Waiting for the paint to dry

I picked up a paintbrush after what seems like ages, a couple of days ago. It was an unexpected holiday, frankly because I’d forgotten all about it. It was also an extremely lazy day. After sleeping away half of it, i plonked myself down on the couch and put pencil to paper. Now, if you know me a little bit, sketching has never been a problem for me. Painting, however, is an altogether different ball game. I always mess up decent sketches when trying to paint them. This time was no different. It was a mess. But it was my mess. I’d created it from scratch. And I know precisely where I went wrong and at what point things quickly became unsalvageable. Yet, I continued on to finish the painting despite this knowledge. I re-learned something that day, which I learn anew every time I create art.

Art is cathartic. Art is blissful. Art is hard. Art is all kinds of right and wrong. Most of all, art demands patience (if not tears). Sometimes, you just have to wait for the paint to dry to be able to add more beauty, more layers and those crucial, final touches. So here’s to next time, when I’ll know how to wait.


At First Sight

In the cobbled old streets of my hometown

In the relentless rains of London

In the sandy beaches of Goa

In the cold and dreary castles of Scotland

On a hot air balloon in Turkey

On a camel ride in Jaisalmer

On a safari in Corbett

On a trek in the Everest

In the mist of the Niagara

In the midst of NY

I’ve fallen in love a myriad times

For you see

I lose my heart to places, not people

I fall in love with moments, and everything around.

A Great Start

I think I’ve started the new year on the right note. I travelled. Twice in the very first month, in fact. And I paused. I paused myself, my thoughts and life itself. In the middle of mountains and the whitest of clouds. Underneath blue skies and a canopy of lush trees. I didn’t hear people, but I still heard sounds. Of the birds chirping. And gushing waters abound. I lost myself to adventure. I found myself in joy. I gave myself to the wilderness and I brought myself pure happiness.

Yes, I think I started the new year on a beautiful note. How have you been doing?

Pot Pourri

I no longer press flowers between diary pages

Marking important events

To be forgotten for years at end only to fall apart as dust

No, I display dried flowers in vases all around my house

Quite proudly

Wilted and shriveled yet capable of beauty

They no longer need to be locked away

Into secret corners of my memories

And when these flowers start to disintegrate

I turn them into pot pourri instead

Spreading their fragrance anew