Parijat

Parijat

I know I've grown up
because I've forgotten the Parijat
the feel of the blossoms in my palms

and the blossoms themselves

the ones detached, that fall on the ground at the slightest hint of a breeze
not a moment of regret

the resolute ones, holding on for dear life
knowing they have but a moment more

and the playful, dancing off my forehead gracefully

but most of all
the sly ones, hiding in the crevices of the wall
beckoning me to come closer and discover their world.

I know I've grown up
because I had forgotten the Parijat
But maybe all is not lost
for I remember it today.

Moon at Dawn

Today, I see the moon at dawn.

Today, after many days, I hear the first cries of the birds welcome another day.

Today, I'm relieved, calm, at peace with myself. Today there is no cacophony of jumbled thoughts running through my head, only a heightened sense of the world around me.

The gentle hum of the city reaches my ears, as do the calls of the city birds. Today, I fought with the cuckoo again! And won!

Today, I feel the gentle cool breeze caressing my skin, and the leaves on the tree infront of my house.

Today, I discovered my home afresh - the water from the airconditioner dripping into the bucket so meticulously placed below it every night by my mother, the lock on the front gate preventing me somehow from venturing out unannounced, and the fireflies that lurk in every corner of the rooms until the last bit of darkness is driven out by the rising sun...

Today, I see my neighbour return home from an early morning walk. A rare sight - my neighbour!

Today, I take the newspaper by hand, instead of finding it rolled on my veranda floor.

Today, I see the light break out, little by little, its pace so gentle that every second feels the same, yet the leaves were black only a while ago!

Today, after many days, the morning feels fresh, the light invigorating, and the day promising.

Today, I see the moon at dawn.

Moments of revelation

It was some 8 years ago, when I was 11 years old, that I realised how much I loved music. The realisation wasn't sudden, but rather prolonged, built up and in part contributed to by my mother, my guru, and myself. The next revelation was at one sultry June afternoon, when listening to Kalapini Komkali's rendition of 'Hans Akela', I suddenly found tears running down my cheeks. I saw then an unexplored emotional and vulnerable part of myself, that I had kept hidden in layers of denial and false stoicism in some weak corner of my soul.



My short journey through the twisting turning roads of life uptill now has been a series of such revelations, sometimes sudden, sometimes progressive - but always at the right time and place. Each one is like a spark, it makes the heart beat faster with excitement and realisation. After music, it was photography. My sister, a photographer herself, introduced me to Dayanita Singh's work some 6 years ago at an exhibition titled Go Away Closer. The images were an assorted set, referring to no particular time and place. I went through the series without feeling anything, without any reaction, positive or negative. It troubled me then, to not comprehend what i was seeing, but i conveniently told myself that photography was probably not for me. Some months later the exhibition travelled to Delhi, and i chanced upon it in a frequently visited gallery. And lo and behold, it was as if i was seeing the images for the first time! The photographs were alive now, talking to me, telling a story. One image in particular touched me deeply - it was a photograph of a young girl, lying on the bed, facing away from the camera. That photograph, for me, was the visual interpretation of the title of her exhibition. I could build stories around it, engage with it, feel as if i was actually there, my eye being the lens of the camera. What prompted this response? I dont know. But it was hugely satisfying. From then on, my attitude towards photgraphy has taken a complete U-turn. I not only appreciate it as a viewer, but also enjoy being behind the lens myself.

I could go on and on with such incidences. I walked past the board in my school for 5 years without giving it a glance, and then one day, I just stopped and read. It was a Harivansh Rai Bachchan poem - Jo beet gayi so baat gayi. And i realised the beauty of poetry and the power of the written word.

Life is like a tightly closed bud. You have to prod it open, little by little, for it to reveal its most beautiful parts to you. What is it about sounds, and words and lines and colour that moves me so much? I dont know yet. But I can spend the rest of my life finding out.

Choices

Left
Right
Middle of the road

Obey
Ignore
Dinner table conversation

Good
Bad
Matter of perspective

I
You
We

Conform
Rebel
Reformer

Yes
No
Maybe

Black
White
Or Gray?

Black, White or Gray?

Gray...
Maybe.

NANO OR NA NA?

So. The biggest story in the Indian car market. NANO launched. Finally.
People are rejoicing. Ecstatic. Someone, somewhere in a little town in India is anxiuosly counting his finances to make sure he can have a slice of this very deliciuos pie. In fact i think a lot of someones would be doing that at this very minute.
I, however, am apprehensive. And not just a bit. I am VERY apprehensive. And sad. And feeling tired already, thinking of the long traffic jams that i can imagine in the near future. And coughing already, inhaling the fumes of the air around me, poisoned from the exhaust of a million cars running all over the country.
Yup, im a member of that gang. The gang that seems to be coming in the way of the Common Man's aspirations. Hell, I AM the common man. Why does the common man need a car? Because its a status symbol? Because its something to flaunt to your social circle? Or because its essential to have a car if you want to get around the city easily? I would like to think, the third. (Even though I know most people would go with the first two).
Well guess what. I think traffic problems and poisonous air getting into my precious lungs is way more important than showing off my car as a advertisement for my financial prosperity.
If TATA really wants to fulfill the Common Man's aspirations, then how about designing a bus thats cheap? A public transport vehicle that the governement can invest in? Isnt that the way forward for our vehicle clogged cities? Once there is a good and efficient Public Transport system in place, the need for an individual car would decline automatically. Other aspirations would become more important.
And two fingers to the a car as a 'Status Symbol'. People in London dont own cars. They use the tube. Parking is too expensive in the city. Nobody complaints of having a lower status, nobody feels they are inferior. Its the same in New York. Why, then, are we in India so fixated with all this 'owning a big car' thing?
So, Mr. Ratan Tata, I hope you are ready to take on the responsibility for a very dirty and messy future, which you have helped shape for us, the Common Men and Women of India. Kudos to your corporate social responsibility!

Scary Notions

As a rule, I dont get scared easily. Im not afraid of cockroaches, insects, lizards or other such generally-deplorable creatures (how can be, with my house getting such visitors at all times of the day). Im certainly not scared of dogs (yes, some people are). Im not afraid of the dark, or travelling alone on Delhi roads, or a million other things that find a place in the 'What are you scared of?' column of personal factsheets on facebook.


But i do get scared when i read, hear or see Climate Change around me. Really Really Scared. I get a horrible wobbly feeling in my stomach - like you used to get when you lied to your mum about having your milk and she found the untouched glass kept in the refrigerator, or the kind of feeling you get when you're caught bunking school by that devil of your teacher in the shopping mall. Oh yes I do. I know it sounds strange and rather blown out of proportion but thats how it is. So I change channels, fold the newspaper or simply walk out of the room (nature calling!) in the middle of an engaging discusion. Some escapist I am...

Most people would think I have gone a little overboard with the whole save-environment thing, but to me, anybody with enough imagination should be able to see clearly where all this is headed. I mean, I dont even need to imagine it, I can see it in front of me - in the off-season rainfall that Delhi has seen this year, in the number of water tankers that we called twice a week for 8 months last year because there is no ground water left in my colony, in the numerous devastating hurricanes that have hit US coasts, and most recently- in the severe oil price rise that has burned holes large enough for me to slip through (im really slim by human standards though) in all our pockets.


Today I read in the newspapers that the government has initiated a ban against plastic bags in Delhi. Wow, im shocked. And impressed. But most of all, sceptical. One good step the Government has taken - but what would the reaction of the general citizenry be? So angry that its fodder enough for the Opposition to break the current government to pieces. Its really amazing how determinedly adamant we are about destroying ourselves, our home, and our future generations! In our quest to seek our goal, we will fight against each small effort, parry every blow of well meaning action, and break every wall of protection erected against our own tirade. WHATEVER HAPPENS, I WILL NOT LET MY HOME BE SAVED! That seems to be the message we're giving out.

But I want to ask ourselves - Are we really this bad? Are we really this indifferent toward our OWN health, life and home? I would like to think, not. It's really not that difficult to carry our own bag everytime we go to the grocery shop, to close the lights or the water tap when not in use, to recycle and reuse wherever possible, to refrain from washing our cars or our driveways with hosepipes, to segregate waste at home, to reduce use of plastic as far as possible, and to generally 'green' our routine. Its certainly not 'below' us. Dont we invest hours of our precious time and money in shopping in malls for that perfect outfit, or in beauty treatments and personal care? Well we certainly can invest a fraction of that time in adopting practises which would ensure a healthy future for us, and our children.

If nothing else, I want to appeal to our most selfish and basic instinct for survival. Forget about being an altruistic, too good to be true flag holder for the environment. WE SHOULD DO THIS FOR OURSELVES. For Our health. Our lives. And Our Home.

So I'm forwarding this to all the people i know, in the hope that they will help me save my as well as their health. Because I alone can't undo all, that we as a race have created.

Shocked

Shocked. Scared. And Angry.

My Artwork - 2

Portrait

charcoal pencil with white highlights on gray cartridge sheet

Still Life

graphite pencils on gray cartridge sheet

Still Life

colour pencils on gray cartridge sheet

Still Life

colour pencils on white cartridge sheet

Untitled

colour pencils and dry pastels on white cartridge sheet

Untitled

dry pastels on white cartridge sheet with black background

Dry pastels on white cartridge sheet

Dry pastels on white cartridge sheet

Autorickshaws and Liberty

What do aoturickshaws have to do with liberty, one might ask. A lot, actually! Just a few days back i was returning home from East Delhi in an auto with a female friend who had not been on autos that much - and the excitement on her face was palpable! She must have mentioned this seemingly insignificant piece of information to each of the 6-7 friends she recieved a call from - it was quite funny. We lead such a protected, glass-covered life that even one little trip in an auto on our own is a statement of our independance. Not for me so much - all the years of travelling on my own, haggling over the fare and beating the sun and the dirt has somewhat diminished my feelings of liberty and freedom [:-)] but nevertheless, it does give you a sense of control and responsibility. And its the same for all my other girlfriends - most of them are driven everywhere by their parents - i guess it does become a little stifling...

Cooking in and Cooking out

I remember I was quite amazed to realize that most of the chefs working in hotels and restuarants are men. I must have been eight or nine then. Growing up in a society which has very clearly defined roles for both men and women, I took it for granted that cooking was an activity reserved for the female half of the society. And mind you, I was quite proud of it! There was atleast one thing of absolute necessity that only women could do, and do brilliantly. But when it came to cooking for a salary, it was men again. What a disappointment it was, and such a paradox! When in the confines of the home, and for the family, cooking is a women's duty, and the kitchen her haven. Some of the best sops are written in the kitchen you know. But the moment it becomes a source of income and economic independance, it goes over in the male territory. My economics textbook lists household work as not being an economic activity, since it is done 'out of natural love and affection for the family'. I guess only women can work out of natural love and affection, not men...

Colours

This is a story i wrote two years ago when i was in 10th standard.
....................................................................................................................

Colours

Old, wrinkled eyes survey a colourful canvas hung in front. It is a pretty thing, with hues of numerous colours, light and dark, happy and sad, blending together to form a pleasing image. The strokes are dextrous, and cover the entire space with bold and sweeping movements. Light plays shadows on it, illuminating and darkening, creating millions of colours of the few painted on the cloth. But these eyes seek for something beyond this superficial imagery, these technicalities and tangibles, for that which is fundamental and intrinsic. What they find however is a diminished, faded, but not completely lost, faint memory.

‘Colours’
“I never could understand the meaning behind this painting…Colours…apt title though…”

“Indeed. What do see in this artwork, young lady?”

“As the title suggests, a clever mix of colours…Sir”

“Ah! Yes, a clever mix of colours. An honest and accurate description. Young lady, you are seeing all, and yet not seeing anything! A clever mix of colours! These colours, they are not dead pigments, but are brimming with life and vitality. Feel what you see, and you will find that these colours have a language of their own, one which is simple and universal. Each has it’s own story to relate, and layers upon layers to unravel and explore…Feel them, live them, celebrate them…”

Feel them…colours? Were they not mere entities? Or was there was more to them than what met the eye? Could they really have a language of their own?

Perhaps they did. But they weren’t going to give up their secrets so easily, oh no. They were individuals in their own right, and quite elusive ones too! It was only little by little that they opened their hitherto hidden treasure trove to be looted freely. And then, suddenly they sprang up everywhere, even in the most obscure places - the plain bland walls of the room, the seemingly blank piece of paper; they inhibited thoughts and affected actions. Reds and blues, yellow, green and purple, white and black, and each having millions of shades of their own. This palette was truly unpredictable, inexhaustible, and eternally exciting.

Life became a canvas. Every day was a new stroke, every minute a new shade, every emotion a new tinge…

The eyes come to pause on the Blue. It reminds one of the blue skies and the blue ocean, and the vast blue horizon where the two are united together. Peaceful and serene, at once dominating like the giant flood waves yet tranquil like the calm sea, it is rivalled only by the Red, piercing through it like a bullet.

Red is everything that blue is not. It is bright and stimulating, tantalizing and intense, arousing a thrill of passion inside. It is the colour of love and the colour of blood, and the colour of the intense heat that it generates around it.

The canvas became a confidante and a companion. Faithful and patient, it silently bared the incessant emotional outbursts, accepting sorrow, angst and hostility as readily as joy, love and affection. Like a mirror that reflects everything falling on impartially, it was also ruthlessly honest, showing all in the language of its colours, never hiding anything, never glossing over…

It became a confession chamber, where even the most closely guarded vices were unhesitatingly revealed, where actions were not manipulated, where feelings were poured out from the soul itself…

Yellow is warm and relaxing, like the sunshine on a bright winter morning. It energizes and inspires, wishing to influence all into it’s own carefree and blithe world.

But not the Purple. Purple is cold and solemn. It resists and challenges the yellow, holding it’s own before it, contrasting immaturity with responsibility. Stoic and formal though it may be, it is also honourable and trustworthy.

Hues, shades and tints of all possible natures covered the canvas, mixing and merging together fantastically. Some were dull and pale, while others vivid and intense, some bold and daring, others meek and submissive. Life unfolded on the canvas, bit by bit, stroke by stroke…

Hope flickers in the eyes as they pass over the Green. Green is refreshing and fertile, productive and inspiring. It is the colour of Mother Nature, of our home- the earth.

Orange is stark and bright. It’s splendour somewhat overrides the gentleness of green, dominating as it is. It is daring and demanding, symbolizing sacrifice and bravery.

Coat upon coat built on the canvas, each layer having something new to offer, a different account to narrate. If Blue was calm and soothing, it could also be dull and depressing. The passion of Red could sometimes be dangerously overpowering. Green could denote jealousy and Purple uncertainty. And so too for the other colours. They each had multiple identities, at times contradictory in nature.

On the surface, it was just a meaningless piece of coloured cloth, but in essence, the canvas was a lifetime condensed. Each colour was as though screaming silently to be heard and acknowledged, to be viewed, to be felt, to be respected.

But something was amiss. The canvas was never complete, never whole, always hungry for more, always unfinished…

White… pure, truthful, and sacrosanct. The start as well as the end, in birth as well as in death, white is everywhere and anywhere, sometimes invisible, sometimes conspicuous.

How monotonous and dreary the canvas would be, if not for the variety and versatility of these colours! What was red without blue, how could the yellow shine if not for the purple, what was the magnificence of orange sans the meekness of gentle green? They each had a part to play, small or big, and each as crucial as the other. For the canvas to be whole, they all had to play their designated roles and be in perfect harmony with one another. This was the truth of the canvas and the truth of life. Without achieving this delicate balance, the canvas could never be whole…

Today however, the canvas is almost finished. Almost, but not quite. There is still one last stroke to paint, one more colour to be applied. As the old and wrinkled eyes watch with satisfaction, a frail hand deftly paints a white spot in the centre.

And as though from far off, a faint voice can be heard, saying-

‘Colours’
“Hm…wonder what the artist intends to convey through this collage of shades…she’s painted it beautifully though.”

Perhaps the eyes can awaken another ignorant person to the depths and meaning of these colours, just like they once were…

………………………………………………………………………………...

I would like to call myself an artist, and for an artist, colours are the medium of expression and the tools for communication. For me, colours have always been live and had an identity of their own. They are much more than just attractive additions to enliven a room or to titillate the eye. Indeed, they have taught me some of the most crucial lessons of life.

Life is like a canvas, and the canvas is bound to be colourful. These colours may not always be happy, or optimistic. Many times, in fact most of the times, they seem to be dreary and depressing. And this contrast is what makes the canvas interesting and challenging to create.

There never will be joy without sorrow, nor would we be able to cherish joy without having to endure sorrow, just like white without black, red without blue, and yellow without purple would be incomplete, boring and monotonous…

A Collection of my favourite Poems & Songs

Calling Me Coloured
When I born, I Black,
When I grow up, I Black,
When I go in Sun, I Black,
When I scared, I Black,
When I sick, I Black,
And when I die, I still black..
And you White fella,
When you born, you Pink,
When you grow up, you White,
When you go in Sun, you Red,
When you cold, you Blue,
When you scared, you Yellow,
When you sick, you Green,
And when you die, you Gray..
And you calling me colored??

-Anonymous

Bavra Mann

Bavra mann dekhne chala ek sapna
Bavra mann dekhne chala ek sapna

Bavre se mann ki dekho, bavri hai baatein
Bavri si dhadkane hain, bavri hain saanse
Bavre se karvaton se nindiya kyon bhage
Bavre se nain chahe, bavre jharokhe se
Bavre nazaaron ko takna!
Bavra Mann...

Bavre se is jahaan mein, bavra ek saath ho
Is sayaani bheed mein bas, haathon mein tera haath ho
Bavri si dhun ho koi, bavra ek raag ho
Bavre se pair chahen, bavre taraano ke
Bavre se bol pe thirakna!
Bavra Mann...

Bavra sa ho andheraa, bavri khamoshian...
Thartharate lau ho maddham, bavri madhoshian
Bavra sa ghunghta chahe, haule haule bin bataye
Bavre se mukhde se sarakna!
Bavra Mann...

-Swanand Kirkire
(Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi)

Ud Jaayega

Ud Jayega...
Ud jayega hansa akela, hansa akela
Jag darshan ka mela
Jag darshan ka mela

Jaise paat gire taruvar pe
Milna bahut duhela...
Na jaanu, kidhar girega
Na jaanu, kidhar girega
Lagya pawan ka rela...

Ud Jayega...hansa akela

-Kabir

On a Day Like Today

Free is all you gotta be
Dream dreams no one else can see
Sometimes ya wanna run away
But ya never know what might be comin round your way ya
Ya ya

On a day like today
The whole world could change
The suns gonna shine
Shine thru the rain
On a day like today
Ya never wanna see the sun go down
Ya never wanna see the sun go down

Somewhere - theres a place for you
I know that you believe it too
Sometimes if you wanna get away
All ya gotta know is what we got is here to stay
All the way

On a day like today - the whole world could change
The suns gonna shine - shine thru the rain
On a day like today - no one complains
Free to be pure - free to be sane
On a day like today
Ya never wanna see the sun go down
Ya never wanna see the sun go down

Free is all we gotta be
Dream dreams no one else can see
But ya never know what might be comin for you and me ya
Its gonna be

On a day like today...

Bryan Adams

Anandotsava

Utsav ka arth hai : Anugraha
Utsav ka arth hai : Dhanyavaad
Utsav ka arth hai : Mujh apaatra ko itna diya!
Itna jiski naa mein kalpana kar sakta tha
Na kamnaa! Meri jholi mein pura aakash bhar diya!
Mere hriday mein pura astitva undel diya!
Mere is chote se ghat mein shashwat amrit dal diya!

-Osho

Bin Tere Tu Hi Bata

Bin tere tu hi bataa kaise guzaara hoga
Tu naa ho samne yeh kisko ganvaara hoga

Itna keh dijiye, lillah! ke ham aate hain
Doobne waale ko tinke ka sahara hoga (Wah!)
Bin tere tu hi bataa...

Gam-e-tufaan se naa dar, haar na himmat-e-dil
Inhi maujon mein kahin dhoondh kinaara hoga
Bin tere tu hi bataa...

Haar kuchch aisi hui, abke 'Nizami Ragi'
Umra bhar khela magar, aisa naa haara hoga
Bin tere tu hi bataa...

-Nizami Ragi

My Artwork

Graphite Pencils on Ivory sheet

(copied from a photograph)

Still Life

Graphite pencils on Cartridge sheet

Landscape

Graphite Pencils on Cartridge sheet

Portrait (My Father)

Graphite Pencils on Cartridge sheet

Watercolours on Cartridge sheet