Vishu Negi-Nokia indiafest
The other day,we did this very amateur but fun recording of a song written by a dear friend. Vishu. Please do check this out. It's rough around the edges but stellar nonetheless.
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Freeze the World
Ansel Adams in 1930 had been training to become a concert pianist while considering a career as a photographer. He decided, after seeing the photographs by Paul Strand, that "the camera, not the piano, would shape [his] destiny." His mother and aunt both pleaded, "Do not give up the piano! The camera cannot express the human soul!" To which Adams replied, "The camera cannot, but the photographer can."
Orson Welles had once famously said,"A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet".
The camera. A mere tool for some. An inseparable friend for most. A fiend for some. Life for a few.
Give a camera to a child and he will learn the ways of life through his glistening eyes and. Discovering the intricacies of the instrument and the simple charms of a photograph, he shall tread on the threshold of the various emotions humans are generally capable of (if not beyond). A blinding flash and the exciting and frenzied world captured into a static and relaxed stillness.
I, for one, am intimately related to my camera but there's more than what actually meets the eye. Something quite unexplainable.
So, I have decided to showcase some of my photographs through this blog just so that I can keep a tab of how life has progressed. I will freeze the world in ink. Hope to see you in it.
Cheers.:)
Orson Welles had once famously said,"A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet".
The camera. A mere tool for some. An inseparable friend for most. A fiend for some. Life for a few.
Give a camera to a child and he will learn the ways of life through his glistening eyes and. Discovering the intricacies of the instrument and the simple charms of a photograph, he shall tread on the threshold of the various emotions humans are generally capable of (if not beyond). A blinding flash and the exciting and frenzied world captured into a static and relaxed stillness.
I, for one, am intimately related to my camera but there's more than what actually meets the eye. Something quite unexplainable.
So, I have decided to showcase some of my photographs through this blog just so that I can keep a tab of how life has progressed. I will freeze the world in ink. Hope to see you in it.
Cheers.:)
The Joshua Thing/Untitled
The summer was scented, saw the child it in glee.
Lay she on the emerald grass, the myriad flowers blooming wild and free.
Dressed in royal silks and a band of lilies adorning her head.
Danced merrily and giggled, with slender hands, the butterflies she lead.
Childish love imprisoned in her ebony eyes, innocence trapped in her smile.
Left it enraptured, brightened all days, to some thirsty, it was the Nile.
From the high window of the nearest tower, saw the aged highness his child with glassy eyes.
It pleasured him so, to see his Celeste but little he knew;he was none the wise.
Folks talked still, in hushed tones, that the King had greyed with the concrete of his palace.
He was not a man just, but as unfair, nothing but a crooked vine of malice.
Yet still, this affection in his heart he clutched, was a testament to the human left within.
But the reason of her glow, was this fair lad whom he'd ever treated a vermin.
The boy sat under the birch tree, philosophying morose tunes with the picollo of his.
In his tattered rags and slippers with holes, so poor he seemed as if even they were owned on lease.
The straw hat unwillingly hid his sandy locks and blue eyes.
Eyes that showed no fear but were queerly strained from cries.
For he was son to none, he felt anguish every eve, his very heart burned.
As draped in dirt now, years back in deep slumber,was found as the sentry'd turned.
The royal highness, generous with his faith, tended him though be it with his hounds.
The boy, of a month then, wouldn't have lived otherwise, it was a pity, however cruel it sounds.
Since then, seasons had circled, the Sun had seen the rain.
The world had crumbled and back again, the lad to the king turned a bane.
All of five years past ten now, and a valiant grace readily seats on his frame.
Now cried the princess,"Joshua..Oh..Josh
On she spoke,"Oh!How much I love you, the flute you play all day long.
I see you barely utter, but I know how you grieve through your song.
The stars, can't you see?foretell us being entwined.
We'll be together, the world behind us, even God'll be kind."
An innocent child she, in her urge, to cheer her beloved friend.
Never realized, a heavy dream to one in pain, she'd lent.
But then, Love always had a way, they were in it as months had smoothed past as years.
The Princess, an epitome of alluring beauty and wit, Joshua upon his stallion, an armor he wears.
Alas! It was not to be easy love, as even the moon is cursed with its marks.
The King ne'er approved, a day, he chained his "mongrel" to be fed to the larks.
The day forth, none ever heard , of the Joshua with his flute and golden blade.
Celeste wept and tore at her heart, it was met cruel fate her originator'd made.
The very life'd begun to wither her out,until the very day arrived. When her very beloved's whereabouts revealed , the very King'd been bribed.
He was left to rot in the dungeons of death, as she knew.
But the lune father sly even then'd disillusioned her view.
The night was dark, the heavens had rained blood in Grace.
For the Princess had run from comfort, to be ringed with her love who'd no trace.
"Run Celeste! Run to the shrine where he fans his doom nearing.
Pestilence strikes, mortals may lose, but you are his Goddess endearing.
All your father's men rise in pursuit, on their leather steeds they chase.
Under the stars, over the seas, they've look'd but none, in daze.
If ever him you find, ne'er lament nor you cry.
In this land of make-believe , it'll leave you dead and dry.
Run through the foliage, you'll be the light to your way, into the woods of drear.
By the roundabout, under the bridge, miles created still you're as near.
Escape through the darksome streets, where blood lathers your gentle soul.
By the last breath of the midnight wind, weeps bloody wine as well your sole.
Under the maledict shroud of stars, do you see him dying?.
Run Celeste! Run to your Joshua, it ne'er is or was any good crying.
He loves you, as the glum beauty loves the night as the day the sun.
Run to him, before the fires in the skies, with the clouds are done.
By the river, where the black swans flock his heart.
Do you see him, does your soul not then spit blood with a start.?
Run with the fire to burn your empire in thine Orphic tune.
So bright it's flame, the Sun be shy to rise, the world beweltered with your rune.
Why Celeste?Do you shed tears of secernment when your originator makes mirth.
After all, how can he be so cruel as to pierce her alive to one he gave birth.
Run, as wilted branches give sincere direction to your heart, the wolves weep in sorrowed infant cries.
The clowns on your cards laugh in the cruelest of fashion, whilst the king of your heart slowly dies.
Needs nothing but your touch of sureness, he's a congregation statue of fading hopes.
Sans your beacon, he'll hurt others than self, in the pitch he gropes.
Run over the hills, wade through the seas with thine paragon frame.
Climb the crumbling flight of fateful stairs, on your lips his name.
Ah! You've finally reached with lips dry and eyes wet, with a halo over your head.
Lovingly you clasp him so, but does it really whelm you when he's just a weight over you, dead.
Soon enough but untimely may it seem, it's of certain, will dawn upon you.
If just you had looked into your heart, but dead wounds none can sew.
If only you'd looked into your heart,
But a grave to be filled is ready dug.
If only you'd looked into your heart,
A death certain would be averted with your drug.
But writing elegies over spilled wine, etches the wounds deeper into the mind.
After all, what good is it to grieve now, when upon languid crutches I'm pined.
With me, only my sorrow disappear'd , the palace stay'd, the flute sans voice,so did the birch tree.
With my demise, an ageless lament was born, though in her palatial heart there was none a throne for me. " 'Tis the beauty of the hellish circle of virulent vindications , each morn roses with her lilies on my grave she keeps and goes.
But Celeste!By night's-fall, do you know how roses pristine silk, the lilies turn ruby red;How every drop to the King's grave beside, flows.
Life goes around in viscous circles, we move on with souls in our palms.
'Tis like a winding path back to the haven where we began, a tributary to the see that ne'er calms.
And yet came another distant summer, yet it saw another child in glee.
Lay she on the emerald grass, unknown memories blooming wild and free......................
Lay she on the emerald grass, the myriad flowers blooming wild and free.
Dressed in royal silks and a band of lilies adorning her head.
Danced merrily and giggled, with slender hands, the butterflies she lead.
Childish love imprisoned in her ebony eyes, innocence trapped in her smile.
Left it enraptured, brightened all days, to some thirsty, it was the Nile.
From the high window of the nearest tower, saw the aged highness his child with glassy eyes.
It pleasured him so, to see his Celeste but little he knew;he was none the wise.
Folks talked still, in hushed tones, that the King had greyed with the concrete of his palace.
He was not a man just, but as unfair, nothing but a crooked vine of malice.
Yet still, this affection in his heart he clutched, was a testament to the human left within.
But the reason of her glow, was this fair lad whom he'd ever treated a vermin.
The boy sat under the birch tree, philosophying morose tunes with the picollo of his.
In his tattered rags and slippers with holes, so poor he seemed as if even they were owned on lease.
The straw hat unwillingly hid his sandy locks and blue eyes.
Eyes that showed no fear but were queerly strained from cries.
For he was son to none, he felt anguish every eve, his very heart burned.
As draped in dirt now, years back in deep slumber,was found as the sentry'd turned.
The royal highness, generous with his faith, tended him though be it with his hounds.
The boy, of a month then, wouldn't have lived otherwise, it was a pity, however cruel it sounds.
Since then, seasons had circled, the Sun had seen the rain.
The world had crumbled and back again, the lad to the king turned a bane.
All of five years past ten now, and a valiant grace readily seats on his frame.
Now cried the princess,"Joshua..Oh..Josh
On she spoke,"Oh!How much I love you, the flute you play all day long.
I see you barely utter, but I know how you grieve through your song.
The stars, can't you see?foretell us being entwined.
We'll be together, the world behind us, even God'll be kind."
An innocent child she, in her urge, to cheer her beloved friend.
Never realized, a heavy dream to one in pain, she'd lent.
But then, Love always had a way, they were in it as months had smoothed past as years.
The Princess, an epitome of alluring beauty and wit, Joshua upon his stallion, an armor he wears.
Alas! It was not to be easy love, as even the moon is cursed with its marks.
The King ne'er approved, a day, he chained his "mongrel" to be fed to the larks.
The day forth, none ever heard , of the Joshua with his flute and golden blade.
Celeste wept and tore at her heart, it was met cruel fate her originator'd made.
The very life'd begun to wither her out,until the very day arrived. When her very beloved's whereabouts revealed , the very King'd been bribed.
He was left to rot in the dungeons of death, as she knew.
But the lune father sly even then'd disillusioned her view.
The night was dark, the heavens had rained blood in Grace.
For the Princess had run from comfort, to be ringed with her love who'd no trace.
"Run Celeste! Run to the shrine where he fans his doom nearing.
Pestilence strikes, mortals may lose, but you are his Goddess endearing.
All your father's men rise in pursuit, on their leather steeds they chase.
Under the stars, over the seas, they've look'd but none, in daze.
If ever him you find, ne'er lament nor you cry.
In this land of make-believe , it'll leave you dead and dry.
Run through the foliage, you'll be the light to your way, into the woods of drear.
By the roundabout, under the bridge, miles created still you're as near.
Escape through the darksome streets, where blood lathers your gentle soul.
By the last breath of the midnight wind, weeps bloody wine as well your sole.
Under the maledict shroud of stars, do you see him dying?.
Run Celeste! Run to your Joshua, it ne'er is or was any good crying.
He loves you, as the glum beauty loves the night as the day the sun.
Run to him, before the fires in the skies, with the clouds are done.
By the river, where the black swans flock his heart.
Do you see him, does your soul not then spit blood with a start.?
Run with the fire to burn your empire in thine Orphic tune.
So bright it's flame, the Sun be shy to rise, the world beweltered with your rune.
Why Celeste?Do you shed tears of secernment when your originator makes mirth.
After all, how can he be so cruel as to pierce her alive to one he gave birth.
Run, as wilted branches give sincere direction to your heart, the wolves weep in sorrowed infant cries.
The clowns on your cards laugh in the cruelest of fashion, whilst the king of your heart slowly dies.
Needs nothing but your touch of sureness, he's a congregation statue of fading hopes.
Sans your beacon, he'll hurt others than self, in the pitch he gropes.
Run over the hills, wade through the seas with thine paragon frame.
Climb the crumbling flight of fateful stairs, on your lips his name.
Ah! You've finally reached with lips dry and eyes wet, with a halo over your head.
Lovingly you clasp him so, but does it really whelm you when he's just a weight over you, dead.
Soon enough but untimely may it seem, it's of certain, will dawn upon you.
If just you had looked into your heart, but dead wounds none can sew.
If only you'd looked into your heart,
But a grave to be filled is ready dug.
If only you'd looked into your heart,
A death certain would be averted with your drug.
But writing elegies over spilled wine, etches the wounds deeper into the mind.
After all, what good is it to grieve now, when upon languid crutches I'm pined.
With me, only my sorrow disappear'd , the palace stay'd, the flute sans voice,so did the birch tree.
With my demise, an ageless lament was born, though in her palatial heart there was none a throne for me. " 'Tis the beauty of the hellish circle of virulent vindications , each morn roses with her lilies on my grave she keeps and goes.
But Celeste!By night's-fall, do you know how roses pristine silk, the lilies turn ruby red;How every drop to the King's grave beside, flows.
Life goes around in viscous circles, we move on with souls in our palms.
'Tis like a winding path back to the haven where we began, a tributary to the see that ne'er calms.
And yet came another distant summer, yet it saw another child in glee.
Lay she on the emerald grass, unknown memories blooming wild and free......................
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