Finding Solace 

You watch the day rise and the darkness fade, without a blink

You have stood there for years hoping to find a way, an inspiration, a solace, a lost dream, a fading hope

You stand there still – broken, tired, hurt

Holding on to the strength you have left

It is unfortunate and maybe a bit ironic

As I stand on the other end as helpless as you

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Conversations 

I constantly catch myself wondering if our conversations will one day seize to exist. 

That, one day we will have nothing to share, nothing to tell and nothing to hear. 

That, one day we will once again become the strangers we were a long time ago. 

It does not bother me that we will never evolve into something more. 

It does not bother me that we will never get to hold each other as we grow. 

It does not bother me that we will never be able to express our feelings in those varied overrated words. 

But, I live in fear that our conversations might dissipate in the vast space of oblivion. That bothers me.

And yet I believe that someday, in a small café or a dingy bar, in an unventured land we might accidentally bump into each other and begin again. 

Photographs 

Waking up in the morning, breathing in the fresh musty, chemical infused air that surrounds me after a night long affair with the pictures hung on strands of thread in the beautiful red dark room.

I run my eyes slowly over each and every photograph. Oh, the immeasurable happiness, the joy of a smile or the ache of the occasional tear drop frozen in time.

As the negatives change from monochrome to the wondrous colors of the spectrum – I stand there mesmerized like a child at the airport watching a plane take off.

A 10 x 10 room never felt more spacious. Each corner wrapped in frames that takes life in different dimensions. A story to tell, a story to remember.

Dodging and burning the photographs, I blink.

BANG! A hidious, unethical knock.

I squint, the red dark room is suddenly full of cheap florescent lights. I feel like an abandoned baby at a solemn, monotonous hospital nursery.

The strands of thread that once hung the slices of life; fades to white and slowly to nothingness. My 10 x 10 room now seems smaller than a coffin.

My eyes, red and heavy from lack of a good night sleep. The four corners have disappeared into large walls of plaster. The room smells different too – it feels clean, without any tales to tell.

Mouth stiched like an ancient mummy doomed to rot, I want to scream as I watch the photographs being sweeped away by the wind. Outside the window where they don’t belong, as I lie in the hospital cot, hooked up to machines that now, somehow keep me alive.

For what I long

A feeling of frustration resides.
Stuck in a limbo, do not know where to go.
It is dark, don’t know whom to turn.
I am alone and my thoughts my demons.
Empty inside, I want to feel something.
But, I don’t know what I long to feel.
The world around me is moving fast.
I can’t breath.
The coffin I am in seems to be closing in with every inching moment.
I am a fish out of water, someone throw me in.
Give a reason to cry. Give me chance to smile.
Words are all that I have left. I think. Wish I knew how to use them.
It is hard to chase what you can’t find.
I have lost my way, guide me to light.

Barren to Green

Barren to Green is a coffee table book that I compiled as a part of my final project for my first undergraduate degree at Manipal University, Dubai . The subject of this coffee table book is organic farming techniques practiced UAE, to promote a healthy living.

VIEW.FOCUS.CLICK

VIEW.FOCUS.CLICK is an armature photography magazine, that I complied as a final project for the 2nd year of my BA degree in Mass Communication at Manipal University, Dubai. This magazine contents basic information required for a beginner level photographer to learn about photography.

I am an Indian, and I use toilet-paper

‘Toilet-paper’ is the one word that makes any Indian cringe with disgust. But, that doesn’t stop us from coming to America and then complaining about using the paper.

Even though I am an Indian, I was never brought up in India. I grew up in the United Arab Emirates. The culture in UAE is pretty heterogeneous, so when it came to the restrooms a choice of both water and toilet-paper were available. This meant never having to learn to use toilet-paper.

Thus, the January of 2014, was one of the toughest months. I had start using toilet-paper to clean myself, as I going to complete my education in America. And the thought of getting used to this new habit scared me more than anything I had ever been scared of.

By this point of time all you toilet-paper using fellas, must be wondering as to why and how did toilet-paper scare me, and the Indians, I know you feel me.

We Indians don’t have a specific history behind our use of water in the washrooms. We use it simply because we find it hygienic and get a sense of cleanliness after we wash ourselves. In some Indian cultures they have various rules like; one must completely remove all garments of clothing from ones body when using the washroom for your daily business. But, there is no such account as to how we came to use water.

Thus, the transition was not only terrifying physically but also mentally, because it took me nearly three months to look up ‘how to use toilet-paper?’ tutorials on YouTube. And I must have barely looked up a dozen videos before I shut my laptop and swore to myself, that I will accept being the odd one out but, I shall never use toilet-paper in my life.

Nonetheless a woman can change.

On reaching the Red Roof Inn, Bowling Green, Kentucky I felt it was necessary to embrace the culture where I was going to be for the next few years. So, I gave it another try, and voilà, it was so simple; I could not imagine why I was being so paranoid about using toilet-paper. Not only was it simple, but in fact it was so easy, so convenient and so damn fascinating.

Did you know; toilet-papers have been in use from the 14th century? Joseph C. Gayetty of New York started producing the first packaged toilet paper in the U.S. in 1857. It consisted of pre-moistened flat sheets, which were medicated with aloe and were named “Gayetty’s Medicated Paper”. Then in 1877 Albany Perforated Wrapping (A.P.W.) Paper Company gave us rolled and perforated toilet paper that we are familiar with today.  (http://nobodysperfect.com/vtpm/exhibithall/informational/tphistory.html).

The history of its conception was much less fascinating than the fact that toilet-paper came in various types, textures, colours and prices. It’s been nearly three months since I step foot in America, but the toilet-paper aisle at the markets still leaves me baffled by the kind of choices it offers.

You can literally choose to be stingy or incredibly generous when it comes to taking care of your hienie. You can choose from an array of papers, from moist to dry, quilted to course, made-out of trees to made-out a recycled paper, standard to jumbo to jumbo junior. Not only that, if you think that you want to reach the apex of luxury, you have to buy the 22-karat gold-plated toilet-paper, which by the way, comes with a bottle champagne. And trust me; it will only cost you a meager $1.3 Million, (shipping charges not included) (http://www.ealuxe.com/most-expensive-toilet-paper-world/).

So, the next time any of you water using fellas think about making a face when you hear of toilet-paper, you just remember that water available to you in the washrooms are not scented, not coloured, not textured, doesn’t come in various sizes and guess what it doesn’t it come in gold.

And as for me, using toilet-paper was one fun experience. So do you still want to judge a book by its cover?

P.S: I wrote this blog post for my Introduction to media writing class, the assignment being write a blog post on any topic.

Short story 7

She sat there in the middle of all commotion.
Clinging on to something cold and drifting off to a place she found peace,
Her solitude.
Her eyes narrated and re-narrated thousand unspoken stories, of days, months and years, of once upon a time.
As she slowly came back to reality,
the cold was replaced by warmth…
Warmth that her beloved Grammy promised to bestow on her forever.