Thursday, September 29, 2005
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Another one...
Of all the times that I walked the long road,
It is now, that I feel so lone.
Many-a-day have I spent beneath the bright sun
with only the length of my shadow marked all along.
Yet it is now that I feel so lone.
And when they came, along life's twisting lane,
and their shadows touched mine,
I wished -
that I wouldn't be alone.
And for all those shadows that slipped away,
and the waves that didn't care to stay,
I realize –
that I am alone.
And for all that I've ever wanted,
Being me is all that was granted,
And as the length of my life stretches on,
This too, I shall walk alone!
-- Moi.
Of all the times that I walked the long road,
It is now, that I feel so lone.
Many-a-day have I spent beneath the bright sun
with only the length of my shadow marked all along.
Yet it is now that I feel so lone.
And when they came, along life's twisting lane,
and their shadows touched mine,
I wished -
that I wouldn't be alone.
And for all those shadows that slipped away,
and the waves that didn't care to stay,
I realize –
that I am alone.
And for all that I've ever wanted,
Being me is all that was granted,
And as the length of my life stretches on,
This too, I shall walk alone!
-- Moi.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Alone by the sea.
If there was one good thing about the whole trip to Pondicherry, it most certainly was the time that I spent sitting on the rocks, watching the waves crash against them.
Not that sitting alone by the sea would change your perspective in life, usher in new meaning, or any of that new-age jazz. But there is an undeniable calmness to be found by the sea. It's at times like these that one really likes to be alone; To find company even in solitude. So I sat there, under the dark sky, late into the night; just me myself and the sound of the waves for company. And it still feels so nice.
If there was one good thing about the whole trip to Pondicherry, it most certainly was the time that I spent sitting on the rocks, watching the waves crash against them.
Not that sitting alone by the sea would change your perspective in life, usher in new meaning, or any of that new-age jazz. But there is an undeniable calmness to be found by the sea. It's at times like these that one really likes to be alone; To find company even in solitude. So I sat there, under the dark sky, late into the night; just me myself and the sound of the waves for company. And it still feels so nice.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Friday, September 02, 2005
Church of "Our Lady Of Immaculate Conception".
The Church Of "Our Lady of Immaculate Conception" has a history in these parts. It is one of the oldest Churches in Pondicherry. The old Mother at the church, told me that it was about 256 years old.
One of the main characteristics of this church, lies in its architecture. It has a mix of both the Portugese and French styles of architecture. While the outside reflects Portuguese influence, the innards of the church bear a French identity.
The Church Of "Our Lady of Immaculate Conception" has a history in these parts. It is one of the oldest Churches in Pondicherry. The old Mother at the church, told me that it was about 256 years old.
One of the main characteristics of this church, lies in its architecture. It has a mix of both the Portugese and French styles of architecture. While the outside reflects Portuguese influence, the innards of the church bear a French identity.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Windmills
There isn't another town in Karnataka, that I know of, where windmills have been used to such a large extent, as in Chitradurga. Besides the obvious aim to harness the wind energy and generate power, one does begin to wonder, if the widmills didn't actually improve the beauty of those serene hills. It is quite a sight: long rows of windmills, with their blades moving in the wind, overlooking the valley below.
As one approaches this old city, with many a myth attached to it, one also gets to see these huge rock boulders strewn all over the place, some of which are placed rather precariously. But looking at the bright side -- most motorists, suspicious of the rocks, tend to be very alert along that stretch of road.
While driving back to Bangalore, along the road that kissed the outskirts of Chitradurga, I saw the silhouette of these windmills, juxtaposed against the setting sun. I didn't waste much time, to stop the car and run out, and then shoot this picture. My only regret -- I wish I had a telephoto lens.
There isn't another town in Karnataka, that I know of, where windmills have been used to such a large extent, as in Chitradurga. Besides the obvious aim to harness the wind energy and generate power, one does begin to wonder, if the widmills didn't actually improve the beauty of those serene hills. It is quite a sight: long rows of windmills, with their blades moving in the wind, overlooking the valley below.
As one approaches this old city, with many a myth attached to it, one also gets to see these huge rock boulders strewn all over the place, some of which are placed rather precariously. But looking at the bright side -- most motorists, suspicious of the rocks, tend to be very alert along that stretch of road.
While driving back to Bangalore, along the road that kissed the outskirts of Chitradurga, I saw the silhouette of these windmills, juxtaposed against the setting sun. I didn't waste much time, to stop the car and run out, and then shoot this picture. My only regret -- I wish I had a telephoto lens.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Abandoned
It isn't that I haven't seen these carts before. They may not be as ubiquitous on our city roads, as they once were. But many a times, I have managed to see a bullock-cart, and those weary oxen yoked to it; I’ve also seen the tongas, or horse-drawn carriages, jostling for space in the labyrinth of our city’s roads, fighting for every available inch, with the unsympathetic motorist.
But the total isolation of this cart, in the middle of nowhere, caught my eye. Just like the lonely farmer that I was to meet a little farther on, this cart too had that feeling of abandonment and unexplainable isolation attached to it.
I’m sure that this wasn’t the case always. It must have had oxen yoked to it at some point during its life; it must have been owned by a farmer at some point in time who greased its wheels regularly or, tended to a broken rail. But on that day, there were no signs of anyone. Neither the oxen nor the farmer. The cart just stood there, alone, beside the long road that stretched on for miles….
It isn't that I haven't seen these carts before. They may not be as ubiquitous on our city roads, as they once were. But many a times, I have managed to see a bullock-cart, and those weary oxen yoked to it; I’ve also seen the tongas, or horse-drawn carriages, jostling for space in the labyrinth of our city’s roads, fighting for every available inch, with the unsympathetic motorist.
But the total isolation of this cart, in the middle of nowhere, caught my eye. Just like the lonely farmer that I was to meet a little farther on, this cart too had that feeling of abandonment and unexplainable isolation attached to it.
I’m sure that this wasn’t the case always. It must have had oxen yoked to it at some point during its life; it must have been owned by a farmer at some point in time who greased its wheels regularly or, tended to a broken rail. But on that day, there were no signs of anyone. Neither the oxen nor the farmer. The cart just stood there, alone, beside the long road that stretched on for miles….
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Lonely Farmer
Driving through the seemingly desolate landscapes of north Karnataka, along the road that took us from Hubli to the site of ancient temple construction at Badami, I saw him -- the lonely farmer. There he stood, besides his plow, toying with a piece of rope. The oxen sat nearby, insolated, besides the bullock-cart that they were previously tethered to.
He was the only human that we'd seen for miles, and only the oxen seemed to keep him company. There was something mysterious about him; something eerie about his relative loneliness; something...I just don't know what. And so, I shot this frame. But now, even the image seems to exude a darker-than-usual tone.
Driving through the seemingly desolate landscapes of north Karnataka, along the road that took us from Hubli to the site of ancient temple construction at Badami, I saw him -- the lonely farmer. There he stood, besides his plow, toying with a piece of rope. The oxen sat nearby, insolated, besides the bullock-cart that they were previously tethered to.
He was the only human that we'd seen for miles, and only the oxen seemed to keep him company. There was something mysterious about him; something eerie about his relative loneliness; something...I just don't know what. And so, I shot this frame. But now, even the image seems to exude a darker-than-usual tone.
