Content Preview: rss
83 days ago
A quiet, beautiful lady. An aquiline nose sitting atop the briefest smile, warm intelligent eyes hiding a perspicacious mind. In an age of the mundane, one of the last breeds of accomplishment, simplicity and hope. She smoked a lot but in her, it seemed less an idulgence or a statement but more a part of her intrinsic 'meh'. My mind's eye always imagined her in balmy old fashioned Bombay, long before it became Mumbai, at sixteen, perhaps or maybe seventeen, lighting up for the first time. She probably had long hair then and was gorgeous to behold in her immaculate skirts and jumpsuits. A doctor of skilled strength and learning, she wore her mantles lightly. It was again like the hairband on her short cropped hair, or the casual stubs of smoke on the table. Ordinary, everyday affairs. Not requiring special attention or treatment. But simply Is. ...
399 days ago
Every Diwali, every year, my sister would painstakingly draw elaborate designs around the house. There would be colours, candles and flowers intricately arranged into small acts of beauty. She'd spent hours labouring over a small neglected corner of the house and a few minutes over the centre pieces with magnificent results. The feminine touch, so to speak, was everywhere. Meanwhile, I'd use the holiday break to catch up on my reading and sleeping.. casually sauntering in and out of the welcome intimacies. It never made sense to me to spend hours over Rangoli which would be washed away in a day or two. It seemed too trivial, too demeaning a pursuit. Too female. In my utopian world, it perhaps smacked of sterotypes of bindi toting, sari clad, belan laden women. My sister could have been just another dutiful daughter fitting ino the right mould. So last year, when someone mentioned colours and decoration to a newly married me, I laughed it off. " Nah, not a chance. Not ...
990 days ago
Perspective... a word looping out from a strand of a half forgotten conversation. It all boils down to that one word. Really. Not who you are. But how you look at things. Not what you do. But how you do it. Perspectives.. Sound and light.. shadows and silence.. they come they go.. we filter images, register words, translate intentions. At the end of the day, we hold up this mosiac to the light of our own eyes and watch the truth emerge. Our own personal truth.. your truth.. my truth.. a credo of kinds. And if the shades, the differences were well captured, then sometimes, we can take a step back and view the full picture. Look at the different forces, the multihued voices that went into creating that framework, the emotions that gently sloped into the mould, some rushing fiercely in, others lingering, meandering through the hidden crevices of memory to emerge subtly...all to create that painting that glints the sun off the grass as we hold it up, looking with ...
999 days ago
He first and I behind, we climbed so high that through a small opening I saw some of the turning beauties of the sky. And we came out to see, once more, the stars. - Canto 34, Dante's Inferno
1001 days ago
So its spring time again. That beautiful transition between winter and summer when we shed our woolies and don spags with a shawl thrown on. As warmer bright hues give way to light pastels, along comes a jamborie of colours to help us select from the beautiful palatte unfolding outside our windows. Yep. Holi, it is. This Holi was not about Bhang and Revelry and Colours. It was a muted one which allowed the innocence of young ones to unfurl tenderly the joy of rubbing 'gulal' for the first time in their tiny hands. Let me elaborate.. My festival started by awakening to the sounds of an excited eight year old filling balloons and buckets of water. As early morning slowly gave way to lazy breakfasty Sunday newspapers..the excitement turned to grumbly "No one's coming to play with me." This from a child who had bawled copiously at 4 months to see himself pinked by bratty sisters and at 5 years, had thought he'd get slapped for daring to pour water on his ...
