Posted in Experience, People, Poem

My Grandma Is Now Old

Painting: The sitting woman by Rabindranath Tagore

Watercolor and ink on paper

National Gallery of Modern Art, Delhi

Whilst I write these words down- I am tired
But not half much as her.
As this thought stops by- I quiver
But nothing near her de-morphing shivers.
Her skin is now pale
Colours of youth long gone
Her experiences now shrunk to creases manifold
Each wrinkle has a story-
A few narrated; Many left untold.
I look at her tiny stature-
Barely walking; And wobbling more
That is when I realise my grandma is now old.
After years of delayed meetings
I might be here just in time
Scared and terrified charred by generation gap
A victim of brutal awkwardness
I stood there to realise that my grandma is now old.
Her glasses are heavier than emotions she carries
Her eyes- now they glitter no more
Her hunch rests as a heroic mark of responsibilities she took care of,
As I glance at her toothless mouth
Her mummed lips curl to become a smile
That is when all my uproaring torments die a silent death
And I know she shall nurture always
Yes, my grandma is now old
But her aura is enough to uphold all our souls.

Posted in Doodles, Experience, Poem

I Like Winters At My Home

The sun rises early
When my dad forges it upon
I wish to dream a bit more; but-
I like winters at my home.
His fear scattered across the rooms
On roof top sits his little garden
He nurtures the creepers and reckons the roses
He says things that:- I know he’s right
But no, I won’t listen.
I stand pompous and proud
I’ll fall and choose to rise on my own
That is when he looks at the creepers
And glances at the thorns
They say I resemble him-
Two egos too big and strong
But no- My father forgives me each noon.
I like winters at my home-
More cozy and less alone.

Posted in Photography, Poem

Kangra Fort, Himachal Pradesh

What if I tell you faith and religion didn’t go hand in hand?
What if one was belief and the other a human weaved story?
What if one was creation and the other a mere fantasy?
Dare not answer these questions loud,
But ponder and find out which is which
Or do they even exist?

Posted in Photography, Poem

Not all stary nights are bright
Let’s abandon solace for one lifetime
Looks better when written, Worse when spoken
But let’s abandon solace for one lifetime.
Not all starry nights are Van Gogh’s call

A few are better kept as shrieks and howls.

Posted in Article, Photography, Poem

Colours

They split, they splatter- throwing away a bit of dirt
They tell stories when the days are lonely
Create a few when nights are mundane
They gorge upon the masochist dreams
Speaking while holding hands of the beloved nightmare
They make me cry-
That is when I drift towards something that wasn’t ever seen
And now that couldn’t be unseen.
These- these are my colours,
Fairer than any lover
Leaving me gobsmacked at every inch of canvas that is meant to be imprinted in my skin
They go deep beneath the surface
Not just incidents, they talk of narratives
Narratives that are too speculating to be known-
Even more sad to understand
Devastating to feel

Alas! These are my colours.

Posted in Experience, People, Photography, Poem

PILGRIMS OF OUR OWN SCARS

Inscribed on the skin- narrates the stories of our heroism
And of failures and debt,
Your body- it tells a tale
I wish so could mine
Alas! It speaks silence-
Peeping through the plight of a blank verse.
The scars- they are intriguing
I wish so might be your charm
The ones we inherit
And the ones we create
The ones we dare to embark
We recreate and recreate untill the changed us could reconnect
Indeed, we are the pilgrims of our own scars.

Posted in Artwork, Experience, Poem

The Game Called Perception

Thewomanipretendtobe7

I have an eye

A subtle and kind vision

I see through the window

And create my own stories

The gestures- they vary.

But never are they faltered,

It’s an unfair game called – Perception

Calling for chaos and havoc

Because the strengths are yet to be known

And the weak might be what we worship.

No written rules, No guidelines to abide

Yet the world is the jury-

What decisions are to be made?

No one knows

Yet unfailingly they declare the putrid.

 

-Artwork by Aakriti Thakur

-Poem by Ruchi Bhardwaj

Posted in Article, Artwork, Poem

Imprints Of The Old Playlist And New Songs

Imprints of the old playlist and new songs.jpg
Amidst a subtle chaos in my mind
I saw it, I heard it
I felt it, I visualized.
It spoke of some long lost memory,
Daunted by sudden misery
I agonized the mundane and the dreary.
It was a sweet little melody
A tender gripping hum
But the words- the words were brutal
They were unkind
They unveiled my deep seated fears
And curtains fell on the long guilty strolls-
Because I now had company.
It was music that took me on a new journey
While I peeped through what was I leaving behind,
It left an impression
And more was yet to imprint.

Sometime back I was wondering what my playlist has to say about me. This dilemma finally made its way out of my head when I came across the song ‘Walkashame’ by Meghan Trainor whilst I was biting my nails over an embarrassing incident. It’s a song I used to listen in my late teens after being an imprudent child who now needed to make sure that no matter what her daddy is going to look at her the same way. As I lip synced the lyrics the guilt seemed to descend to a path trodden by none- not even by the darkest memories with a snooze button. This sudden realization accompanied by huge amount of relief urged me to go through my old playlists. Barely a music person but I was shocked to see the variety of artists in the list. As the song ‘Up and up’ by Coldplay started playing my face had a calm smile and singing along with Chris Martin’s voice and visualizing the creative video instilled some hope in me. Exactly the same reaction every single time! The song ‘Anna Sun’ by Walk the moon tempts me to be at that house falling apart and never return. Oh! the teenage love I had for Katy Perry now seems to be a weird phase but worshiping her back then brought a friend and me together. Every time I listen to her songs I end up in nostalgia. The entire album ‘Some Nights’ by Fun had its artistic as well as realistic quirks that made it a mandatory on my playlist back then. ‘Seasons’ by Olly Murs was added when I was caught fidgeting and I needed another chance. I started listening to James Blunt when life was mundane and I longed for the years behind me(can’t make it sound more juvenile). The song ‘Gypsy’ was heard on repeat on a trip when I was learning that everybody is a wanderer on the inside. The song ‘Rude’ by Magic was an influence from people listening to it in college. ‘Comatose’ belongs to the time when I had long talks with an EDM lover friend. His persona suits EDM well but me choosing those songs is probably an old habit of showing care by sharing music. The songs by Lorde are extremely relatable and empowering. Her song ‘Royals’ felt like she just said everything I was thinking about. George Ezra’s young face and mature voice is probably the most melodious irony I am aware of. ‘The Script’ is probably a band that is never going off my playlist. I remember listening to them and wondering how can every line leave such an impact. The recently added album ‘Cleopatra’ by Lumineers is the most beautiful ballad to me so far; may be because I admire the story as well as the protagonist behind those songs. ‘Happier’ by Ed Sheeran  acknowledges a silly yet secret desire. The list is endless. I might cringe when I listen to this music yet I fail to delete these songs. May be it is hard to give up on some songs because now they are a part of me or simply a reminder of an event in past. The list will keep on adding new songs but the old ones are now imprinted on me.

Posted in Artwork, Poem

The Woman I Pretend To Be..

colours and hues.jpg

I pretend to be calm in the ocean of tremors

I pretend to smile listening to the rumors

Trapped in my own colours and countless hues

I pretend as if I don’t know the real you

I keep away from probing-

Scared my  fears shall be affirmed and true

Aware of the apprehensive depths

Alas! the shallows I fear.

Dread it when shallows are deep

And depths no more obscure.

I have nothing to hide; No need to conceal

Yet I pretend to leave behind an aura of mystique.

Drenched in my own thoughts, soaked with imagination

I pretend not to think the queer.

I know it all- Pretend to be a wandering soul

I pretend to stay in one place

When my world had traversed the entire universe.

I pretend to stay quiet

Listening to my own silence when it makes the never ending creaks

And it hums a little song amidst the bleak

My heart filled with music; A tune ever repeating

The same rhythm just different lyrics

I pretend to stay still not dancing to my own epiphany

I pretend, pretend and pretend- a game that never ends

Not to merge, not to camouflage- but an urge to never blend.

-Ruchi Bhardwaj