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

Brain Fog

Best words and lines

And the flow of thoughts, ideas

Come to me while

I am walking or teaching

Or while doing some unrelated chores

And then they disappear

Brain fog I guess

Should I guilt trip myself

For not writing them down?

Or maybe a pardon is in order?

After all brain fog isn’t my fault

And it isn’t the brain’s fault either

We keep constantly overloading it

With information, emotions and sentiments

Evoked by hundreds of visuals

And narratives unfolding

Everywhere all at once

One moment we are infuriated

And next moment we laugh

We cry for a bit too

And then we are confused

Most of the time

I guess the brain too gives up on us

Thinking fast, thinking slow

Long term or short term

Cognition and metacognition

How much can it label and segregate?

Neurons too must be overworked

With all the firing and messaging

I try to remember that string of thoughts

Something that got completely lost

While I went on a scavenger hunt

Looking for war, elections and other news

Doomscrolling

I don’t remember knowing these words

During my growing up years

Brainfog, doomscrolling…

Oh wait…what was I planning

To write about?

Ufff I lost the string of thoughts again

Wonder how James Joyce and other

Stream of consciousness writers

Would have fared in this era?

Will there be a new genre?

A genre of brain fogged writings?

For writers who lose their

Stream of consciousness?