I write & shoot (photographs) occasionally

Month: January, 2016


this is where it begins: where our paths stop crossing (i hope not permanently) and we go out and forge new roads, discover roiling seas, set foot on never-before-seen lands, start to truly map out and extend the atlases of our lives. from here we will sail the seas of strange, selfish, beautiful people, explore lands echoing a different reality beneath each pair of feet- little christopher columbuses in our own rights. one day the experiences you speak of may be too vivid, too large to be contained in my little atlas, my understanding of this world. i will watch as you sketch out new terrain, outline the lands you’ve found and forests you’ve fought through, extend the boundaries of what you know and understand and have experienced onto a scroll which has your whole life to unfurl.

and even though our rivers run and meander through different lands, distributaries stretching out in every imaginable direction, i hope that somewhere or other they meet and overlap again, as they did at the source; the beginning.


a haiku

how weak our minds are
resolve dissipating like
sugar in hot tea

passages of stillness

on 8.43am buses filled with adults on solitary journeys to work
composing intermittent melodies of footsteps and card beeps
the sigh of windowpanes supporting weary heads

old draft featuring confusion

these days the days are no longer the distinct black and white stripes of a zebra crossing, the boundaries are no longer tangible. more often i find myself struggling to remember what i did yesterday, what day today is (saturday) and what day yesterday was; these things don’t seem to matter or register much anymore when you have escaped a consistent schedule and routine. these days the days are a mass of marble, melded together into swirly patterns in which the days and nights become confused and memory is charted more by events and people and conversations than what i did on mondaytuesdaywednesdaythursdayfriday.

little india photowalk


night run ramblings

my phone is spoilt. the songs break apart in the middle of themselves and the intermission time is not calculable. all that’s left to hear are my footsteps, cicadas alive and screeching past 8pm and my own body alive and panting, heart pounding so hard i wonder if i can endure another round without collapsing. i haven’t run in so long i’ve forgotten how this fatigue sounds like; can’t really feel my legs but it is a good feeling. when my feet are hitting the ground i’m looking at my own shadow leading the way ahead of me in a tired shuffle (as it looks to me); my shadow across the ground of grass clumps, slanting across the asphalt path, overlapping and criss-crossing with other shadows so that it becomes an undefined dark mess and i can no longer tell which is mine. my shadow enjoined to my feet, pulling me forward.

the elements


city lights




the future

fear creeps inside me suddenly every now and then, like a small fire blooming. it comes out of nowhere, materialises in random irrelevant situations; i can be reading a book on a plane and suddenly the future pops into my head. it’s something that grips me in a second of fear; something i hurriedly douse with waves of resignation (there’s nothing you can do now that will change the outcome) and compulsion for pure escapism. i don’t let myself dwell on it for long. it’s a good life now really, but sometimes i feel like the future is falling over my head, and i’m scared. it’s a good life but sometimes i feel like every day is slush and i’m dragging my feet through it in a haze. can i only feel alive when the wind is hurtling at my face with such vengeful force i cannot open my eyes, t-shirt inflated in windy puffs and rippling like a flame, looking at bare sandy feet dangling above gold-tipped treetops with a tiny chill, unabashedly and joyfully singing over the deafening roar of water when no one can hear me and even i can barely hear myself? don’t get me wrong, i am definitely not upset, maybe more of lost and confused. like a puppet for so long dreaming of how beautifully and freely it would dance on its own, suddenly having its strings cut off and realising that its joints are not well-oiled and moveable, that freedom is not as easy and breathable as it seems. a tiny wisp, breath of a cloud finally broken free of a large gathering mass, before realising that it does not understand the language of the wind; where it is meant to go, alone and adrift in an island of sky. i am doing things and there is so much potential in each day but how do i make it feel like each moment and hour is fruitful and worthwhile?