Anniversary! 2

It’s the first anniversary of the lovely association with my “gentleman”. Those who may feel disinclined to clicking the embedded link, here’s how I feel about the gentleman (taken from my first post about the same).

“My hands taper gently and effortlessly. My feet come into motion ever so lightly as if things work on feather touch. I glide as we dance to the symphony of the magical music that we make together. I get intoxicated with the handsome facade and the smoothness of noiseless movement. The gibbous moon stares at us from above as we waltz together, the waltz turning allegro at times. But stopping gracefully was never a problem. Not a sweat on my brow, not a hair out of place. The litheness is remarkable. My head is still giddy with the vitality. There’s a jig in my step and a song in my heart.

If I can nestle comfortably in the lap after a long day, get wisps of my hair blown out of my eyes, get mesmerized by the dazzle of lights when we are together – why would I even agree with a darling friend of mine who insists that a brand new car should be treated like a newly wedded bride? My brand new car oozes gentlemanliness.”

With my gentleman I have indulged in many a “bondgiri” sessions and whisked across many a highway. I have also been aided a lot in my latest obsession – photography. A lot of sessions would never have been possible without the gentleman in tow. Needless to say it has been a smooooooth ride so far and I look forward to many other such times to come.


Pictures that speak

I tried my hand at portraiture recently both in terms of photography and writing. Here are some of the results. Apologies to those who have fed both my blog RSS feed as well as flickr RSS feed to their feed reader. :p.

Look into my eyes
Look into my eyes
Look into my eyes!
And you will find,
memories that linger,
and ties that bind.

Hold my hand
Hold my hand
Hold my hand,
for I seek comfort.
Be with me right here,
don’t let me hurt.

Psst!
Psst!
Who’s that dude?
Who’s now being so prude?
Does he think we don’t know,
that we were being viewed?

Speculate
Speculate
I notice of late
I rather speculate
on a lot of things surreal

But it’s better to ideate
than to vegetate.
Is it such a big deal?

Companionship
Companionship
We trudge together, careful never to peer into our shadows.
(not really a couplet, but what the heck, I like the pic)


Reflections 3


“What happened?”, I asked, having received an unexpected call.
“I called just like that”, she said, making me feel an instant twinge of guilt. But then I couldn’t be blamed for being startled.
“Where are you?”, I asked, hearing the unusual noises in the background.
“I am out in the park, taking a walk”.
Pause.
“A walk? In the park? You?”, I asked incredulously.
“Yes”, she said almost sheepishly. “I even went for a walk in the morning.”
“That’s something!”, I added
“And I even had milk both times in the day”, she added in a school girlish voice. It was a rare first when I had heard her talk like this. My next impulse was to tell her that she could tell her mom – she would be so pleased to hear that!

Thankfully I curbed that impulse just in time before blurting it out impulsively. For I realised with a pinch yet again, that my nani, her mom, was not around anymore. She had passed away last year. In the absence of a maternal figure, the school girlish glee of my mom had got directed to her daughter. Me. It unsettled me a bit.

I had been maternal with her on other accounts when I had lightly chided her for not taking her health seriously, for not pampering herself, for not going to the parlour regularly like all others in her “age group”. But I had barely been faced with situations like this where school girlishly reported activities are meant to be applauded.

Some years back, one fine day, it had suddenly struck me that my mom had already been married and had had me at the age that I was then. Suddenly things fell into a very different perspective altogether. A life full of tribulations whizzed past, clear as if crystal. How it must have been to adjust into a family that was huge, joint and difficult, how it was to be married to an army man who would mostly be away on postings, and all this in days when the world wasn’t even a mesh of the densely connected dots that it is today. All this at the age I was then. Suddenly I felt as if under her skin. I could relate to her much more, understand her more clearly without having to communicate anything. But I guess that’s natural. For I am her reflection, my mother’s daughter.


Magic paint

He cleaned the canvas thoroughly before starting. I watched on. Taut. Eagerly. Waiting to see new fresh colours. Bright ones. To go with the summers. To repel heat. He asked me my choice of colours. For a second it seemed like a million dollar question. Then I came up with the answers. With my assent, he dipped the brush in the paint. With deft strokes, he meticulously spread the paint. Once. Twice. Tweaking the spills and the deficits. Glorious results. He looked at me for approval. I nodded. Glee bursting inside me. The paint felt cool. Seeing the colour, tingled me further. Ah. Summers here I come. Mocking you. I danced my way out quickly. Eager to share the colours with the summer. And that’s how came about this fantastic end result. It so tickles me pink.


Ponderable Pink 1

Reflections

The colour of the petals,
the bright glittering light.

The pink that settles,
on the black granite.

In my memory eternally nestles,
this wonderful sight.

Clicked the orchids, the last of a bunch, by placing them on a black granite breakfast counter, with the bright summer sun filtering through the curtains.