Monday, December 26, 2016


If there's anything that I have learned from Photography then it is this-it's tough! And on the streets you either get lucky or you get nothing. It slowly is becoming increasingly difficult for me to find a subject to shoot. Or is it just that I have lost the knack of finding one. But every time I go out there, my camera hanging by my shoulder, it never matters what I get or what I miss. Yes, it sometimes gets on my nerves when I return home after hours of walking and getting not even a single decent shot but it's the search for the subject, it's those few hours for which you stop looking and start watching are the hours when you learn the most.
Today (24th December) was one of those days when I spent almost 5 hours and got nothing. I am tired, frustrated, and am trying to convince myself to not to go back to those places ever again,the places that would remind me of my failure. 
 This probably would be the only decent shot I got.


Tuesday, December 20, 2016


There is nothing left to write I guess. Or there is so much but left so far behind that I feel it's not worth to travel back and forth, dragging them out of their hiding. As I had told you earlier, it's not easy anymore to be brutally honest. It's easier when you are alone, when you are pushed into the darkness of your solitude. There was so much anger back then, so much that I feel surprised when I read what I used to write.So much despair, an emptiness that oozed out words effortlessly. Today so there's so much of everything that those voids seem to have been lost somewhere, may be under the deluge of thoughts and dreams and concerns and emotions or may be it's too bright to even catch the glimpse of that darkness, that black,shiny,sticky matter coursed through my veins and eventually onto the paper. And when they did so I felt like being at the center of the universe.I felt like being surrounded by happenings, by events that somehow hid in them a speck of my life and I just waited for them to appear and I would pluck them out of thin air and arrange them on paper.
But it's all so fudged up these days, all so blurry and incomprehensible. Every thought stops abruptly; it's shot down mid-flight by the bullet of rationality. Words that used to line up at the tip of my pen seem to have drowned in the ink.I know I should have but I didn't save them, or I couldn't. The pen now drips signatures and words like "backup", "meeting" or "schedule." It drools when I try to write a poem or slurs when I even so much as try to turn it towards a prose. I guess it's the job that has suffocated me of my words, that like a sneaky surgeon has kept slowly severing my synapses. I guess it's time I re-connect those severed connections, I guess it's time I breathe in a bit deeper and breathe out a bit slower. It's time I dig out my voids and let them fill me up again.