Searching for the Gothic One...

After an extended and exhaustive orgylicious weekend, when the mind needs no more; I stand bare-backing my camera, and walks miles of Hyderabad for more orgasms. (Ain’t, I confided to being a self-proclaimed maniac. If not, then it’s best of the examples.) Clad in my unwashed, crumpled blue denims that can smeel far away, I strayed around the streets hawkish-ly for the gothic drama to unfold. But fatelorn...

In this part of Andhra Pradesh, Goddess Yellamma – one of the many myriad forms of Kali being celebrated with aplomb. As traditionally, the gold and silvery brass pots craftily painted with rich turmeric and extravagant layers of vermillion shaping the surface, filled with rice mixed with jaggery and fried julienne onion strip are carried to the temple by women, to please the god for gifting rich harvest.

For an atheist like me, this piece of information is not interesting; but, what could set me a** run through the streets are the gothic face-masks that most do. Yellamma, as imagined, is vociferous, dominative kind known for her temper is worshipped by a bundle of screaming cheetahs dressed in their gothic attire but artistically best. But, I am fatelorn and found none as the entire day passed.  

Yet to my surprise, when revisited the camera book, are the glimpses of vibrant colours of festivity filled with holy orb and sunshine. Holyness devoured but I ain’t satiated yet. (Thumbnail images of Bonalu festival are lined below.)

Yearning, Longing (Alone in City)

I ain't a brood yet, there's nothing significant left to live after AZ depart. In fact, what he has left behind are the 'cherished memories' and a life; and continued. We still talk over the phone, although, it costs me damn. But, nothing worth than listening to him. (He is gradually settling down. Good.)

As for me, here's a few lines that wraps it all.

- I -

Hath the blossomed spring, be withered away, from my orchard

For, my dear love, left me to my own.

The butter bed, now longing for a body, to crumble its folds

But, dear sleep - hath kept me awake, all alone.

- II -

Yunhi kuch baatyon ko, bayan karne ki, izzazzat nahi hoti...

Ab, hum tanha kyun hai? yeh, kaise kahe?

Sojourn love.

A Leftover to Survive!

Scrawling the unkempt corners – a shirt, a memento, an empty bottle and the mobile number (that won’t be dialed now) is what's left. My fingers run through each of these, rested on few, and hold – to clean. Then, placed them back to where they were; in dust, of unkempt corners of my household.

Morning is dripping out…but I ain’t moving by a single bite; except of a few cups of tea – sweet and bitter. A silence speaks, a dog bark, and sheathes of breeze fly by my dusty household. I’m still the motionless like the shirt, the memento, the empty bottle and the number (that won’t ring again).

No, I’m not dead. I got leftovers to survive.

A New Beginning, A New Journey, Let’s re-start.

AZ left to face his new destiny; and I am left. In a land that never belongs to me (and would never be) I’m set to re-start, refresh. Four years and maybe a few months to add; I have lived. But destiny thought otherwise and here I am again, trying to re-start.

The journey of from zero to about forty, if I have to rewind, I must confess to have lived the last four years and maybe a few months to myself. The rest has gone – in high and low sails. And, the following might pass in high and low tides again.

Let's walk again.