…of people and places

Things and places always reminded me of times and people. This was always the way it happened. Objects brought more meaning to life. Strange? May be not!

She sat there, watching passerby's.

The wind was subtle. The place – crowded. There was little space left to maneuver; even for the wind. Probably why it remained subtle.

It could have been an hour, or may be even 2. The rains delayed the bus by a few hours. The not-so-dirty bench at the rear end of the platform was convenient. To watch, to smile, to smirk and to remain inert; immune to the chaos around.

Being the mute participant in multiple conversations, she continued to write... a story of borrowed characters and stolen dialogues. Little truth that captured the smell of sweat and wet iron of rusty buses made it real.

It kept her busy. Occupied.

And then he called….

Hence, another incomplete story.


Sometimes life is like that, there is always an invisible truth… a hidden reality… open secrets and surreal situations. It works on a simple truth – “Your life is REAL. But so is mine”. They say, emotions have that in them - the ability to bring to life memories. Love; most of all.

I’ve read books. I see there is so much to describe when it comes to mundane routines or even a crime scene. And I can’t help but wonder how Love seems to be the only thing that’s understood without words. Without words.


But we did speak. A little, every now and then. No one asked me as many questions as he did. I had company. No one listened without judging me inside. And I have to agree, its tough finding people like that these days. Many judge by cover, I judge too – ‘instincts’; they say.

May be not.

I stumble upon more questions as I even try to answer the very first. What made me take that extra step?

He listened with patience. I preferred to think, he was observing closely. Sometimes, I even felt his gaze wash my skin.

Reluctant Panic. Both were mine. A sinful combination.

Such things can’t be ignored.

And some people can’t be forgotten. They can’t be remembered either. They just exist in your life. May be as tucked away memories of hurt… Or whispers of something you imagined…


Welcome to my world. Here, nothing is new. Nothing is old. Its got me, myself and I.

"When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence" - Ansel Adams

In this space you will find images and words. It is upto you to weave 'em together and see what I see.