Sunday, January 20, 2019

Riddled Rider

charmer on the road
drawing attention
only at traffic lights
or tight jams
ignored otherwise
as the world and its harried people
pass by

Bhashwati wrote:
Jab rangeela riddled rider tayyaara ho ke ghar se nikalta hoga for his day's work... us se pehle apni gaadi ko saaf karta hoga, apna make up karta hoga, apne rangeen accessories ko tarteeb se rakhta hoga, tiffin dabba leta hoga, ghar ki mahila se.

Aur sochta hoga

Do teen chaar meherbaan logon ki nazar padhe to baat ban jaaye.
What do people want?
Dont they like the colours?
the gods? the tassells?
Why are they so unseeing?
Should they not be paying for the spectacle i offer them on the drab street?
Is a shiny car better than my rainbow chariot?

i wish i could ask these qs in his words, in his language.

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Monday, January 14, 2019

Through the Glass, Brightly

better to wonder
than try to comprehend
wicked contours
and splintered splices
of bewildering chaos
and contradiction
of populous life

drown it
to the point of distortion
until breathing halts

Anonymous wrote:

ek taral sawaal
wo gagan vishaal
par jhoomti daal
kya kiya kamaal
kaisey buna ye jaal

Anonymous wrote:

wicked contours and splintered splices of bewildering chaos and contradiction of populous life ... 

What an arrangement of words, what a 'fantastic' realistic description of the myriad shades of the existence phenomenon . Drowning it to the point of distortion would amplify the contradictions and magnify the bewilderment... perhaps liberating one from the need to comprehend. i love the audacity with which the djinn of chaos has been bottled (or glassed). 

And how deliciously the gold and green cascade down to nestle in the shaded base.

Friday, January 11, 2019


having knit
no nit-picking

plain and simple

shading light
shaping darkness

Tuesday, January 08, 2019

Evening, Ennore Beach, 1949

Trying to bring back a damaged and underexposed negative.

For information about my trip to Ennore in 1949, at the age of 13, with the noted photographer Shankarlal Davey, please see my earlier blog post:

Saturday, January 05, 2019

Waterfall: Drying Up

Look and you will find signs of scarcity, drying up, approaching extinction. Everything in the Universe goes through the process of being created from something larger, then fragmenting, and more fragmenting, and getting farther and farther, by its own natural forces. But to accelerate things, put Man into the picture, and, if given a chance, he would proceed, even if he fails to destroy, even the universe, he would even try to scratch vacuum. It makes even making a statement like, Long Live Mankind, difficult. Because while he destroys everything, the insanity will drive him to a state where in his own muddle, he will perish also. Good for him.

Tuesday, January 01, 2019

Spark of Life

Myself, at 16

Spark of life, the moment of being born alive. The journey begins, rarely straight; if and when, then by accident, always curving, crooked, backwards forwards. One goes through being human. Only some do so consciously, if they are curious.

Animals are automata. They exist, perish, without ever becoming aware of what humans name them; or even of their own signs or sounds, languages to which we are not privy unless trained.

Coming back to humans, they are a mixture of vanity, sense of inferiority, almost all of them not aware that pain and suffering, even happiness and joy, are figments of circumstantial situations and imagination ...

Saturday, December 29, 2018


I took this picture just before dawn in 1990, in the atrium of my old house in MRC Nagar. I saw the slice of blue in a gap in the parapet around the first floor of the atrium, and the shadowed angles which formed an L. I had to lie on the floor on my stomach, and twist my body to get the exact vantage that I needed.

My late, foolish but loving dog, Sheru, flopped down beside me for moral support. No one else was awake but us. That sliver of celestial blue, and the memory of that morning with my dog, gives me a moment of happiness.

Thursday, December 20, 2018

Sweeping the Heavens

With invention and unlimited imagination, we have made and are making our current home, Earth, inevitably impoverished; and who knows, perhaps soon even hostile. We are making, therefore, our new home ready for us, to do the same in outer space. And from there? Not to worry, there is a lot of space for us to keep on harming and moving away from, within our own galaxy and even beyond.

Monday, December 17, 2018

Balika Badhu

a child bride

The subject of the child bride must be part of almost all human cultures, manifesting itself in different forms, like, at best, marriage; at worst kidnapping, molestation, rape, purchase, prostitution, enslavement, etc.

In India, while myriads of writers have dealt with the subject, Sarat Chandra Chattopadhya, arguably one of the best writers of prose of whom India, and particularly Bengal, are proud, wrote most movingly on the subject, to emancipate the girl child as well as women.

There have been countless books on the subject. The ones that have been filmed in India have, among them, one which recurs again and again because of its name, Balika Bodhu (English: Child Bride), written by Bimal Kar, who received the Sahitya Akademi award, India's highest award for literature, in 1975.

In reality, the premium on virginity or on very young females continues to fascinate the so-called virility and sexual dominance of men throughout the world, whether through marriage or without it.

Indeed, human sexuality, at best, is the most unfair among all living creatures. At worst, it is 'inhuman'. Apart from Men being the main benefactors, in a lighter vein, the second biggest beneficiary is the profession of psychiatry.

My picture is a contrast to what I have written about, because of the tranquility and joy of anticipation in the eyes of the subject.

Pardon me if I have been unfair to the fair or unfair.

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Konarak, the Chariot of the Sun

Taken circa 1949. Note the people climbing the steps to the right, to see the chariot's enormous size. I took this picture with a borrowed box camera.