Monday, February 27, 2012

Eklavya :)




Only that child will tell you,

The story of a self portrait,

The song of freedom, we not know of,

Only that child will tell you,

Who has never seen and felt firm sweaty palms.

Every little blink will have a hidden glare,

Every jump will be without bounds,

Every morsel will be dry,

Every season will be just a condition,

Only that child will tell you,

Who has never seen and felt firm sweaty palms.

For home is now a shelter for a hundred heads,

All my own companions in solitude,

This home is not home,

Home is just a distant imagery.

What you see my friend,

Is my wide jaw,

Not my silent night,

Where the moon is my only confidant,

Whom I am afraid to share my dreams,

For he is a mutual confidant.

All I need is your sweaty palm,

To count on,

When the moon will go away,

You shall be my shell,

Who are you?

Why do you come here?

What am I doing here?

I shall go away soon,

To where I shall belong,

But I will always know the story of a self portrait,

And then I shall paint the sweaty palms,

Firm and warm, hopefully!

Friday, February 17, 2012

This is for you Anusha, when you grow up you will still be the wave :)



Time is a wave,

Dancing in glory when it’s young,

A little vicious in the middle,

Invisible in the end.

And so is age!

This is my six year old niece, Anusha. From all the pictures I took during my Goa trip, this one is my favorite. For a viewer a picture is a story, for the photographer it’s a canvas. When she went into the sea she almost seemed like the waves, dancing in glory just like a few other children enjoying the sea and this is what I like about being young, being full of energy and fresh thoughts. They don’t know much of the world outside because they are so absorbed in the world inside them. The world that dissolves in adolescence and becomes desire in adulthood.

How old are you? Are you still dancing in glory or is the world inside you a distant desire?

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

There is nothing called straight and curved, it's all in the head :)



Lines are the best thing that can happen to an artist. Highly elemental, symbolic and magical thats how I define lines. In all my diaries I have a million lines everywhere; lines of different thickness, intensity & colors. People often ask me why I draw lines, I could never answer this question in fact it isn't a question. While I was in Madhubani, Bihar last year I met a beautiful person called Santosh Kumar Das, an artist and a warm human being.
Santoshji, a graduate from the MS University of Fine arts Vadodra is someone who uses lot of lines in his work. I stayed there for a month and spent a lot of time with him. Santoshji always said, "Observe each and every line when you draw, draw it from your heart. It is absolutely fine if the line isn't straight as long as its intuitive."
I came back with lot of energy in me and I started using even more lines in my work. I like them, I relate to them. They are very nice to you if you are nice to them. If you haven't found the joy in drawing lines from your heart, you are missing on a lot, trust me.
So if you have read this post open your sketch book and draw lines. Remember there is nothing called straight or curved, its all in the head. :) Till you get your sketch book you can stare at the above, its fun.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Its a funny place to be.



I wonder very often, this is such a funny world. People are people for a while until you experience them. How do you experience them? You know so many people, at the same time you hardly know anyone. I know so many things about myself, there are so many things others know of me. Are they true or for that matter what is it to be true? It’s just a funny world; everything is here for a while, just for a while.

I know you for a while or for quite some time, but who knows why I know you. How do I know till when do I know you and from when do I know you. Is it really a funny world?

There is so much to everything, that I feel I should close my eyes for a while. What if I forget how to open them again? I am made of me and me is just a miniscule of what makes me, me. I want to stand for a while, wet my feet and move them in mid air.

It’s just a funny world; it has nothing much to it.