When nostalgia hits

Like drops of water
that create a ripple
in the calm blue lake

Thoughts of you
enter my mind
and reverberate

Aargh!!

I’m not in the best of moods
So please bear with my rants
The fucking client doesn’t seem to end
His uncanny wants

One day he turns copywriter
And writes some shit
Says, ‘This is what I want,
Just refine it a bit.’

The other day he’s art director
Oh, he even draws the layout!
Sends it to the creative team
And says, ‘Call me incase of doubt’

Never satisfied with 2-3 options
He always asks for more
‘Kuch aur naya dikhao,’ he demands
As if he’s shopping in a garment store

His whims and fancies
Grow vicious day by day
Turning every brilliant ad
Into just another cliché

At times I feel like going
And tearing him into pieces
Neither a pig nor a dog is he
Hell, he belongs to a different species

But then, there’s little I can do
Afterall he is the client
Our salaries are thanks to him
So I better not be defiant

After such series of attrocities
When you get tired and highly pissed
Even you’d agree with me and say
Well, demons on earth do exist

Coming back to life

Things change. More so after you start working. I never thought meeting up friends would become a luxury. That a Sunday would become just another day you work (never mind from home). That I wouldn’t bask in the beauty of a sunset for months. That my books would lay unattended, gathering dust. That going out for a movie would mean rescheduling the entire day.

But on some days, things change. Back to how they used to be. Away from the maddening crowd and the humdrum, you finally find a place. And your peace of mind.


You enjoy the slight tickle of grass under your hand








You walk the talk, noticing the pretty flowers on either side






You realize,once again, how different you are from each other...




yet, there's something that binds you together



You see the kids play and secretly wish to live their life







You sit back and watch the bricks changing colour as the sun sets...




and the birds making a beautiful silhouette against the fading sky



At the end of the day, you feel an inexplicable joy of just being there with someone you love. Of spending a beautiful evening without saying much. But sharing a lot.



Pics from an evening with neha at IIM-A

On gifting

Gifts reflect as much about the giver as they do about the receiver. As for me, I always prefer giving anything that’s handmade. So it’s nothing like going and picking up a hallmark card (not that I hate them), but something that’s personalized – something unique that’s made keeping the receiver in mind.

Last month, my aunt invited us for her house warming ceremony. Since she loves plants, I thought of gifting her one. But then, I didn’t want to give it in a usual pot. So I decided on experimenting a bit. An aluminum tea pot, some acrylic colours, inspiration from my rangoli designs and voila! I had a gift which I knew she would love!











My aunt loved it it and has placed it on a lovely mahogany table at the entrance. I’ll soon be making some more – have got orders from other aunts :P. Will try some more designs then.


P.S.: 30on30 was a huge success and Prashant collected almost double the amount for the initiative! A big thank you to all those who made a contribution towards the cause in their own special way.

Thirty on Thirty

What do you plan to do when you turn 30? Travel to someplace you've never been before, buy that diamond ring you've been eyeing for months altogether or just ignore it as if it were just another birthday?

Well, my friend Prashant who turns 30 this month, wishes to do something really significant. He has initiated project 30on30. The idea is on raising 30,000 INR for a cause - For Child Education and Rights - by selling 30 photographs taken by him. 100% of the funds raised through 30on30 would go to Sankalp, a project of ASK , which is based out of Moradabad.

Gift a smile. Support 30on30.


'Falling in Love' - one of my favourite pics taken by Prashant

You too can contribute towards a child's education. All you need to do is go to 30on30 and buy one of the many beautiful pictures displayed there. The details of the print size, shipping cost, receipt, etc.are mentioned on the site. You can also help us spread the word - write about it on your blog or simply mail a couple of friends. A little gesture by you will go a long way to brighten up someone's life!

Thanks Prashant for including me in the 'team' and to Swati and Subhadip for making this come together :)

On killing a tree

Today, while returning home, I saw a tree being brutally cut down at the University Road. I had to stop and ask them why they were doing so. 'Yeh jhaad sadh gaya hai,' came the reply. I couldn't have done anything; the tree was dead.

All those years of greenery and shade had come down with a chop. The huge tree lay there, helpless - being cut from every nook and corner. The sight was so deadly, it could only be compared to a brutal 'killing'. I had read 'On killing a tree' by Gieve Patel long time back, but as I read it today, I well know what he might have witnessed to have written such a powerful poem.


ON KILLING A TREE

It takes much time to kill a tree,
Not a simple jab of the knife
Will do it.



It has grown
Slowly consuming the earth,
Rising out if it, feeding
Upon its crust, absorbing
Years of sunlight, air, water,
And out of its leprous hide
Sprouting leaves.
So hack and chop



But this alone won't do it.
Not so much pain will do it.
The bleeding bark will heal
And from close to the ground
Will rise curled green twigs,
Miniature boughs
Which if unchecked will expand again
To former size.



No,
The root is to be pulled out
Out of the anchoring earth;
It is to be roped, tied,
And pulled out-snapped out
Or pulled out entirely,
Out from the earth-cave,
And the strength of the tree exposed,
The source, white and wet,
The most sensitive, hidden
For years inside the earth.



Then the matter
Of scorching and choking
In sun and air,



Browning, hardening,
Twisting, withering,
And then it is done.

Emotional Atyachaar

She picks up the cigarette in her hand. Rolls it between her fingers. Back and forth...slowly...very slowly, as if trying to derive at the exact measure of its diameter. Her mind, still clouded with indecisiveness, she observes the little white stick in great detail. The symbol, the text, the fine lines running across the brown filter. The rolling makes the tobacco pop up on the surface. The coarse curled insides look like wood shavings to her. I musn't be doing this, she says to herself. But her hands are not ready to let it go. She draws it closer to her nose. The stick running just beneath her nostils in a smooth fashion - the kinds she'd seen in movies umpteen number of times. The smell is familiar - nothing more than a faint memory though. But she knows it well, it doesnt take long for the faint to become clearer. She puts the cigarette in her mouth and lights a match. The light touches the tip; she takes a drag and sees the edges glow in a fiery orange.

She inhales, only to let the fumes swirl in her mouth for a couple of seconds. Then, slowly she lets it out. The white smoke makes its way up but the smell of the nicotine teases her palate. She takes another drag and then another - inhaling a bit of smoke each time. Finally, the cylindrical stick reaches its safety end. The last drag is long, as if trying to make the end the most rewarding.

The euphoria ends. She looks at the stub, the intoxicating smell still surrounding her. She sighs in disbelief.

Things she does to feel close to him.