London To Oxford

The passage through immigration feels like as if I’ve crawled through dirt. The tone of the questions asked, the officer putting you under pressure so that you might either lose your temper or make a mistake. It takes away the fun from traveling, this trial of words. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and your skin begins to feel dirty. You feel as if you have done some wrong by coming to this country. The chance of birth determines the ease of arrival in the developed world.

In the dim neon light everyone seems sulky. Grim looks as people hurry with little molehills of suitcases; black, brown, red and green. A limo turns up suddenly. It feels as out of place as an elephant would on the streets of New York. White coaches turn into the bays and people scurry like disturbed ants. The wind carries with it the smell of rain, a cold and unhappy rain.

The bus arrives. It’s arrival is greeted by a bugle of horns from the other vehicles hunkered down in their respective bays. I wonder at all the journeys these buses might have undertaken. How many stories can they tell for every kilometer they have traveled? What horrible accidents have they witnessed? How many roads have their tires tasted? Does the petrol they drink ever leave behind a memory? A memory of ignition and constant burn?

The world is dark around me with only a small light overhead to guide my fingers. The road stretches on to the blind horizon like a coiled snake waiting to strike at those who threaten it.

One Year!

One Year!
One year! I find it hard to believe that I’ve reached this milestone! When I started I had no idea if I’d find the motivation to continue with this for so long. Of course, I never did attain the ideal of one new photo everyday but 257 photos in a year is one statistic I’m insanely proud of 🙂 Looking back, it had been an amazing ride so far. I’ve never had formal or even informal instruction in photography so whatever I picked up, good or bad, has been on my own. I’ve learnt so much, trying to see things in different and hopefully fresh/new ways, lost a little of my shyness in approaching people and shooting in public places. And in the process, I’ve begun to love looking at the world around me through a viewfinder. I hope this journey will continue for many more wonderful years.

And last but not definitely the last a big big thank you to all the visitors here. Thank you for your silent support. Without your invisible presence egging me on to shoot better the ride wouldn’t have been half the fun it has been!

(I’m off to England for a little vacation so a new post will be up only in the middle of next week.)

Song of a Shadow

The smile of the sun
The sunshine of a smile

The sound of a storm
The darkness of the damned

The song of a shadow
The laughter of light

The tears of terror
The poverty of power

The color of corruption
The silence of sound

The texture of time
The memory of mood

The symmetry of solitude
The music of madness

The loneliness of love
The poetry of passion

Untitled 13

Untitled 13
A quiet and empty street off the main road. She beckons, inviting random strangers to walk down and gaze at all the secret riches displayed behind every shop window. But not many take up the offer. Everyone is in a rush these days, trying to catch the green bus that never stops. But the street still calls, like a siren out at sea. It is apparent in the way the shadows sing, in the way the light laughs and in the way the occasional visitor just stands and gazes at everything on offer. Will you heed her call?