An Ode to A Photographer

Photography is a rare art

Playing with omnipresent

Light and Time 

Capturing moments

That transpire magically

Just like a sudden flight of a bird

Or deep pensive prayer of a saint

Or something unsettling

Or maybe deeply political

Just like a dying child staring

At an approaching vulture

These are moments of truth

That transcends Time

A photograph rarely lies

Unless of course it is doctored

To peddle a lie

Ever since it’s invention

There have been warriors

Going to the ends and the depth

To capture beauty and horror

Their gaze becomes

The gaze of the masses

That’s the magic

They turn you

Into them

The gaze changes places

You become the onlooker

Your silence becomes complicity

Life of a photographer

Isn’t an easy one

Trudging with the gears

They make the unseen

And unknown visible

They unravel the truth

That hides in the plain sight

Leaving us to wonder

How did we allow this to happen?

Are we going to do something?

Photographs have changed

The world history

But photographers carry

The burden of Sisyphus

They must push the boulders

And the borders again and again

They must teach

The blind populace to see 

And behold the truth

And not turn a blind eye 

Again and again

Photographers have turned 

Cosmetic over ages

They just indulge in beauty

Safety and narcissism of it

Yet there came along

A rare tall one

With a discerning eye

And deep wisdom

Who could stop the world

With one single photograph

Using simple Light and Time

To paint the undeniable Truth

An ace visual storyteller

Holding the mirror to the world

Leaving for the future

Stories that are imprinted

By light on the frames of Time

And memory forever!!

PS: In remembrance of legendary Raghu Rai who passed on to another realm today

A Hot Summer Afternoon In Uru

Uru in kannada means ‘town/village/native place’. It turns out that I have experienced extreme summers in multiple major cities/towns of India.So I really don’t know which place I belong to whenever I think of hot summers.

My ancestors lived in the arid plateau of North Karnataka, I was born and brought up in Bombay. But every summer holidays we went to my grandparents place till we stopped going and they moved on. So hot summer afternoons were spent listening to my grandma’s tales from scriptures, playing with siblings and cousins till native homes were around. So did that place stop being my Uru? I really don’t know. 

Then there were summers spent in Bombay in various suburbs. Mangoes and playtime dominate the memories. Also reading the few books we had again and again. Postponing all studies and homework till the holidays ended. The school reopening often coincided with the onset of monsoons.

Then I have been in other Urus looking for shade in the hot summer afternoon, thirsty sojourns and all yummy Rasnas and Ruh Afzaas to quench the thirst. The west of India has its own charm. Officially summer ended with watching monsoon on marine drive (not very far from the hospital where I was born).

I often wonder did the sea breeze kiss me in that cradle room before others did? I feel more like a wild nomadic kind who loves nature, seas, hills and starry nights. And most of all the evening breezes which come from nowhere to caress you at the end of a tiring day.

Like Kamala Das, I am digressing, I am from many places and have found unexpected twists and turns in life all the while searching for myself and trying to make peace with the void within. Love came and passed, like it always does – just like summer.

I am envious when flowers bloom, trees bear mangoes and other fruits while we face sweltering heat. I always thought, I am not a summer person.

And then one summer I found myself dirt poor in Paris with my young son. We rationed to afford a gelato but we splurged on a TGV ride. We thought it was going to be the only summer of our lifetimes spent in Lyon and Paris. But then that wasn’t to be…

Little did I imagine my boy would move there and I would move cities – another Uru and will be living by myself waiting for summer break to catch my breath. Listening to my son complain about unbearable heat in Paris and him wanting to be in my Uru to escape the heat.

Dystopian times indeed…summers are strange in any uru – any town – native or non native towns, be it here or in Europe. But then one can find kindness lurking in shadows in the hot cruel summer heat. I shifted to Uru two summers ago and found immense kindness in the city that had completely changed.

And then one fine day, in a cab ride, I found my playlist which resonated completely with my state of mind. Little did I imagine that I would be writing this prose poem while waiting for the live concert of same soulful songs to begin. Summer does spring surprises while springs often go summer!!

Immortality

There are ways to live forever

Through your sheer talent

There are ways to be

Remembered fondly

By gently nudging the broken souls

Be it Van Gogh or Sylvia Plath

Or countless many more

Who struggled for existence

Struggled to pursue their passion

They died as mere beings

Unrecognised mortals

But lived forever

As Immortals…

Time truly

Is a game changer

The more you 

Try to hold on to it

The more quickly it slips away

And then without

Your knowledge or approval

It makes you live forever

As immortals…

Condemned to be

As per everyone’s

Imagination and perception!!

Travels

Intriguing migratory birds

With tiny magnetic compasses

In their tiny little being

Navigating with perfection

They travel miles and miles

Across from Siberia and elsewhere

To find their little green oasis

Their islets, wetlands

To  stay and nest

Till the fledglings are strong enough

They are so faithful to

Their geography and biology

Tuned perfectly

To the Nature of their very being

I wonder how they perceive

The climate change

And the erratic weather

Also the flying drones

And fighter planes

All set forth by humans

To take over land and resources

That doesn’t even belong to them

Migratory birds

Are quite enviable

They don’t need papers

To prove they nationalites

They fly high above

Man made borders

Who knows maybe

They will be

Saviours of life on earth

When humans go extinct

A Poem a Day

It is a good way of beginning

The ‘Cruelest Month’ of the year

A poem a day!

How else would one survive?

The daily calamities, killings

And mournings

The sense of worse times ahead

For Entropy always wins

The beautiful flower of yesterday

Is wilted, fallen and forgotten

Just realised I did see the Halley’s Comet

And then came the afterthought

I won’t ever be seeing it again!

It will come irrespective of everything

As sun beckons it every 75 years

Plants thrive on sunlight

Maybe they bloom flowers

For the Sun!!

A return gift maybe

For all the free glorious light

Plants know gratitude

While we seem to thrive

On regret, hate and revenge!

#GloPoWriMo

Stars burn out too

Sun and stars may seem like

Permanent fixtures of our lives

Moving across the sky

The sun and other billions of them

They are literally a ball of fire

Constantly fusing atoms together

Depleting their reserves slowly

And very brightly

They are going to die too

Each one of them

Die and evolve into something else

Depending on how big or small they are

White dwarf, black dwarf, neutron stars

Or maybe a black hole

Just like every other being

The stars burn out too

And fade into oblivion

Their life timescales are too large

For us to witness

Like ours is for creatures who

Live for only for a bit

Nothing is permanent

Nor stars, nor universe nor we

Yet we keep seeking forevers

Knowing very well that

The cosmic dance can end  any moment

Knowing that everyone will move on

Memories linger but that too

For a while, only a little while

In the grand scale of the universe

Sky, horizons, time, colours

Eternities and forevers are illusions

Stars burn out too…so do we…

Sometimes It Is Too Late…

A petit pink fresh flower

Fell on the roadside

Just detached from the mother tree

I thought of picking it up

On my way back

As I walked ahead

A big SUV passed me by

At the end of the lane

As I turned

I saw it backing

Into its marked zone

To park perhaps

To my utter dismay

The wheels went over

That petit pink flower lay crushed

Beneath the mother tree

Sometimes it is just too late

To  behold, cherish and save

Beauty is often fragile and transient

Always ending up crushed

Under the ruthless

Wheels of the civilization

Sometimes it is too late

Most times it is too late!!

Tiger Tiger

http://madkatphotoessays.com/2025/11/08/tiger-tiger/

Excerpt:

“Humans who have built roads

Into their territories

Are now the new colonisers

How much ever we study history

Dissect colonisation

We continue to colonise nature

To plunder it all

Leaving no space to other species

While the capital city

Chokes on high AQI

We try fancy stuff

Like seeding the clouds

We want even clouds

To be performative

Even when all our acts

Grand spectacular failure

We refuse to learn simple truth

We just need to save 

The planet and nature 

For it to save us!!”

Image courtesy: Arvind Karthik

Forever

Forever is a strange faraway land

Where eternity dwells

The word itself

Hides a promise, an irony

As well as a dread

People want to 

Live forever

Stay together

Forever

And those who die

Are gone forever

Forevers are the promises

That we never keep

Forever is a sand

That slips through our hands

Yet we cling to it

Just like we cling

To life itself

We wish for forever

Peace, happiness, health and wealth

None of which ever lasts ever

Forever is the best illusion

Created by humans

Just like Gods

Even sun and stars

Don’t last forever

Forever is a greatest irony

While we want to hold it

We don’t desire

Forever grief

Forever wars

Forever poverty

Forever inequality

Forever is the best false promise

We make to ourselves

In a transient world

Where nothing lasts forever

The best moments and joys

Are often short lived

Beauty lies in their brevity

Think of those flowers

Or our lives of our pets

While chasing forevers

We forget to live

Those precious moments

Which perhaps make our forevers

Our memories too

Don’t last forever

With time they fade

Grief and pain often

Linger and last longer

Sometimes forever

Ownership

We don’t own anything

Not even these words

Which are borrowed

From a language

Thoughts may be ours

But not entirely

They are formed by

All that we read and experience

In a dynamic shape shifting world

How can we own anything?

Our body cells start to shed

The moment we are born

Our ions and electrolytes

Are forever incomplete

Seeking bonds

Nothing is ever static and whole

Blood flow forms rivulets

All through the body

Do I own these cells, ions and atoms?

All formed from the star dust

Including the sun, our planet

How can we own anything at all?

We are just a blip, a heartbeat

In the grandeur of cosmos and

Timeline of universe

Yet in vain we try to possess and own

That piece of land, this piece of resource

People in our lives and their free minds

What for?

For that momentary

Lust for power and glory?

We play with lives 

Lives of others

While squandering our own

Nothing ever dies

It changes forms

We just own our made up 

Truths and lies

Our actions too are borrowed

From the history playbooks

We lack courage to love

So we choose deceit

Ilusion and grandeur

Happy in our bubbles

We float in an embryonic state

Feeding off the lives

Which we think we own

While we own nothing

Earth belongs to itself

It doesn’t give a damn

About our petty lives

Our politics and lies

The more we plunder

More it will make us pay

Just like any other landlord

Photo courtesy: Anuran – Researcher and photographer based in Paris