My Artistic & Active Expressions
I grew up with a strong affinity for guns, from watching my Nana fire in the fields to my rugged training in military camps; the metallic crack ripping through silence has always been my kind of music. Brutal and Beautiful. For me, a gun isn’t violence; it’s poetry, it’s precision. It’s the idea of holding destruction in your hands and refusing to unleash it. I’m not violent by instinct; I meditate, I pray, I drown in stillness, but sometimes, just sometimes, nothing steadies me like staring down a barrel and feeling a buttstock slam into my right shoulder with the recoil. My love for peace and violence runs so deep that I recently got it inked on my wrist: a gun with a heart as its trigger, my favorite tattoo so far. It screams what I stand for: “I wear my heart on my sleeve, but fuck it, I wear my gun there too.” So come close, come kind, and you’ll have my love. But come with malice, and you’ll know that I hardly miss when I aim, and when I shoot, I don’t fucking stop.
#4 2nd Quarter Of The Year 2024
After a long time, I spent a quarter mostly in isolation, primarily by myself, with minimal social interactions. I spent this time introspecting, thinking, overthinking, reading, overreading, crying, empathizing, strategizing, structuring, controlling, surrendering & flowing. It was a quarter spent observing my mind and heart wrestle, wrestle like fucking pigs. Somedays I watched them from a distance, as a spectator, and some days I was with them in the pit. Lovely. Loved every bit of it. A quarter spent well and I think there is still some tangling left to do. But as far as I can see, in the next quarter, they will not wrestle; they will dance. It will be a dance of polarity, but it will be a dance, a graceful waltz or maybe a steamy bachata. But it will be a dance.
You are a collection of all the people you let into your life and spend time with. I know it is a cliché, but I recently realized that it is very true. I have a cousin sister who loves the color green. So, whenever I see green now, I think of her. Initially, when she told me her favorite color was green, specifically a shade of emerald, I was surprised. Why would someone like green? Usually, people say blue, black, or white. But now, whenever I come across emerald, I understand what she sees.
I saw an emerald-colored Creta once; it looked like a snake on the road, quiet yet powerful. Now I see green everywhere and think of her- leaves, reflections in water, dresses of the royals. She loves the shade so much that she even bought a vintage sofa in it. That was the moment I was sold too; emerald green is royal, timeless, and makes you feel something you can’t really put a finger on. She has now moved out of Delhi and lives in a place near Indore, which I don’t think is listed on the map yet, but I hope she finds her green there too, in butterfly wings, lush gardens, book covers, victorian carpets, & whatnot.
Emerald green, a shade that makes its presence felt like a tree- neither dominating or seeking attention, nor submissive or dissolving in the background, but standing tall and assertive. Like a tree, whose presence might not ‘feel’ too much when it’s there, but its absence surely does.
#3 My Cousin Sister Loves Green
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पूरी उम्र लगा देती है
एक कली फूल बनने मे,
पर क्यूँ? .
फूल बनना अखिर इतना जरुरी है क्यु?
एक मासूम सी कली रहने मे
अखिर बुराई क्या है?
और भी कयी सवाल
जहन मे लिए,
जुट जाती है वो
अपनी तब्दीलियों में
...
पर किसके लिए?
लोगों के लिए?
लोग भी तो बेशक
ये ही कहते हैं
के देखो
कितना खूबसूरत फूल है.
एक कली को सराहते हुए
शायद ही
मैंने किसी को सुना हो. .
और ये लोग कोई गैर नहीं
ये वहीं हैं जो
गुंचे की सिसकियाँ
सुनने का दम नहीं पर
गुल के गीत
सुनने का शौक रखते हैं.
तो क्या सारी मशक्कत
इन गैरो के लिए?
या खुद के लिए
करती है वो? के एक बार देखूँ तो जरा
के ये सारा शोर
अखिर है किस बात का ?
और एक गहरी साँस लेकर
फिरसे जुट जाती है वो
ठान लेती है
के अब तो
फूल बन कर ही दम लुंगी,
इस डाली से
आज़ाद होकर ही दम लुंगी
अपने ईन सवालों से
रिहा होकर ही दम लुंगी
के अब
खूबसूरत दिख कर ही दम लुंगी.
. .
फूल बनने के दो रोज मे ही
मिट्टी मे रल जाएगी वो,
इस हकीकत से
वाकिफ होने के बावजूद भी.
शायदा इसी लिए?
पूरी उम्र लगा देती है
एक कली फूल बनने मे।
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निगाहें उठा कर
नजरें मिला कर
आँखों मे आंखें डाल कर
बोल,
मिट्टी की हूं,
पर सिर्फ मिट्टी नहीं हूं मैं।
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