Dhobi Ghat - The Wandering Souls

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing 
and rightdoing there is a field.
I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.” 
                            ― Jalaluddin Rumi

Dhobi Ghat - The Wandering Souls

"What are you seeing? Are you able to see our wandering selves out there in the cold blue water, floating like pieces of meteors, within the canvas of our universe? Yes our Universe! 

That Universe where you have left us all alone, cold and frozen, unattended and soiled. And like an unknown sapling we wake up to find us floating. Floating deep, between the chambers of births and deaths. We could feel ourselves half asleep. We could hear the sounds of another world, hidden between the crevices of darkness and light. 

Under the faint light of awakening, could hear you reading out from the Book of Hades. Were you reading or chanting? Chanting a Hymn to awaken the spirit of the Underworld? The whiteness of our living was unsure until we are here. Here, where we are exiled. 

Peculiarly couldn't ask, whether this exile was meant to die or to wake up after we were dead! 


Now, as we are lying without a body, we are no more entwined to the destiny of lives you have gifted us once. Our Souls spread over the planet and leave no mountain unclimbed, no valley undiscovered, no sea unsailed, ventured even into an inner sanctum.

Maybe a Sanctuary! 

Our Souls mingle and leave no relationship unattempted, no emotion unfelt, no pleasure and pain unexplored. Our Souls plunge into their minds and leave no tale untold, no image unpainted, no melody unheard.

For the first time in our entire dissipated and borrowed life, our Souls transcend their fantasies and leave no idea unthought, no natural law undescribed, no wisdom undefined. 
And even pass over the thinkeable and witness ineffable realms of other worlds and their inhabitants. 

Curiously, without any idea of what we are, we have become the embodiment of the purpose of existence.” 

Short Story of a City - Ahmadabad.

Cities were always like people, showing their varying personalities to the traveler. Depending on the city and on the traveler, there might begin a mutual love, or dislike, friendship, or enmity.

Where one city will rise a certain individual to glory, it will destroy another who is not suited to its personality. Only through travel can we know where we belong or not, where we are loved and where we are rejected.

Himalaya Calling - In Praise of a Silence...

"And if these mountains had eyes, they would wake to find two strangers in their fences, standing in admiration as a breathing red pours its tinge upon earth's shore.

These mountains, which have seen untold sunrises, long to thunder praise but stand reverent, silent so that man's weak praise should be given God's attention..."

- en route to Ukhimath, Uttarakhand.

Himalaya Calling - The Journey

The most beautiful and ugly journeys do not ends.They continue much after you think, you're through.

It's just like love. Ceaseless!

It's also like a fly. Buzzing!

So where to begin this story ? Okay let's begin with the shadows I was carrying all through this journey until I was exhausted and had no where to hide.

Shadows of those forlorn untidy unkept letters I had written in love. At least I took it as love. I was so sure of it that I was already designing the new house in my drawing book. I was writing off all my past debts of memories.

Until one evening I know that I was always alone and all through I was talking to those beautiful shadows in my dreams.

And then I had no where to go. The walls were becoming unbearable with its contempt .The bed was agonisingly white and pale. Everyone started behaving strangely as if it was only my fault to imagine that I was in love.

And I ran. Ran away as far as possible until I reached in front of the flowing Alakananda river and the tall, rather very tall Himalayas.

And then ? Blame Kafka for writing "Metamorphosis".

Calcutta Chromosomes - Fading Empire

What makes me Travel?  What do I try to see when i Travel? These are all the questions often asked in so many ways and in so many manners to me.

I usually don't like to answer them. I try to show what I see and how I feel but at times I realize that my silence through which I try to speak is half understood.

I travel to see me. Peculiar right? Indeed I often find myself boring and unintelligent in front of a well manicured mirrors in my home. They usually go on chattering the same verbs.

And then a fresh round of air makes me freer from my growing stomach and receding hairline. I travel to find me growing into an exciting homosapien, ignorant to all the best possible presets being applied on my selfies in Instagram.

I become freer from my narcissus tendencies and start looking around for a story. For a story I am unaware of. For a story I will never have to pay a price. For a story that will not yell back at me.

I travel to get soaked in rains, dusted in the muddy air and watch the humans moving endlessly ( at least they would like to believe that ) within the ceaseless singularity of Time.

I Travel to see a drama that will never happen. A piece of history which is so insignificant that none will care for. Peacefully watching the cat crossing the windows, a man chewing the tobacco as if having a sex, an old colonial story of the trams coming to a halt.

Talking about that did I mention that over here in this image I saw General Dyer crying his heart out to this native Indian man and complaining how he will miss riding the Trams!

Yes the bells are ringing. Go and have a ride on these soon to be extinct species of transport from The City of Joy - Calcutta.

Oh, do let me know if Doninique La Pierre would shed some tears hearing the news...

Character of a House - Himalaya Calling

"She stretched out against the wall and kissed it. "Glad to see you, too," she whispered, and pressed her cheek against the old rough surface. It almost felt like it hugged her back.

"Dude, it's a house," I said from behind her. "Hug somebody who cares..."

(Ukhimath, Uttarakhand)

हसरते... Desires...

"बड़ी हसरत है पूरा एक दिन इक बार मैं अपने लिए रख लूँ
तुम्हारे साथ पूरा एक दिन बस खर्च करने की तमन्ना है !"


I have that strange desire, to keep an entire day hidden from everyone, and keep it to myself ,
and spend it miserly, the way near empty tap does, in painting the moles, on your blue white chest ...



(Sarkhez Roza, Ahmadabad, Gujarat. India).

Short story of a City - Ahmadabad

याद पिया की आये ।


"याद पिया की आये
यह दुःख सहा ना जाये- हाये राम

बाली उमरिया सूनी रे सजरिया
जोबन बीतो जाये- हाये राम

बैरी कोयलिया कूक सुनावे 
मुझ बिरहन का जियरा जलावे 
हाँ पी बिन रैन जगाये – हाये राम"



Oh memories of my beloved haunt me!
Alas, I cannot bear this grief!

I am yet young but my bed is forlorn ;
my youth is passing by – Alas!

The cuckoo, my enemy, coos his song.
Bereft of my beloved, my heart burns.
Yes – I am kept awake all night without my beloved!
Alas!




Background! 

This is a Thumri but in essence, it is a lament.The song is set to the Hindustani raag Bhinna Shadaj.

Written by the great Maestro Bade Ghulam Ali Khan on the death of his wife who passed in 1932, it has certainly stood the test of time! This is in the Punjabi Thumri style, which is faster paced and sounds generally ‘lighter’ than traditional Thumris.

Translated with a bit of artistic license, he says ‘Oh memories of my beloved haunt me! Alas, I cannot bear this grief!’. He was only 30 when his wife died. ‘I am yet young but my bed is forlorn! Alas, my youth is passing by!’.

Was he crying for himself or his wife? A bit of both, I think. ‘Bereft of my wife, my heart burns’ he says.

I have given a faint try for Transliterating this song and used it over here because the image was composed thinking about this great moment and song. 



(Street Walk in Old City of Ahmadabad with Cine Prime Lens DS 50mm, 1.5T. )

White Desert Story - Metamorphosis!

"I didn't know who He was or what He was until I saw him transformed into a Blue Butterfly and coming out from one of those windows.

Was there any proof to the lies ? Well the Blue's of one of those windows lying quite and strange brings a certain amount of truth to an otherwise abandoned tales of Metamorphosis..."

Short Story of a City - Bhadra Fort, Ahmadabad.

Ahmedabad gets its name from king Ahmed Shah Abdali who ruled and built this formidable city in the 14 the century. Ahmedabad gets its name from king Ahmed Shah Badshah who ruled and built this formidable city in the 14 the century. Ahmedabad is also known by a variety of other names like: Rajnagar, Shrinagar, Amdavad , Ahimdavad, Ahamdavad, Ahamadpur, Akmipur and Ahmednagar. Legendary historian Todalmal and celebrated musician Tansen who were two intellectuals from Badshah Akbar’s court, were actually from Ahmedabad. 

Short Story of a City - Bicycle Thieves

When i saw the Bicycle, waiting in a corner of a busy street of the old city of Ahmadabad, i couldn't help but remember Antonio Ricci. 

Do you remember Antonio and his beloved Bicycle? How happy he was riding throughout the city of Rome and putting up colourful posters around the city? 

And why me? Like Antonio, i was,too, already thrown out of a job from the company i help founded.

And like Antonio i was happy too founding the pillars of my dreams and build a company painstakingly until one fine day i was asked to quit. And with that my love for bicycling into work remained a distant dream. 

And to top it my bicycle was stolen too, the very next day from the company premises. My beloved bicycle. 

And after days when i saw this bicycle, i was wondering what would have been the fate of the owner of this seemingly old worn out bicycle? 

And seeing the bicycle alone for so many hours made me feel so sad for Antonio and his child. Maybe i was sad for me and my boy Ishaan too. He wanted to drive with me in my lost bicycle. 

Maybe someday i will buy it again and make my boy ride with me. And in the mean time if you happen to pass by those streets of Ahmadabad do try to look for that bicycle. It must be there waiting, lonely and sad. Maybe waiting for its owner to take it back to where it belong. Maybe...

P.S Even if you are not visiting Ahmadabad, but do try to see Antonio Ricci in "The Bicycle Thieves", a seminal work of neo-realism film would have fatally undermined Vittorio De Sica's intention of presenting an authentic snapshot of everyday life in postwar Italy. 

Short Story of a City - Ahmadabad

“A Traveler's life had two lives now: the life he would have and the life he would forever wonder about.” 

White Desert Story - The Widows.

White Desert Story - The Nomads

“If this were so; if the desert were 'home'; if our instincts were forged in the desert; to survive the rigours of the desert - then it is easier to understand why greener pastures pall on us; why possessions exhaust us, and why Pascal's imaginary man found his comfortable lodgings a prison.” 
                                                                                                                    
                                                                                                                              ― Bruce Chatwin, The Songlines.

White Desert Story - The Childhood

“and when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.” 

Himalaya Calling - The Character of a House

Salaam Bombay - The Lonely Boat

Calcutta Chromosomes - The River Story

The Character of a House - Ruins of a City, Old City, Ahmadabad

"Something always attracts us towards the ruins, because ruins remind us our fundamental problem: The problem of impermanence! Amongst the ruins we see the very end of our road! Whatever shows you the simple truth, it is your Master Teacher; whoever repeatedly recalls you of the plain truth, he is your good master!”