it has always interested me the way they make lemonade.....fresh squeeze of lemon wedges....sugar..salt and water....easy yet elegant...
i was walking the path made of cobble stones...the one led to market...they had all sorts of stuff there....fruits....fresh..juicy and delicious....they had small wooden carts filled with melons and another one had a cart full of strawberries.....the juicy red fresh ones....they all had different fruits....almost no one sold more than two types of fruits...banana, mango, guava, pineapple, berries, oranges, apples and what not.....
but what got my attraction fast were the stands where they had lemons.....yellow signifies freshness....the smell so enthralling that it leaves you craving for more....its addictive...they had a few of them cut and made crown-like shape for the displays....
I was quiet submerged in the beauty of the yellow fruit when suddenly it started pouring....gusty winds and flying leaves marked the entry of monsoon....and everyone rushed to cover their belongings to save them from the fore-coming rain. many pulled out their coloured tripple fold umbrellas and many others wrapped themselves with raincoats. the brave ones who did not carry any defense weapon hid in the shades and in the midst of it all, it started.....the soil, of all the entities present enjoyed the most....liberating from it the tastiest of the perfumes... it gathered and compounded with other dust particle to form mud. the hot type of fruits got covered and some remained uncovered taking a free bath.....the lemon turned more fresh a flick of yellow...the drops being catched with lot more enthusiasm by its oily skin and dripped along its circular border....
the wind came to rescue and washed the clouds away in few minutes and the market resumed its business slowly. the commuters, buyers and sellers started preparing themselves for getting into their respective roles.....normal, common, regular life began....and no one noticed the sour drops of most natural lemonade dripping from the crown like lemon wedges.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
A NEW ENTRY
met this photographer today....very sincere about work....almost workaholic....
the camera was not entirely black...small pieces of objects that worked as enhancements were coloured in different shades. and the lense...obviously.....
the gray room was filled with photography lights....lenses...cameras....tripods and red bulbed lightings...also various sets and the choking smell of half died cigarette butts.
the silky blue skirt slid slowly past my thighs....and i looked at him......he was alredy looking at me....or my open skin and flesh.....the skirt skeeded an inch further...the blue green veins carrying impure blood were semi clad by the skin....the air blower was at its full speed taking my hair strands from shoulder to shoulder.....the eyelashes curled a bit....and the lips dyed in velvet red with the juiciest squeeze within....the silk or satin was rubbing agaisnt my bare chest from inside.....my own hair playing against my neck.....goosbumps errupted from my legs and filled entire body....the butterflies in the stomach took a ride all of a sudden....the lungs smugling lot more air than before....heavings of chest getting harder and the rubbing of satin sending shivers.....the cloth about to loose its position.....the eternal thirst of a body...for another...evident
and he kept clicking.....he bloody damned fucker kept clicking photos.....fucker asshole.....!
the camera was not entirely black...small pieces of objects that worked as enhancements were coloured in different shades. and the lense...obviously.....
the gray room was filled with photography lights....lenses...cameras....tripods and red bulbed lightings...also various sets and the choking smell of half died cigarette butts.
the silky blue skirt slid slowly past my thighs....and i looked at him......he was alredy looking at me....or my open skin and flesh.....the skirt skeeded an inch further...the blue green veins carrying impure blood were semi clad by the skin....the air blower was at its full speed taking my hair strands from shoulder to shoulder.....the eyelashes curled a bit....and the lips dyed in velvet red with the juiciest squeeze within....the silk or satin was rubbing agaisnt my bare chest from inside.....my own hair playing against my neck.....goosbumps errupted from my legs and filled entire body....the butterflies in the stomach took a ride all of a sudden....the lungs smugling lot more air than before....heavings of chest getting harder and the rubbing of satin sending shivers.....the cloth about to loose its position.....the eternal thirst of a body...for another...evident
and he kept clicking.....he bloody damned fucker kept clicking photos.....fucker asshole.....!
THE FIRST PAGE
Words....they come abruptly....and escape into silence....evade you from reality and push you into the dark alleys of truth and wisdom. wisdom unlike common beliefs is not always seeked or awaited, sometimes its forced on you. the thrash so hard and intense that it pulls you back from the sweet tangled golden hair of dreams and lands your brains on the hard soil. bones again concrete, practical brutality where blood does not clot with just a blow of breath from someone special. bones crack and so do you.
and then its blank again, with no plan of actions, its just a migration from one state to another not a story to have an ending, but we expect it to lead us to somewhere like a story.
and there we start dreaming again.....the soft strands start engulfing us slowly. the bubbles of clouds and shadows of heavenly figures, the figment of fraction painted in only one colour.....colour of love and caring and belief and trust and the brush of all such parallel words.
between these you never know when you reach the brim to change your existence from present to past, and then you look back....you look back and realize....and laugh or cry sometimes...but the tears don't always roll down...they are too tired or overly used that wared beyond a point of repair...
and then they say "one more fruit has riped to be reaped !"
THE END OF THE BE(gin)ING !
and then its blank again, with no plan of actions, its just a migration from one state to another not a story to have an ending, but we expect it to lead us to somewhere like a story.
and there we start dreaming again.....the soft strands start engulfing us slowly. the bubbles of clouds and shadows of heavenly figures, the figment of fraction painted in only one colour.....colour of love and caring and belief and trust and the brush of all such parallel words.
between these you never know when you reach the brim to change your existence from present to past, and then you look back....you look back and realize....and laugh or cry sometimes...but the tears don't always roll down...they are too tired or overly used that wared beyond a point of repair...
and then they say "one more fruit has riped to be reaped !"
THE END OF THE BE(gin)ING !
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