This citying of landscape
This stunting of trees
These hovels of dens
Those pygmied men

This convent of indulgence
This dark habit
Those spires of intrigue

This love become date
Slapping bodies fornicate
This bonsai passion
That herculean fashion

This robbing..
Trees of girth
Eyes of mirth
Forest of flame

How do I say;
love’s in the air
and I love you dame.

Dark night

Birds fly at night, blindfolded

wings gently row, darkness
has no perch then or now

sacred trees now scared
fabled wind scarred

peace is dove-corpse
gift wrapped, dream sandstorm
eden charred.

Birds fly at night…

Punjab in february

February is one enchantress.

on her heels meditative jan, wispy march in braid.

sprinkles of mustard leading to homesteads.

adolescent stalks of wheat quietly sway to a cumulus harp.

nascent life bursting on mulberry tree

 a lone jand* enacts the Nataraja*; The dance of creation begins. Life has begun to seed.

a flock of Ibises flies past; ime for moon to rise. sun to rest.  nocturn has its own secrets.

Let dreams be woven.

 mustard audience1 to homestaedsadoloscent stalksmulberryNatarajMustard audience3seedsthe-ibis-fly-past-smallmoon risethe-ibis-fly-past-small-bw

Jand* tree: P. Cineraria

Nataraja*: a depiction of the god Shiva as the cosmic dancer who performs his divine dance to destroy a weary universe and make preparations for the god Brahma to start the process of creation. (Wikipedia)

My other blog:

Punjab in January

Posting January in May sounds out-of-synch but what has been started must be completed. So here goes…

January is a see-saw. One bright morning and it preens like spring. One foggy day and it goes into a huddle of contemplative calm. An in-between month of neither here nor there. To an optimist it is best of both. 

Wheat fields now a bed-spread of shy green.

Mustard  stands high on stilettos as if…

breathtakingly smiles

seasons move

leaves leave to find new abode

inexorable the march of time

the fading fades

color arrives the fruit of labor 

we can only hope to be there

as it happens















December in punjab, a new raiment

Curtain rings on December with this post. The snippets form a miniscule part of what Punjab is all about, visually and culturally. Behind a thick mantle of fog life has been growing. Silently.

Cotton pods which were plucked pre-mature have been sun bathing before bursting open.

A farmer heading towards fields look back at me clicking and gently smiles. Another one is busy spraying fertilizer.

Hardy plants manage to thrive in-spite of weedicides.

Trees shed leaves and reflect.

Clothes on innovative clothes lines add to the optimism that sun is just around the corner.

Birds find new habitat.

Nature weaves a new raiment.

Children learn alphabets of life basking in the sun sitting by wide open fields of Punjab.

cotton pods drying

cotton pods burst open

farmer heading towards fields

sprinkle of fertiliser



nature sheds old raiment

birds find new habitat

clothesline clothes linenature's raiment

alphabets of life

Wonder struck, I  move on, clicking.

December in Punjab: walking into a mellow sun

Well friends the story continues. Cold has gotten intens”er”. Fog rules. Sun, inspite of burning billions of billions of billions of calories barely manages to show.  Wheat has been sown. Farmers get up early to check their fields and drive out stray cattle. I was clicking an exceptionally bright dawn  when I noticed someone walk towards me. It was Gopal Singh, a farmer. With three dogs in tow. Cautious of playful canines I accosted Gopal Singh and then walked with him into the fields. A tree on the horizon, gently combed furrows on land, extravagant gold of sun made this into a sight to behold. Barely had I finished clicking the scene when Gopal Singh stepped into the view finder. I clicked again and found my “tree of man”.

The curtain is lifted


moving fog

gopal singh approaching his fields

Gopal singh a bit closer

Gopal singh's dogs

a tree in Gopal singh's fields

the tree of man

Little more of december to follow before we move into January.
Thanks for looking. In advance!

December in Punjab; canvas of the farmer

The canvas of a farmer is so diverse, live and dynamic. Throughout november punjab is covered under thick smog caused by burning of paddy stubble. Come december and it begins to clear out. There’s a definite nip in the air. Fog sets in generally hanging low. Paddy has been cut and disposed off. Cotton fields half picked dot the horizon. Alongside fields are prepared for sowing wheat. Farmers are busy working on their canvas shaping their destinies and the way their land looks. Three hours of dawn brought me colors from three worlds which I must share with you all.

Thanks in advance to everyone for stopping by.

cotton symphony

the last song of cotton podscotton field fully picked cotton fields half picked cotton out wheat in cotton plants cut away and stacked as fuel cotton sunrise
gates open to new crop of wheat nascent sprouts of wheat preparing for wheat; a farmer's canvas