a selfportrait of sorts. :O)

the earth laughs in flowers.

Also me and the mother's Suleman Chai has been Masala Chai-ed
http://masalachaionline.blogspot.com/.

Full joy. :)

Sugar crystals

Oh look its a calender.
Only it doesn't really function. (yet)
Time has told me not to ask for more.
Also-
After months, I think its time to finally make it official:

so yes.
That.
:O)
doo bee dooo de doop doop de doooo.
May you be showered with a dozen balloons.

Fireworks

Today there were fireworks in my city.
Not in the sky. But 8 explosions.
Yes, It didn't hurt. It could have been worse.
But it represents a drive that worries me.

I understand destruction.
With each drop of ink the space that was my canvas is broken.
with every syllable silence is dead.
But out of this death is born creation. the cycle continues.
(and on and on and on)
and there's so much love to give. there's so much love to give.
Here we are. Poets.painters.philosophers.politicians. desperately trying to grasp what we're born into. All the immensity. trying to imitate. trying to emulate.
'but art can never imitate. It can only inspire.'
We cannot play god. through bombs. through paint.
The approach should then not be to imitate. To have 'creation' at your fingertips.
but to thank.

I could spend years painting a mountain. It will never be the mountain itself.
trapped on paper. not so vivid.
in technicolour.
(It will never be the mountain.)
It only expresses love for that mountain.
It is not to make it mine. But to make it me.
Love is:
Anterior to life.
Posterior to death
Initial to creation
the exponent of breath.

we anticipate Desire
and dismiss it.
We cling to dreams
but give in and taste Desperation.
We decide that desire is desolate.
Dreaming is not.

And go back to waiting.
And fall asleep.

We awaken.
And see that it's not even a dream we wait for.

It's destiny.
(all turns to dust)


(Oh and there's so much love to give. there's so much love to give. there's so much love to give)

First photograph a part of a project where I used my body as a canvas.
second illustration for ING vysya foundation.

Shanti Shloka

15 days spent in Sikkim.
I went there in search of peace.
and I found it. In every drop of rain.
Mist that erased mountains.
In Silence.
In sunlight.

To yellow walls.
to our bodies that we underestimate.
To remembering divinity.
and the absolute.
and love found not in fingertips
but every thing that shimmers.

much much more later.
Sacred lakes, Monks, Peace, Art, Hollowlands.
Simplicity.

Half Shiva Half Shakti

Half Shiva-Half Shakti.

Blue skin. Rivers flow from your hair.

Lotus. Love. Creation. Destruction

The end. A beginning.

Masculine. Feminine.

With the moon near your crown.
and a lotus on your skin.

Thank you.

Lend me your Wings

Stills from an animation I'm working on in my free time
to the song "let down" by radiohead.
all images photographed-drawn by me.
Here you will see insects, hot air balloons, cities made of glass bottles.
and much much more.

your eyes have their silence

I've always been afraid
of bringing things I create with my hands
into a digital world. I was afraid that maybe somewhere between the
blinking screen and the ink on my fingers
something would be lost. like the silver key you kept in your coat pocket.

blue lines that only some light can percieve.
I've decided to trust electrons zipping through invisible space
with my soul stretched out in inks

And scan pages off my notebook. for a million mirrors to see.
and open me.

"we can create kingdoms of our own
grand purple thrones
those chairs of lust
and love we must
on beds of rust"

'Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;....
...
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.'

obscured by clouds- meghalaya part 1

from calcutta we find our way to guwahati,
Guwahati is paan-chewing men
with red mouths
that lick their lips when a woman walks by
Escape from this city. this weary-washed-out wasting city.this broken jaw of our kingdom.
To a greener place, a softer world.
Everything is green.
Greener than apple.
Greener than sea.
Greener than envy, than eden. than sky.
The hills start to appear and I'm tongue tied and twisted.
Its starts to get colder. My toes are cold again. I've missed this feeling.
The air is sweet. I buy strawberries, a mango, 4 bananas and litchies for lunch.
Four hours later we're in shillong. Shillong itself is over-rated. Like Shimla or ooty main towns.The next morning we shake dreams from our hair and explore shillong a little. walk around whatever part of the city is walkable and then go to a butterfly museum. This made me happy but we wanted more from the north east.
Let down and hanging around.
Ten minutes later our bags are packed and we're in a taxi to Cherrapunji where we'll stay with the taxi drivers aunt who has an extra room she'll rent out.
So we leave this city with its blue windows and small eyes.

The Ride to Cherrapunji is surreal. Like Sigur Ros or dali painted these landscapes with their soundwaves or a brush and ink.There are clouds here that try to swallow me. Swallow this little village that has never been mapped out. This topographic tale that was never written down. This hill that was ignored when the kings or fools came down from their thrones to own the land. It rains. and then it stops. It rains again. and ceases. again. There are trees. She is sleeping next to me and we are still driving to our destination but I tell them to stop and go for a walk in this forest.tall trees with their branches sticking out in right angles like arms and I look up. The sky is an unbelievable blue, like the requisite technicolor surreal dance number in some musical.
It starts to rain. Big blue drops of water this time. And each drop licking the leaves before falling on my head. I sat down and wrote sentences down with a purple ink pen and liked how my carefully thought out words dissolved as drops of rain fell on the page.
Drenched to the soul/bone. The trees shuddered. I shiver. And find my way through the trees back to the car parked by the side of the road
We start moving again through the rain, through the clouds and I fall asleep.
In my dreams I'm in a forest surrounded by trees. I can see some words etched into a tree..i see a light. the light illuminates the words from the back. The light reflects off whisps of brown straw, green blades and gray reed. Like a negative on a light table. The color is intense. It's twilight.The ground is dull, but the words glow. I wake up before I can read what it says.
There is land. Stretched out everywhere like sky.There are clouds. and more clouds. We drive through them carefully afraid that somewhere in that mist is a truck waiting to crash into us.
There are graves. Crosses sticking out of the hills like hands and fingers thrust up from the earth. Reaching out to the sky. There are little temples with pink dried up flowers at the entrance. And there is cold.
There is always cold.