look at it from this point of view. Your points of view.Ok, let us
begin.If I look at it from the 67 degrees north point of view, a range is missing, whatever happens to the Himalayas when we move to the Atlantic? From right there across the street, a firefly is missing.From yours, I lost my 3rd Grade story. And from yours, I lost my FB password. Tragedy is flowing from all points, we are all points under the same water but at varied depths. We're a part of a balloon. Everyone in this balloon has different points of view. My point of view looks at this as a balloon. From my point of view, I see something dying. In all our points of view combined, what is happening again? Where is the heavily dressed woman in her forties, where is that pet animal she stole. And then they flocked her; she played hide and seek on repeat and it was blue evenings, red meat, a fat thump when she moved. Every moment is that moment of what is happening. It is a good what is happening but
gravity is tugging harder as I say this. People say, look at it from my
point of view. Like it's the same thing, you and I have the same
bloodgroup, the same jawline, or the same fear of water on
our feet.Look at it from my point of view, then. Look at it, pulling
at my feet, tentacles of a sea monster and I, the only point it could
grab from down there.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Once upon a time I had good, long hair. And then it reduced to 'once upon a time'.If you look at my face now, you would be looking at the face of the dying. This one time, I had a vision where I was a madman looking for a jutting piece of rock muttering 'am I really that lonely yet?' Rainclouds formed, my hands were covered in glue-skin that was safe to peel. I tried saying, 'Hello, I have a new haircut, and man do I look like a boy, would you let me sit, I think I can leave when I must, oh yes? I must hear you sing then!' I tried saying more but it only came out of my mouth to form a puddle at my feet, inviting me to drown in it. The rainclouds, the puddle, and then the fucking birds. What do you do then, where will you run, they can fly you know. You want to punctuate each sentence with panic, but how do you even do that? How do you grab your towel and how do you reach for the door? Your limbs are lighter already, the updraft under your extended glue-skin has taken you and you're with them now, not one of them, just lighter bones and still an eye out for a jutting piece of rock with a spot of sun.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Birla Mandir, Kolkata.
Looks like i really enjoy doing architectural photography. I was getting the drift of this in Aurangabad earlier, when we were taken for our Socio Cultural Research trip, especially with Amish's camera, the pictures of which i have tried to snag out of his possession on several occasions, but failed.
I just noticed i had misspelt Aurangabad as AurangaBar.
So much for an attempt at seemly posts trying to hide inebriation.