Not Just Images

Every image has a story to tell. Every ray of light was waited for to be captured in order to make the image immortal.
These are some of my favorites - by very talented photographers.

Credits: Ankur Aras, Annie Leibovtiz, Danilo Lex, Greg Gorman, Hans Neleman, Helmut Lang, Lillian Bassman, Micheal Grieves, Rafiq Ellis, Robert Freeman, Sam Abell, Tarun Khiwal, Tasar Qureshi and Zubin Shroff.

There are many more, just that I don't know them, yet.

Fetters

(I)

I move with potential partners from season to season,
I find some promising:
The colour of his teeth nearly meets my crockery.
His voice sounds like the ticking of my antique Blackforest clock.
His hair as smooth as my apothecary table.

Your eyes are molten caramel, he says.
Your lips are pink as raw strawberry
Your skin as alluring as the frosted snow.
Your body as sinful as a sand dune.

They jabber and I fall asleep.

“I thought this one was going to last: (No jokes, truely... truely)
His eye colour matched my drapes quite seamlessly: it was like divine intervention!”

(II)

Why should I only love you?
Be tethered to the same arm?
-----You should be my Sunday man, instead.

Polka Dotted Memory

Selective is the word I like to use. I have a thread-like memory and I am unreasonably proud of it. Loud-mouth and Monarch have a photographic memory- they remember every single thing I said, wore, did! The latter uses it against me in an argument and the former doesn't. I live by convenient memories of people, places and experiences: it's a technique- if I like it, I keep it. What I don't like, goes- period.

There is a horrific drawback to these colourful specks of polka dots. The background of everything that is not there-- the islands becomes so arbitrary. 'x' thing in a person stays 'y' is excluded. Derrida would have argued and the lit freak in me would agree that everything is complete in itself and does not look outside to determine it's existence.

What happens to the fabric around? Who will weave that? Do mixed facts count as realities? Can choice come without a package? Is having the best moments as the only moments sinful? Why can't we only relish the delicious and garbage the bland? I don't have answers and frankly I ain't looking for any.

I love making and having collages around me precisely for this reason. They make a pretty picture- jumbled realities, torn parts that recollect the hollow in a page. Every piece was picked up over time and has found its place on a creme, burgundy, cobalt, turquoise or crimson hand-rolled paper. A secular Tibetan script art juxtaposing MTV's trance images.

Moreover they are my life: fancy, thought provoking and above all picture perfect!

Happy Dying

R we always upset with death? I have come to understand 'not necessarily'.
Halo died yesterday afternoon. My very sweet bro called up crying to deliver this news. The fact that he partially detested his father didn't count. My grandma is probably the best 'cool chick' i have met in a long time: the global influence with Indianess really works magic. She also acted as a foil for him.

Halo never drank water (only beer) or had a straight conversation. On one of his vacations, he woke up late and Sugandha asked him if he had finished his bath. He promptly replied “ujed pad le la disat nahi ka?” (Can't u see the halo around me?') -- she n mom were baffled; dad and I burst into laughter. It's a family tradition that my dad and sometimes me keep up.

He was the generational torch and now that torch died, none of his siblings are alive and I don't think anybody misses them either. We remember him (actually everybody) only for his idiosyncrasies; they were all bonkers.

Instance: his eldest brother had a habit of locking everything (the big antiques locks). When we visited them, he would unlock the TV case unit and the kitchen cupboard, so that we could watch cartoon and mom can make some snacks sufficient for 6 people. I had declared him crazy long ago.

Halo hated to part with his gifts- even if they were useless-- like flowers. On his grand 70th birthday, we received the bouquets enough to open a florist store. They took all the backseat space in three cars to carry them home (& i had started to sneeze my head off). We were encouraging close relatives to take the ones they liked till Halo was furiously remarked, “we will make another trip to pick them up, they are mine; i will chew the petals and pee in the pots.” That made us laugh and offended most of the relatives.

Its funny but also infuriating to live with someone like him. Once he n Granny had a fight and he told her “don't come with me- i don't want you there and on the same flight”: she retorted- “Germany doesn't belong to your father, you can take another flight out if u want!” All this is crude Marathi! It was hilarious, she walked into the bedroom and laughed- saying he was a mad old man. I love her spirit to laugh at the sick things in life.

I am hoping that she takes this loss the same way-- with little strength and a heighten spirit.

all that jazz

This post comes in weeks late. I hadn’t thought of it till yesterday: I met up with faddy and spied on his phone friend, who refused to meet him. We came to talk of liars: lie because you fear judgement, consequence, losing. I know I am not going back there coz I lied about who I was! Why do we feel the need to create and cover up? Size 34 for 36, 5 feet 5.5inches for 5-6, plump for fat, subtlety for rage, discipline for boredom; luxury for can’t have; then there are bigger fantasies incorporated to spice up life or tune it down; hey why?

Fear of being judged, left out, accused and then abused… silently maybe, in actions or whispers… what I feel right now is: mortified. Family does that to you; they have a special grapevine of aunts and onkels, who use Bell’s invention to its maximum cruelty: emphatic question marks, exclamations, fake jaw drops, accusations. I have over-heard them and jeered at mom and she has jeered back. “You r stupid, naive and trust people too soon; one needs is a donkey’s IQ to tie u around a ninny.” In a vague context, she may be right.

Let me reiterate Jesus's Q “Are u flawless to judge?” have u never tripped? Never loved someone who didn't give you another option? Never trusted the wrong people? Never fell flat on your face?

Style Icon was returning to the heart of the big apple and I went to have dinner with the family an hour before his departure. I had discussions with the wise capitalist throughout the day; her patent ‘why bother’ violated my desire. I was unsure, when there was no need to be- dad at the same time, with his undying enthusiasm couldn't make it. I did go and had a nice time too… a drink with the boys’ chats with uncle and aunt: I saw how things were crumbling and how they were building, slowly.

I love family functions, small gatherings, meeting cousins. I am also heavily influenced by the wise capitalist; I like her cold pragmatism, it works for her. I don’t know if it does for me that well. I think I am too much of a family leech.

MiL

When the mocking bird don't sing mama will get you a diamond ring, when the diamond ring loses it's shine, mama will get you a crystal chime...
College years-- lit class: 5 friends, 1 tough group to break.
Mil (mother-in-law) of the group, was the only bitch who hit me, called me names and loved me like an idiot. Mil loved kids, I hated them: she rapped me for my dead baby jokes and yelled out from the first floor when i sat in the lawn or dated the wrong guy--, cursed me for licking arse, blessed me for being a silent spy: the practical, grounded hard-working bitch from the land of few good women.
Mil also wore the most amazing firang bars~, lived in plush bandra n stood by what she believed no matter who said what/ where! Dear Mil, you have a happy life and that will be complete with many happy babies, who look just as pretty as you. love you in bundles, babes!

Hmmm again.

You have to be silly and sad and very high on dopamine ---------
There are no pragmatic love stories.

Shifting Ground

It's very painful when the man you know, admire and love the most is not really the man you want to bed, marry or wake up with 20 years down the line.
I am at the signpost of distanced, crippled with infinite unnamed loved and cold fright:

I am afraid of another woman
I am.
I love you without thought:
Your tenderness packaged in a stuffed red rose-To avert allergy,
The black mamba soft toy-to avert danger.
Your care pinches me
Even as I guiltlessly change
Calendar pages.
I love you more than a man/ woman
But you can’t be just ‘the one’
My fairy-tale's hedious prince.
I will hold your carpel tunnel hands in mine.
Kiss your balding head,
Ignore your East Indian propaganda.
However I can’t rummage my tongue in your maxillofacial jaw.
I love you and will hurt you: just to hold you.
I will keep you away from another woman
I am afraid you will fall in love
I am afraid you will like it.
I am afraid you will forget—
You scorn me,
I use my power on you.
I want you to have a garden,
Have a swing on the porch
Conduct Tai Kwan Do classes.
I want you to make me Thai curry
However, only once a year.

Gelastic Grief

It's a shallow misery that I am bound by right now. its the shock of something that you knew would happen and when it happens, surprisingly enough it shocks you! hilarious but true.

The pain is funny: feels like a combination of 'pit in your stomach and heart burn'.
I was worried about never meeting Ass insured. never knowing how he has grown, even though i kept a record of the colleges he went to, the prizes he won. its still not the same. i wanted to meet him before he fell away at destiny's childish whim. i searched for him for months and years, of means to reach him, hint it out. i wanted to stay and travel to places only to bump into him, only to accidentally find him and say, hey~!
I knew the day we meet, it would be magic, i know he can't possibly forget me either: I can never push those sandstone eyes into oblivion with the fire and depth in them.
After six years i find him in my backyard - married less than two months ago, with name, numbers to reach him and the home address written only to be used.

Life is funny and thankfully so! :))