bought ( all of these, nearly 60 years ago )... he remembers every detail;
he's the best narrator I've listened
to in my life.

One thing he has often stressed, " Always be happy. " 

Saturday, June 18, 2011

the sight

i wasn't reminded. neither of time, nor life itself. it's a kind of freedom, from the pace of age. essentially, that's the reason i love.

there have been dreams. and i've walked in the barley fields. i saw it all, a little more clearly today. strong winds carried the harvest, like a swirl of pixie dust mid-air.

we climbed the altitudes, in the peak of summer. within a few dreams of beauty, becoming. 

Thursday, June 16, 2011

leather bound

there were pictures. newspaper-cuts on ruled, dated sheets. the glue left a stain behind every page..stains in little squares of brown. it was a heavy mass of palm size, leather binds barely closing, with much overloaded clippings in-between.

a four letter word was stuck on the backside.. Kiwi.

fantasies were never opened to, for a long, long time. it never took flight, either, together with time.

Monday, June 13, 2011

At my core


 The tastebuds felt the smooth seed, searching for tiny remnants of sweet lychee.
I sat on the footseps in my garden, moist lips on cold breeze.

There is a silver curve on the outside. And behind this shine, I lived in the silence
 of sunset. I want to hold them on my fingertips, let them bounce in joy,
like beads of pearl. The moment prolonged. In the dew, I saw the orange ball, sink into the sea.
There was an urge,
at my core to belong to that moment; an urge to
connect in the core of all my dreams.

 I made my wish.

Photography - Weekend collection II

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Gooseberry Pickle



I learnt this recipe from my grandmother. She's been cooking this for nearly three generations. Here is a very spicy gooseberry pickle recipe. Best when had with curd rice.


INGREDIENTS :

20 medium sized gooseberries
1 tbsp fenugreek seeds
60 red chillies
1 1/2 tbsp powdered asofoetida
2 1/2 tbsp salt
6 tbsp gingely oil

METHOD :

Fry the fenugreek seeds till golden brown. Fry the chillies and asofoetida ( till golden brown ) in a tablespoon of gingely oil, seperately.


Allow these to cool to room temperature. In the same wok, fry the gooseberries in a tablespoon of oil, till soft and cooked. This might take about 15 or 20 minutes, on a medium flame. If the gooseberries are too big, cut them into smaller pieces ( do not cut before cooking ).



When the spices are at room temperature, grind them together as finely as possible. Mix this spice mixture, rest of the oil and salt with the cooked gooseberries.


One alternative of this recipe is to steam the gooseberries instead of frying. However this is tastier.

Monday, June 6, 2011

It is hidden everywhere

 
Beauty, in a way, is an essense of ecstacy. The best part is, to
recognise within, that it can indeed bring a tingle
of happiness and freedom, to
breathe in that silence of admiration. I have always wanted to seal them, between
my palms, and put them in a little glass jar. So I can go back to them,
live them, many times more.

When I was young I used to go around catching dragonflies.
There were quite a lot, some flying in pairs,
some on tips of wild grass, their wings glittering under the summer afternoon sun.
 I barely caught three or four, collected them in a jar
of twigs and leaves. I still remember admiring their tiny legs holding stones.
I let them out a few hours later.


And weekends in summer were spent in the backyard. Walking about within the compound,
sitting under mango trees. I loved to collect things
and make my own games with it. 
Anything from twigs, pebbles and tender leaves; it seems lame now, but
 back then, those were my treasures. 


I remembered those days when I was in my courtyard yesterday afternoon.
And I am figuring out that the only way to look back at such simple sources of happiness
would be to photograph them.
I love it. To find the best of what I see and capture them
as just as possible, it takes time, in the beginning.


I am learning the fact that there is beauty in everything around.
The whole process has become an inspiration
in many different ways.
 I find my personal moments in them. And all I want
is to breathe in the moment.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Photography - Weekend collection I


Facing irresistible...literally. A few of the many sights captured this week.  To never forget..   






Looking out for pigeons..She loves to chase them.


 My grandmother, 85, insists on gardening no matter what.

 

Friday, June 3, 2011

In Course

There is this stream, lost in a dark, dense forest. Flowing somewhere, into the depths of uncertainity. Whispers engraved on pebbles, echoed along the gentle waters. Fading to the distance, in the passage of time.

***

I don't want to turn around. Not immediately after..


Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Close to Sea


"The voice of the sea is seductive;
 never ceasing, whispering, clearing, murmuring, inviting the soul to
wander for a spell
in the abysses of solitude;
 to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation.
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.
The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body
 in its soft, close embrace."


~ THE AWAKENING



Marina, Chennai (taken on 19 Sept. 2010)