Sunday, September 28, 2008

Monday, September 22, 2008


There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, My Lost Youth

Friday, September 12, 2008


The only sounds I could hear for the last few days are the showers of the Rain Gods on trees, plants, and roof tops. Everything was drenched in rain.

Sitting in a cane chair in the veranda and sipping hot coffee, I felt the marble floor so freezing that I dragged my legs onto the chair and snuggled myself.
I watched the rainwater slide from the roof tiles onto the ground and hastily flow towards the drain. There little Minu was sending paper boats. In the fields at a distance, Velu was busy grazing his cattle. Rain or shine, the man never crosses his time-table I thought. At the other end of the veranda, grandfather was sitting in a chair spreading his thin bare legs on the floor. Clad just in a simple white lungi and nothing else, I wondered how he beats the chill at this age.

Getting up from the chair, after finishing the coffee, I wore my chappals and took an umbrella into the rain. Walking towards the fields I found the flowers, buds, and leaves dropped to ground unable to bear the weight of rainwater. Coconuts fell down losing their mighty grip. Banana plants bent aside unable to stand in loose soil.
And walking on the loose, wet, clayey soil, Ouch!... I slipped a bit loosing my grip.

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When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.
Ansel Adams


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