strains from the city, an exploration in colour

                                             sheets flutter down; view from the third floor of the greater kailash metro station

 

in the park at 4 30 am

                                                                   simar's place, khirkee

                                                                       "we steal brushes"   

                                                                                    people

the afterlife of peggy

Evening

Silhouettes of tombs stare

from outside the glass
under the night sky

Of-course they want the glasshouse,

but we the tomb,

They want a bloody stain

and we the tools

They want rewards,

we, the journey.

We would not have left it there,

if we could shrink before the things we want-

become you,
build without destroying the other,
if we knew there was no second.

"the battle is so silly that winning is not a reward and losing too composed for savage hearts"

On call

some of the illustrations for a story,On Call, by Ambarish Satwik.

some work for Down to Earth - Gobar times

I worked as the illustrator for Down to Earth's supplement magazine, Gobar Times between June and August 2011. the whole time went by in a flash, never ended up putting any of thw work up.heres some of it.

london sock exchange

Ripples

It takes one rosy link, to latch on to a ladder of highs,
the world is a chain, it ripples open, as it closes in together,
and it is waiting to devour you,
hungry to worship you,
hungry to break you.


There is no reward greater than disappearing.

Fool

What do you want, after you get?
How long will you stand on this horizon of dots?

I could be the fool,
the only fool,
whose life passed by-
explaining my lifelessness as wait for grander dreams.

Certainty cannot be revisited.
I am oceans, that have the power to gleam,
yet I watch each one find their glory
as I stand still
resisting motion.
Nothing I am to you
is true,
no love is grand enough,
no picture beautiful enough,
no drawing good enough,
no knowing is knowing enough,
All I am is a means
to something more,
something that cannot justify all I am, yet.

Which?

This world or that?
Shutting away or soaking that which is around?
Where do i lie, and
which is ignorance, anyway?

it takes a misjudgement of sight to move a thing from its static position, to move anything at all.

i'll never know what lurks inside you.

kites in progress

sketches at Escape festival

steve, tritha and paul

warier and lubna - as we sat on the steps talking

sleeping

shiv listening

forgot his name