From Thanneerbavi Beach, Mangalore.
Saturday, 31 May 2014
Friday, 30 May 2014
Treatise By An Abandoned One
Short memory is a very fine cover.
From the severe heat of
Black dark realities,
It is a swaying, rope bridge
Into the illusions of romantic elements.
What is the colour of silence
Is a probe that made the
Abandoned one tongue-tied.
The same tint of your skin
My heart still keeps, is the
Recalled yet, unuttered riposte.
Moonshine of memories,
Dreamy shadows, and
Remembrance, perhaps just be
The distance between the lapses.
A long way to go still and
Its that time, the darkness looms over.
Yet another call from behind, like the
Muffled twitter of a wet shadow of a pigeon
Came shivering, crawling and
Trailed off farther away...
From the severe heat of
Black dark realities,
It is a swaying, rope bridge
Into the illusions of romantic elements.
What is the colour of silence
Is a probe that made the
Abandoned one tongue-tied.
The same tint of your skin
My heart still keeps, is the
Recalled yet, unuttered riposte.
Moonshine of memories,
Dreamy shadows, and
Remembrance, perhaps just be
The distance between the lapses.
A long way to go still and
Its that time, the darkness looms over.
Yet another call from behind, like the
Muffled twitter of a wet shadow of a pigeon
Came shivering, crawling and
Trailed off farther away...
Wednesday, 28 May 2014
And, Then She Pecked Me Hard...
Jungle Barblers. Spotted from Calicut Home.
SS:1/400,f/5.6, ISO : 200, FL ; 300 MM NIKOR 70-300
Tuesday, 27 May 2014
Random Thoughts..
1. Futile Pursuits
(First thought when a friend said, that she is gonna live in with her boy friend)
Ants marching in
A vain search of
A lost dreg of
A molten cube in
An empty cup of
A dreadful coffee.
2. What The Mirror Conveyed
With a scope tilted inward
There is nothing elegant I could see,
But for the rotten innards of
A decaying soul and
Burned out embers of those
Long dead virtues.
(First thought when a friend said, that she is gonna live in with her boy friend)
Ants marching in
A vain search of
A lost dreg of
A molten cube in
An empty cup of
A dreadful coffee.
2. What The Mirror Conveyed
With a scope tilted inward
There is nothing elegant I could see,
But for the rotten innards of
A decaying soul and
Burned out embers of those
Long dead virtues.
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
The Hand That Feeds Is The Hand That......
From Jurong Bird Park .
SS:1/60 f/5.6, ISO: 400 FL 46 NIKOR 18- 55 MM
Monday, 19 May 2014
Friday, 16 May 2014
Thursday, 15 May 2014
When heavens poured..
Shot on a stormy day on the drive back from Coorg.
SS: 1/100, f/4.5, ISO : 400, FL : 170, NIKOR 70-300 MM
Wednesday, 14 May 2014
Its the lonely bird who sings the sweetest of melodies..:)
Its my kids Aadi and Aamy who had shown this to me while at In - Laws Place.
SS: 1/1600, f/5.6, ISO : 400 , fl : 300 MM, nikor 70- 300 MM.
Saturday, 10 May 2014
Ah Mumbai, I Am All Ears
"Appa, your kinda song" called out Aadi
My kind? Listened, liked it instantly and
That has set the ball rolling on a peep into.
Mumbai, may be many things to many a man
Gun totting gangsters, trigger happy cops,
Starlit boulevards where ageing stars of bollywood
Swoop down in their mean machines
Adding up chaos on top of chaos
Where humanity flows like a swarm of bees and
Millions of hopefuls , still sleep on the side walks
Where the saffrons and Greens glare at each other
The insanely demanding rat races, of
Barometers peeking up and popping out
Where people sleepwalk and pack
Themselves like iodized sardines
In the swaying tin boxes of locals,
It is still a city that gives much more than it takes.
To me, its the one that has given to me
The eclectic sense of sounds.
During the days of listless struggles,
It was the music, this city makes
That had given solace and kept me
From going insane.
Those days at the Kala Ghoda,
The Bavul Nights,
Sufy chants at Haji Ali,
The charmingly enticing "Jaydev jaydev jaymangal Murthy",
Sunday choirs at many a church,
Gyrating numbers at my Sikh pals great parties,
Rock raves we been to, all have made me love an
Array of sounds of liberating music,
I can tie many memories around.
Every time, I hear these strains,
The Sufi wails, when the church bells toll
When chants of Aum reverberates around
Its again a voyage to those lovely lanes
I left sometime back and
Now have an yearning to go back to.
Mumbai,
I am all ears...
My kind? Listened, liked it instantly and
That has set the ball rolling on a peep into.
Mumbai, may be many things to many a man
Gun totting gangsters, trigger happy cops,
Starlit boulevards where ageing stars of bollywood
Swoop down in their mean machines
Adding up chaos on top of chaos
Where humanity flows like a swarm of bees and
Millions of hopefuls , still sleep on the side walks
Where the saffrons and Greens glare at each other
The insanely demanding rat races, of
Barometers peeking up and popping out
Where people sleepwalk and pack
Themselves like iodized sardines
In the swaying tin boxes of locals,
It is still a city that gives much more than it takes.
To me, its the one that has given to me
The eclectic sense of sounds.
During the days of listless struggles,
It was the music, this city makes
That had given solace and kept me
From going insane.
Those days at the Kala Ghoda,
The Bavul Nights,
Sufy chants at Haji Ali,
The charmingly enticing "Jaydev jaydev jaymangal Murthy",
Sunday choirs at many a church,
Gyrating numbers at my Sikh pals great parties,
Rock raves we been to, all have made me love an
Array of sounds of liberating music,
I can tie many memories around.
Every time, I hear these strains,
The Sufi wails, when the church bells toll
When chants of Aum reverberates around
Its again a voyage to those lovely lanes
I left sometime back and
Now have an yearning to go back to.
Mumbai,
I am all ears...
Friday, 9 May 2014
Summer Rain Of A Dad..
He sounded very feeble
Unlike the man he once was
"I heard" he said "what you wrote"
Picking on a Love Hate duel;
An innocuous note that
I have penned in an obscure magazine.
"How come you feel that I hate you?"
It was more of an aside
Than a question.
Could see a lonely trickle
Of a solitary pearl
Swelling inside the only good
Eye that he still has.
How could I tell him ,
That it was me who had hated him?
How could I break a heart
Thats already been broken?
Its raining outside,
Summer rains; unpredictable
Like the man in the bed now
I moved closer to him
So close, could feel the tired
Beats of trailing rhythm
Looking at me, he lay there
Like a drenched puppy,
Waiting to be held.
In an embrace,
We became one
Yet, again.
Its
Raining inside
Now.
Unlike the man he once was
"I heard" he said "what you wrote"
Picking on a Love Hate duel;
An innocuous note that
I have penned in an obscure magazine.
"How come you feel that I hate you?"
It was more of an aside
Than a question.
Could see a lonely trickle
Of a solitary pearl
Swelling inside the only good
Eye that he still has.
How could I tell him ,
That it was me who had hated him?
How could I break a heart
Thats already been broken?
Its raining outside,
Summer rains; unpredictable
Like the man in the bed now
I moved closer to him
So close, could feel the tired
Beats of trailing rhythm
Looking at me, he lay there
Like a drenched puppy,
Waiting to be held.
In an embrace,
We became one
Yet, again.
Its
Raining inside
Now.
Tuesday, 6 May 2014
Thursday, 1 May 2014
Past Present And Glimpse Of Future..
Shot from an art show at Kadri Hills. The white curtain at the bg is where they used to hang the paintings and drawings.
SS:1/160, f/3.5, ISO : 80, FL:6.6 MM, Canon IXY D930 IS
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