Standing alone, like a prima donna, she ignores the world around. Surrounded by the shining baubles of a superficial world she is nonchalant, confident of her infinite charm and easy allure. A stylish icon for the digital age and a madonna of the future, she’s got the look!

There are certain shots that develop in your head, day after day, like…like the verses of a new poem. Frame after frame, you peel away different compositions and angles until something clicks and you attain that flawless frame, where everything is balanced and the light is perfect. And then you go out and actually capture that shot as it is in your head.

Like the photo she posed for me the other day. The place was an old abandoned factory. She was in the middle, lying face down, curved around an old oil drum, her ass pointing towards my camera and two of her fingers inside her dry vagina. I chose an aperture small enough to get everything of her in focus, from the tips of her fingernails on her sex to the look of wide-eyed innocence in her eyes. There was no flash or artificial light. The available light came from huge glass windows from either side of her in the distance, diffused and soft. I shot off a few hundred shots as her cunt became progressively wetter.

It was a shot that had been popping up in my dreams and then later seeped into my every conscious thought. I never thought I could actually get the shot in reality. But it happened.

She was doing this only for me. I didn’t ask her. She asked me. Why? I’ve no idea and am not interested in finding out. But that didn’t stop me from speculating. She always had this thing for voyeurs. In fact, that is how I got to know her in the first place. I used to observe her all the time. She lived opposite my house, only a narrow space separating our homes. The line of sight from my bedroom window dropped directly into her bedroom. Each evening, I used to wait for her to come home and go through her characteristic languid yet very erotic process of shedding her clothes one by one. Actually, I found out much later that it was all a show for me. She had realized from the beginning that I was observing her. I still don’t know how. So she would go through the exact same motions, day after day. She derived as much pleasure from it as me, perhaps even more. It helped that her bathroom was attached to the bedroom. Both the observer and the object of observation were influencing each other.

The silence in the vast empty space sounded natural as we did not need to communicate. A short wave of my hand and she would adjust her legs as I wanted them. An eyebrow raised and her eyes would speak the language my heart wanted. Click…click…click…the cameras clacked, capturing her for eternity. A funny thought suddenly flitted through my mind. What if there were a nuclear holocaust and these photos would be all that survived; a last testament for humanity’s existence? I laugh inside myself. How many schools of thought/theories would arise over these pictures in some distant future? I laugh some more.

We took frequent breaks as she couldn’t hold that pose for long. But I think there was another reason. I think she was getting off over the whole setup. So she cooled off a little during the break, sustaining the excitement but not peaking. Later, as if to prove my point, she fingered herself to a violent orgasm, off camera of course.

The heat, the wet wet heat clings to me like a second skin. I dream of blue lagoons, white sandy beaches, floating on water with a cool mango lassi, tongue numbed by ice-cubes. She laughs at my discomfort and dreams, a tinkling laugh flowing like a fresh waterfall.

…and the river flowed, like my thoughts. People hiding in the shadows. Quiet, listening to the music the river made as it tripped over smooth stones. Over the bridge old saints stood guard over humanity, sentinels of faith and belief. Far above, beyond my reach, a lone cloud spiraled in on itself like a shy child unable to open up, hiding its many secrets.

Abandoned and empty. A place where time has no meaning and the windows look into emptiness. The world moved on, into newer places. But the old still exists. In a world all its own. Stripped almost bare yet full of meaning, waiting to be understood.

Two of my favorite colors. Green, the color of new life. Blue, the color of inner calm.

The lights fell
From the heavens
Streaking our senses
With raw emotion

The skies split apart
And showered us
With shattered sounds
And sizzling colors

It was a night
Of pomp and passion
It was a night
Of visual violence

Something from my archives. I almost always post portraits in b/w. But there was a certain harmony to the colors in this photo and therefore I refrained from converting it to monochrome. Hope you will the feel the same once you look at the photo!

The Indian government is obsessed with comparing itself to China for most economic issues. But the recent blanket ban on popular blogging services like Blogger.com and its blogging arm blogspot makes one wonder whether the Indian government is seeking to emulate the Chinese when it comes to net censorship as well. It is always a dangerous ploy to restrict access to information, especially in an open democracy like India. And this time the Indian government, with its ill thought out and badly implemented blanket ban, risks losing face. Most bloggers are up in arms and the story has already done the rounds in the Western media. If the government doesn’t move fast and limit the damage already done they will have another headache to deal with.

Although one can understand the reason behind the government’s order to block access to certain blogs in the wake of the Mumbai blasts, Indian babudom moved in its typically inefficient way and made a mess of the whole issue. In my opinion, they need to do three things immediately. First, the government must move fast and give a clear explanation about what happened. Second, it should take the necessary steps to resolve the issue. And finally, they should have a mechanism in place to see that this is not repeated. Even though blogging is still a niche activity for Indians, the number of Indians blogging (or blogs dealing with India) will continue to increase. So it is imperative the Indian government recognizes that blogs are a legitimate way to express one’s opinions and allows unrestricted access to them.

Electricity
Slaps his yellow thigh
Looking at his World
Of light and glass

Circuits twitch
In his topaz eyes
Insulators hum
In his platinum mind

Electricity
Pats his coppery stomach
Watching his silvery tentacles
Caress a few billion stony hearts

Plastic smoke swirls
In his metallic innards
Wet blue fire pulses
In his golden nostrils

Electricity
Extends his hollow hands
Enveloping the universal dark
In packets of star flame
Strung out like electric highways