I Sail

I sail my thoughts through the colours and patterns of randomness. I explore my subconscious observance and evoke my opinions through abstraction and imperfections. Perfectionism and rationality in art at most of the time leads you to a level of supremacy over creativity. I’d rather choose to let my brush strokes and colour sense dance irrationally and blend in with a new discovery dug deep from my instinct.

The experts may feel a bit nauseous of the colour splashes and texture used in my art, but I feel to ignore them all as I’m a dreamer, and to dream consciously is an act hindered by no rules; on the contrary I strongly feel artistic expressions by itself is a journey to explore the domain of undetermined perspectives. When I shake my hands with abstraction, it feels as if I open the cage at the will of my hand, by letting motions and instincts fly like free birds; to physically sense liberty and manifest them through visual spectacle. What I see in them is a discovery of novel ideas of life and the outlook of art and ingenuity itself.

During an accidental moment of painting is when I feel hooked to the imagery that lures me. Subsequently I would reflect upon my conscious self and try to figure out its perceptions. It would allow me to sail through a flow of significances. When I connect them to all the previously collected knowledge and observations, I feel immense ecstasy in connecting the dots. Haven’t we all witnessed a child playing with colours, with an imaginary mind who feels an innocent joy? While having a mind full of grown imaginative perceptions and letting my hand play like a child with tools is indeed a perfect taste of liberty.
I see my hidden interpretations through the art, I give my gratitude to the mind that works in such an erratic way, but most of all, I feel blended with reality and dream.

Painted and Written by Anirudh Shreenath

Pride

Elusive, but seductive, and defies the borders of optimism.
Pride, has been mostly defined to be toxic, as it is inflammable to arrogance.
He was proud for a different reason,
he laughed, he lived and he loved every bit of music that he performed, a music that lauded and admired death.
He was highly proud of the last rituals, he believed on his beats instigated a riot among the emotions,
His beats awakened the agony, the hatred, the happiness and the love, inside everyone in the funeral and turned them all into tears and made them all dance by forgiving the dead soul.
While performing he once witnessed a vision of his own death, where his soul looked back at him with a proud grin for striking the sound of parai.

©anirudh shreenath

In Frame : Afran yusuf

Photographer: 90_s_studios

Aggression

Aggression.

Rage, Rage, Rage!
Extremely tormented lives living through the medium of time towards death, with only Rage.
Tormented by oppression, tormented by angst,
Questioned by dignity, And separated by false reality,
They all batter the souls and instill an intense flare,
A flare that fires alongside time, and death.
Flare of rage cannot be suppressed by mere changes but by revolutionary ones.
Flare of pure aggression burns alone yet unstoppable by winds of any manipulation.
This flare comes out through the beats of parai, a drum that echoes the storm of unsaid emotions and they ignite the journey of death.
Some souls don’t rest, but flares in rage.

©anirudh shreenath

In Frame: Sameer Khan

Photographer: 90_s_studios

Vanam

The light from the Sun had gone down, a gentle breeze had its evening chillness mixed along and when it nuzzled his body hairs, Kaadan opened his eyes. He was meditating under the tree, the scent of dusk and rain made him realize that it was time to go back to his shelter. He touched the tree as a courtesy to wave off for the day but suddenly a female voice from the past was echoed inside his head. The Voice said, “How does it feel to leave? How does it feel to be left from the place where you belong?”

The voice was one of his past memory that gave him shivering vibes. It all began from how he ended up falling inside a dreadful pit of the dense forest while being chased by a wild beast. Kaadan lost his consciousness and broke his bones and then within a few hours later, the local tribe pulled him out of the pit and took him to Kayal’s house. Kayal was the expert in herbal healings, she knew in and out of the forest herbs hence the entire tribe trusted upon her healing skills. Kaadan was taken to her.

It was nightfall with heavy rains, Kaadan did not gain full consciousness, his body temperature rose up, Kayal and her kids gave their best medicines and shelter to save his life. It was dawn and Kaadan gained back his consciousness and realized that his right arm was injured badly and right leg had been fractured. He was bedridden yet he was speculative about the place he had been. Kayal and her tribal neighborhood people told what had happened since the chase.

Kaadan mentioned he came to shoot photos of the wilderness in this forest and got chased by a wild beast. Kayal and her kids were happy to treat him with everything required until his recovery. That was how the lonely photographer found a good pack of people around him. Kayal had two kids, one teenage girl Elaai and a little boy Kambaa. They both got along well with him especially the curious Kambaa, and so did Kayal.

His days spent with them made him feel like he had a family. The camera was an extrinsic device for them, when Kaadan clicked photos everyone saw him as an alien. They were surprised to see a reflection of themselves on screen. He was sympathetic about Kayal’s husband who passed away when she was pregnant for the second time.
When Kambaa asked a naive question on whether the camera can show him the photo of dead people, Kaadan stood speechless at the Innocence of the curious young kid who had never seen his father’s face.

Weeks passed, Kaadan was able to walk with the help of support sticks, while getting recovered he also felt very comfortable to live with a family of kind people. He always wanted to leave away from the fast-paced life of a concrete jungle and settle down in a peaceful place. As few more days passed he asked it out to Kayal, it was a proposal that he did to accept him as a father to her kids and not just a patient. For which Kayal had an answer which was unexpected and it started with an unusual conversation, she said, “I was waiting for this time but I didn’t expect so soon. You knew my husband didn’t you?”

Kaadan exclaimed, “No what do you mean!”
Kayal went inside her house to look for something and came back with a dog tag which imprinted a name ‘Kaadan’ and she showed it to her and said, “look isn’t this yours???”
Kaadan quickly checked his neck where he found already wearing the dog tag and then he checked with the one Kayal gave. It was only then he remembered the dreadful deed he had committed in his past.

Kaadan remembered for once he came to the same Forest to Hunt for deers, where he had a duel with an Adivasi guy who stopped him from hunting and using guns. It was a dreadful duel that ended up badly, accidentally the adivasi guy hit hard at the back of the head on a stone. He was the husband of Kayal. Kaadan was a coward back then where he had no choice but to throw the adivasi into a pit and ran away from the forest. His dog tag was cut down in the fight they had and it was near the body of Kayal’s husband inside the pit.

Kaadan stood with shame, Guilt and tears, he begged forgiveness and asked, “Kayal, I am not worthy enough to apologize for the act I’ve done. Why did you show mercy when you knew it was me all the time? You could have killed me anytime you wanted to but why didn’t you?”

Kayal: “Every single time you closed your eyes, every single time I crushed herbs I’ve thought about killing you. But the times when I saw you I realized there was no family for you, you were alone loved by none. I saw you getting dependent upon my kids, fall in love with my kids and the forest. I thought I should let you live and yearn for this love. I wanted to make you feel that you belonged here by various means. Tell me, What is it that you feel now? To leave? Tell me, How does it feel to be left from the place where you belong? How does it feel to lose people whom you thought is the entire world to you? Tell me!”

Kaadan remembered that sight which chilled his bones. The sight of a powerful widow whose eyes filled with tears mixed with a cold sense of vengeance and loss of her love.

When it started raining Kaadan came back to the present state of mind. He could never forget, every single day after meditation he touched the tree and it felt as if Kayal and Nature had the same voice and same question to ask. Kaadan only had silence and tears as answers to be given. He left everything and dedicated his rest of the life to the forest itself. He realized Kayal saved him to live and pay his life with the guilt for his deeds and so did mother nature. He felt her vengeance must be served and he does live day and night inside the dense forest and waits for the dark wild beast to take his life.

*Disclaimer*: This story and its characters are completely fictional. This is a tribute and remembering the well known environmental activist Baiju K Vasudevan. In frame is this wonderful person, thanks to Sai I came to know about him, the story is completely my own version of a different character. An inspiration has been drawn and I wish to place this as a tribute to Late Baiju K Vasudevan and Mother Nature.

©Anirudh Shreenath.

Photographer ©: Sai.Photography

In frame: Late. Baiju K Vasudevan

Maali.

Red was one of the significant colours among all in their life. It gave her the courage to bring her dreams out of the enslaved bricks, it gave him a mental strength and determination to sail across the sea and battle among the scholars, it gave them a skin that could never be tanned by any specific race. It was pure thick blood that they believe as the ultimate truth rushed in everyone’s life.

Chemba and Maali found peace in a single bed under the roof of a cadjan. They both worshipped and believed that nature had bought them together under the roof of dreadful rainfalls, and burning sun, just to make sure that they both drown hands only if blood stopped its rush through their veins. They also made sure their faith in the forest was as strong as their pulse.

Maali being a pantheistic dancer she devoted her life to cherish every moment with the dance and she found herself completely in teaching the rare art form to the village girls. Chemba; the poet with wise words battled among the locals and offshore experts, gained admiration from literature lovers also gained enough hatred from the elite group who found disgrace in his caste to attempt literature as a field in pursuit.

They both loved the days they lived, but during nights their smiles faded when hunger louded their stomach but vessels echoed poverty. Summer was harsh to allow cultivation, his words and battles might have won him hearts but not money. Her dance was the only income. Chemba had to cut down his aspirations on poetry, as his attempt on becoming a teacher at school failed, the job as a writer failed, the routine was too harsh.

Chemba had a neighborhood brother; Baalan, he offered a logger Job opportunity that came from a rich landlord across the hills. The Job was to cut down the logs and send them to the plains.
Axe and trees enraged Maali when heard for the first time, she pleaded not to enroll as they would devour their faith but Chemba convinced with his words; “the forest and trees would understand our pain and would never curse us, in fact they’d bless us with enough prosperity and wealth to feed the soul inside your womb.”

Days passed, the forest loved Chemba’s poetry and the workers found a soulful shelter under them. It was a dull evening where Chemba was attracted by a rabbit. Curiosity to show it to Maali made him rush into the woods despite the warnings of Baalan. Time delayed the return of Chemba, an echo of “help” worried Baalan and the coworkers. They rushed and searched in the dark woods, but was only to see Chemba helplessly getting drowned in a treacherous quicksand. Despite the efforts given, they were too late.

Baalan’s mournful news stunned Maali. Her eyes had the heat of anger, despair, and shock but not a single teardrop. His news echoed for lifeless days and sleepless nights, it made her remove the pebbled anklets forever to rest.

It was midnight and Moon dared to witness her rage and closed its eyes behind the clouds. She walked up to the dense forest and reached the middle ground of dry trees, she was not empty-handed. Her fierce rage had one statement to give, “I devoted my entire life to you with blind trust and faith, and you lured him to death, now in return, I’m going to take my price for it.”

She said those without any guilt, and poured kerosene over her body and immolated herself, which sparked a forest fire that burned in devouring flames of agony and hatred.

©Anirudh Shreenath.

Photographer ©Sai Photography

Model: © Sreenidhi

Resonance.

The Time lapsed very slow that he felt the chillness of the herbs caressing his chin and eyelids. It was solely his rested mind that got along with nature’s offsprings. An unsettled score with his childhood nightmares, a family drenched in the middle of poverty and debts, the curse from the elders of the family, and a drunken demon that entered his life since his divorce. He had them all hover alongside his shadow.

His obsession towards the art never shivered, not one bit. Despite the recognition and the fame on his unparalleled skill, the respect he gained was never from the temple priests but from the streets. Gold was a lifetime price he yearned for until he realized the mirage; that it was never really about the wearer but only about gold itself.

His son was the only card on his deck, he loved him unconditionally, he was a drunken dethroned king who awaited for the price every night after the show.

It was time for the performance, He wore his favorite mask on that night; which is Bhimasenan, and for the first time ever in his career, He as Bhimasenan performed Pachha (Green) and would surrender his life to the Lord.

His smile was bright and Proudly presented the aged Bhimasenan, still with unbreakable strength and big appetite. The valour and happiness shined brighter than the Gold worn by the princess in the front row. The percussionist felt tears and warmth to see his best friend performing at his pinnacle despite the darkest of his times. A magical vibe made flaming lamps dance and the wind gush melodiously, that chilled the bones of the audience while Bhimasenan cried his last breath out.

Every single spectator applauded continuously for one full minute. But seconds after that, there was a sullen noise. It was not the paint but He bled out and was struggling to reach out to the hands of the percussionist. Lying on his lap he said those last words, “My son wanted me to go away from his life, Please tell him, I had to find the right time to surrender my soul and my body together.” Those words being said, Along with Bhimasenan, he also surrendered his last breath.

©Anirudh Shreenath

Photo courtesy © Prathish Manackal

A Colourless painting.

It took years of walk in her life to feel completely proud of herself in its natural sense. She had the baggage of external egos influenced during her adulting years; that there should be a load of success, a prestigious societal image, or an exotic lifestyle to feel proud about oneself.

She did try her best to impersonate a lot of influencing acts, and she played roles of many but herself and she could find nothing but failures, regrets, and lost years left behind with fakeness. To the walk of fame, she decided to do a lot of sacrifices. Nothing seemed worthy enough to feel her pride.

On a gloomy night, she decided to stand under the largest spotlight on the globe. It was moonlight. She stood under the bright ball shined glistening white from distant space. And when she looked up she realized being liberated, the lonely night with wind as her companion she felt her soothing skin fresh and solid, she saw her wavy elegant hair strands dancing gracefully, she sensed a natural smile that was born at that moment, she felt chills when the wind gently nuzzled her body hairs, she felt completely uninfluenced and could see only her own self.

The natural smile brought by the moonlight made her realize that, “to be proud of oneself required nothing but by just being confident about who we are and not who someone wants us to be.”
Every single move that she made was not to prove herself but the picture of her painted by everyone else but her.

She thanked the moonlight with a confident smile, an uplifted chin and a great sense of pride and love. She cleansed herself and became completely colourless at once, in order to paint a new life of her own.

©Anirudh Shreenath

Model: ©Gokila Vani

Photo credits: ©Palash Nandi

Nidhra.- A look through pleasure.

She never looked in the eyes of anyone. Not that she didn’t have the courage but because she knew it wasn’t the right time. She knew how to carry her diffident act whenever required. Her eyes carried flames of powerful emotions and an unidentifiable yet luring intend, though never exposed them nor bid them for any gamble. The look was kept preciously within and saved it for a purpose.

Nidhra was once degraded and abused for being a prostitute; that she sold her dignity for wealth and pleasure. Though it was agreed, she never kept silent and louded that the same profession, titled as “courtesan” was once glorified as the most luxurious profession by the same patriarchal society centuries ago. It still remains the same but within the clan of elite class and influential people, so it was always about wealth and flesh. Skin, hair, private body parts, age, all of them had price tags, it was offered in return if sexual gratification was satisfiable. Her innate talent to lure men and an expensive quality of lust always lead to a win win situation. The dancing flame within was relentless and intense, for the skill possessed, she never got burned regardless of the depth dived in.

Those seductive eyes were found only behind a blurry vision, the greed of a man was her prey that she perfectly eluded with an alluring invitation. Her instinct never had even a slightest doubt despite for the fact that she had stood completely naked in front of cameras before, her act of confidence always made the bet on the lust that flared on her tempting blurry looks; which aroused every single male hormone.

She stood a step beyond the materialistic lustful appearance, and carried an amount of natural sex drive in her physique. A body she groomed by embracing her internal hormones through envious thoughts and desires of sexuality. The dirty speculative thoughts of her adolescent nights were discovered as a set of precious raw seeds and had kept it in a beloved cup of desire. She cleansed herself in that cup of ecstasy throughout her teenage and until the art of control was mastered at ease. Sexual thoughts were never dangerous for her, she knew the potential of how much it has collectively induced in a person’s life, body and mind . The drug was fed at perfect dosage without spoiling it’s toxicity. She finally came out as a wild envious flower with rich toxic honey.

The life of Nidhra was visibly seen as loathing and deceitful by the outsiders and once a person questioned about her devotion towards anything apart from sex and herself, for which she said,
“My devotion is to survive and live unlike everyone else. The way I live is seen differently, though I live in a natural process without any artificial motives flavored in it. There are wild poisonous flowers that are naturally grown without any added contents, its purpose and devotion is always to bloom and live till it dies. And indeed it lives fresh and without any remorse because that simply is the way it naturally blooms.”

Her purpose was undefinable for anyone as the society had its own terms of categorising systems and people on timely basis. Underneath she was still in search; an intended exploitation of herself and she never desires to rest until she finds out an end point for her beloved pleasure.
©Anirudh Shreenath

Model:© Sowmya Iyer.

Ammini- A Nostalgic Walk.

When I look at my ancestral house, wearing my mother’s favourite beautiful Saree, I am not just wearing an outfit; I carry an evergreen memory and a stunning pride along with it. It makes me feel a strong bond with this soil, though I lived only a handful of years during my childhood. Evergreen it is without a doubt; the walls, the roof and the pillars that stood strong holding not only the house but also the family at all times. To get an experience of a long forgotten past, it required for me to travel a long way.

By dusting the ropes of the swing, they bring me the nostalgic aura of childhood- an aesthetic way of upbringing that can never be experienced in a fast paced metro. The swing and the bare feet remind me about how interestingly involved it was to experience the wetness of the soil at the budding stage of life. All these minute details of nature were observed by spending lots of time and energy beneath the warm Sun without caring about the unseen future. No gold and no grandeur was the reference of beauty, rather it was simple and elegant bangles made out of glass and the oily hair with herbal essence in it.

Herbs were medicinal, devotional and more than just green. They had an emotion, the green leaves of the low branch reminds me of my grandmother who tells me not to disturb them during the dusk as they rest and how sensitive their skins were while they are at sleep. While walking further, the fallen leaves give life to the noise of past carefree footsteps, running wild to the dense perennial trees like the most disobedient child among all.

Amidst of all the joy and naughtiness there was an innocence and when I lied on the huge tree trunk, I found a peaceful solitude in it. I felt the leaves were giving warmth to the tree as a blanket and spreads chillness to the ambience. But now when I lie here, I feel lost and alone. This hush silence of the dense trees haunts me and makes me realise that I had certainly lost the quality of innocence and became more practical and tied up to the time bounded life. Reality now makes me feel even the leaves are organic and liberated.

 

 

Nostalgia reminds about the change of sweetness around and within as along with time, it might not be severe, yet it hasn’t ever become permanent. Change is everywhere and is unstoppable, which is in one way or the other perceived sweet and yet memorable again. No matter whatever changes, while going away from home, the thirst of swinging for one last time has always been exciting and youthfully energetic. The first one to grab the last swing comes out running on the stones and dragging in the mud just to bring out the most honest and pure pleasure of selfless smile and happiness. Cherishing nostalgia is a lifetime experience.

©Anirudh Shreenath

Photo Courtesy: George Kutty

 

Fading Green

Times were very beautiful back then, when people used to admire me from far and near. They said I had a luring fragrance, and a fragile skin which was always meant to be touched gently. There were beautiful of sunsets spent with me by speaking about their secret feelings and I made sure I would patiently listen to them without harming them back with arguments; they even mention that was my best quality which made them feel comfortable in my Zone. It was only bliss that they felt being in my zone and I had never polluted their vibes. Times faded, when I turn behind and all I could see is a lonely space where I had only memories left but not people. When the chips were fallen, there were none to listen to my feelings nor to tap on my shoulder and share my sullenness. Now I am more like you, I could see that you are being ignored these days as your green is fading away. I could see that you always spread only goodness in air but what we gave you in return was toxic to breathe. I now realize how much abandoned you are but I am glad that I realized it now, I will from now spend my time with you and I will make you get greener by fading my greyness.

©Anirudh Shreenath

Photo Courtesy:  George Kutty

“Naatiya”- (A short photo story)

 

For a skipped away rhythm of her pulse, a flickered sense of notion along with her uplifted chin was snatched away by the winds. Her eyes zoomed out of curiosity to see whether or not it was her desire finally came into physical presence. Her desire; not any laymen could perceive it or maybe try to understand, as it exceeds beyond the normal sight. The winds had the spell to trick her mind and kindle the curiosity of her longings; which was a precious souvenir kept undisturbed for years. She could never easily let a mere hush of the wind getaway with her attention; she kept thinking what was that missed from her naked eyes on the shores of the beach. It was not the subtlety of the hay, it was not the calmness of the dusk, and it was definitely not the lust of the darkened sand.

It was beyond all physical intimacies ever gloomed in her emotional frontiers. It was the never happened moments of her life but she consoled her heart to wait with those fearfully raised eye brows: feared with a delay in her unknown beloved’s return. It was her eyelids drenched with sadness of the faded time. It was the blood rushed with frustration and her weakened heart breathed with false hopes. Mother Nature realised that her longings were deeply powerful. She noticed that her visions she possessed within had triggered the emotions out and they all came into existence when the winds got wet with her tears while it slid away down her cheek bone.

For all the efforts and hardships tried by Mother Nature were only to be regretted because none of Her tricks worked to bring back the senses of the lady in black to reality. At a point her tears of longing moments drifted its path to a den of illumination. Mother was curious and entered in form of wind again, as to The Nature’s surprise; it was a den completely illumined with Hope. The woman had an unsullied hope which fed her tender senses to feel a sweet pain and had ripened into an addiction. An addiction she had carried since the day she knew the existence of this connect. An emotional-connect she felt with someone unseen and speculative mentality if not ever to be seen, and that connect moulded her thoughts artistically proficient. The strength of that connect gave her Hopes a purpose to build a bridge between reality and her thoughts.

Mother finally found out one solid solution to bring her back to the ground reality. Nature collectively made a brilliant attempt to bring all of her senses out from her soul and ground it down to Earth by a trigger of distraction, while she swiftly dogged with a step of her ever devoted Natiya (Dance.) Not a single root of her thoughts came off the veins. She danced unceasingly with the juggled-up senses that stirred Mother Earth’s anger to her borne limits. At once Mother knew that if the lady is left unstopped, Mother could not tolerate the power of her virtuous vibes. Mother Nature confessed Her Guilt of waking up the dormant emotions of the lady and finally sought forgiveness from the Supreme consciousness. It was the intolerable cry of Earth that made the supreme soul react in form of a thunderous lightning that struck down the land, it shivered the lady in black with her heart pounded painfully and she felt the rock solid presence of “Nataraja” himself. Thus she was brought back to the sense of reality with only the vibes she felt familiar and many unanswered questions, yet she found peace.

©Anirudh Shreenath

Model Akshitha Ravindran

Photographer: Prabhakar Manoharan

Reflection.

Everyday when she crosses the mirror it would always be to look at herself and barge with multiple questions, leading to a major rhetorical one which is, “is she really me? or is she the considerable me of the society?” It gets even trickier when she finds out that it is definitely not her but she forces herself to be someone to get out of her house, and sometimes even to be inside. ‘Reflection is the truth!’ yes it could be because it shows the truth of she faking herself to become a lady for anyone but her.

She gets dressed herself by thinking of how “he” and “she” sees her. She makes up her face thinking on how her face would be admired. She pouts her lips not the way she wants to kiss but just for way everyone pouts it for no particular reason. She smiles the way thinking on how comparitively beautiful and awkward-less it would be if captured by a camera and not the way she really feels to smile or laugh. She adds her artificial optical visions to display her eyes visibly attractive in front of everyone and not just to see everyone clearly. She practices to be innocent and seem natural which she obviously isn’t, still she does it just to be pampered by him. She also lifts up her head to look matured and positive by hiding her insecurities behind the face; not even the mirror could find or show it out. She is one solid artificial image, altered every single time when she freshly looks at the mirror. Is she even real?

On one moody day the sharpness of her conscience tore her heart apart and made her bleed into tears and she kept looking at herself and cried till the last drop was shed. That was the very first time she looked at her true reflection and she had nothing in her mind but only the loudness of her cry. She then simply stared at her gloomy dull face, stood stiff and walked out boldly to live the day by being herself, new and gloomy.

© Anirudh Shreenath

Photo: Agnieszka Olejarz

Kaanthari.

This takes us back during the fading 80s. She is intensely harnessed by her thoughts, power and authority. Her subtle gestures had a powerful obedience and a strong sense of domination which made every men of different proud hierarchies, kneel in front of her. She caught hold of this power not by breaking down the legs or chopping down the heads but she had a fierce flame of lust in her eyes, her attraction with the intensity made men, warriors and even lords of various caste fall for her eyes and her sultry body. Her skin layered by fresh oil and the aura made an arousal of hormonal rush inside the men who encountered her at least by once.

Her focus was unwaveringly clear to the desires she carried along with her. She was capable to split herself into two parts at the same time, she wouldn’t regret for every single touch she received and moans roughly louded, because her desires were having pure toxicity to attain by pursuing the path on her own will, which was not implanted nor forced to be chosen by any one else. She wanted it to be this way and she conquered it by the way she desired. She knew men very well and she made them realize their vulnerability by just making love; by releasing their feeble control over masculinity with her feminine exposure. She then later rested on her conquered throne with a disrespectful look on everyone under her control and enjoyed the taste of tyranny. She was the Feudal Queen of ‘Persuasion.’ Kanthari.

© Anirudh Shreenath

Model courtesy: Kani Kusruti

Hope.

“Hope.” Is He even existing in reality? This rhetorical question is bound to be answered by living throughout the life and by trying to find out. Somewhere in between the means of searching him, I found shelters in the paths. Since multiple paths were suggested by multiple people in multiple ways, I got tired at regular intervals. Tiredness stressed me out and pressed me down to the ground, hence I took rest under the shadow of the tamarind trees. Not only to get shelter from the Sun but also to get the shelter from the heated hours of unsatisfied working days. If ‘hope’ was my only search, I would have found Him already but sadly that never was the scene, I had to look for ‘Job’, ‘Education’, also most importantly the exotic lady; Miss ‘Money’. Without her I had no fuel to even wake up every day to search Him.

I’ve always gone behind beautiful ladies as my eyes would plead my legs to move so, but this lady; I’ve never had much interest in her, however I had no choice. If at all I get diverted from her and move towards Miss ‘Sleep’ or Miss ‘Dream’, then that would be counted as one of my worst days of life. It is because Master ‘Life’ had a his own scale made out of a combination of “hunger, poverty, pain, guilt and shame”; in other words it’s more like a wooden scale and would beat me up on my knuckles. Those are the times I found shelter under the supporting wetness of miss ‘Tears’. She’s chill; at the same time she always leaves me a “smile” behind and tells to use “smile” as a compass to find ‘Hope’.

By using “smile” I started finding lots of shelters, bridges and also camped in “laughter” tents with the gangs of senseless ‘Humours.’ They gave me a huge dosage of positivity and oxygen to walk forward. Finally I found shelter of rare qualities, named ‘Love’ and ‘Compassion.’ They were similar and found everywhere around but they seemed like an oasis due to the thirst, and played tricky mind games with me.

I figured out a way to look through them and finally reached a realisation that my search for love was found in a very small temporary shelter, but was unable to get inside, because I found the shelter of ‘Love’ not with her but admiring her, by staying far from her, without touching her and within myself. I found her to be pure and unconditional. She again unknowingly gifted me a strange motivation of her strong smile and I could sense it to be as exact as the smile -compass gifted to me by miss ‘Tears.’ With that in my heart I started my journey once again and am still in search of ‘Mr.Hope.’ I hope I find Him someday.

© Anirudh Shreenath

Photo courtesy : Senthil Kumar

The fallen angel.

Of all the gasping breath of angst, rage and humiliation, the storm finally had a chance to settle down and rest. Despite the odds, there is always a sun to rise and shine. As the sun rose and it shinned his rays on her, it pleasantly touched on her skin to warm her. She soaked her mistakes, she settled her prestige with her dues, she lost her deal with the devil whom she carried along since the beginning. She missed her opportunity to look up, she denied the fate of goodness by listening to her ego and gambled the wrong deck of cards. She rejected everything she had in her way and finally turned out to be rejected by everyone, especially she got rejected by her own ego whom she trusted and chose over everyone. The moment she realised she had no complaints or blames and was left with silence, regret and a bowed down head. She closed her eyes and removed away her regrets through condensed tears and accepted the reality with a brave heart to get the worst out it by respecting it’s terms. She bowed down, like a fallen angel under the sun. She is the dignity of a woman who got betrayed by her own ego. She now waits for the day to rise her head up and look straight at the harsh reality once again.

© Anirudh Shreenath

Model: Archana unnikrishnan.

Photo courtesy: Prabu Varun

Unclothed.

I am free. I can feel my skin saying the word, “liberated.” I feel no hesitation, no guilt, no remorse to expose the Truth. Truth of being ugly. Yes. I am ugly. Ugly as your secret fetishes. Ugly as the most dirtiest memory you have. Ugly as a sharp tongue. I am ugly as the deepest hush of darkness. I am colourless but ugly when I am naked. I am flawless but imperfect when I myself am the flaw. I am moody when I dance at midnight, but am bad when I swing with my moods. I am woken when touched but shameless when I touch. I am warm when wrapped under a ruffled up blanket and I am cold when uncovered. I am rich when decorated and am desperate when I ask for money. I am now the naked truth stripped by your ego out of sorrow. I am always at my best intentions if accepted in the way I am, but could seem to be the worst if you try to cover up. Look at me. I am none other than your own conscience. I am so true.

©Anirudh Shreenath

Photo: Agnieszka Olejarz

Dusk

He: Now when I saw her posing this image; the moment I accidentally clicked, something unusually special was felt. It was kept inside my consciousness and was bothering me for the entire day and could not concentrate on the rest of the clicks. I was very eager to go home and was curious to know what was special in the photo that got me triggered with overwhelming essence of feeling​s. Later when I came to my lab and was working on printing the hard copies, I took this special one. How could I even forget this though it was not easy to find out! Yes, I took a seat and started looking at this snap in detail. When all those silky hair strips fell right in front of her face, it actually covered the half of her face. So when I saw, I could really feel infact I could literally sense how she would have felt when those silky organs touched her pale soft skin. She must have felt ready, completely ready for everything. She must have felt complete of being a woman by oozing out the cool attitude of exposing her relaxed yet prepared figure of a character. She projected ​a structured image of being a complicated woman inside. An element of being exceptional and re-chiseling her integrity, that’s how she must have felt at that moment which is why the vibration was so strong that it struck my senses subconsciously and automatically made my finger click the snap. Not to ignore the nose pin, the jewel of elegance; a precious carving level of envisioning one’s individuality is represented and could be seen at the shines of a nose pin. For the pride of taken birth as a female human which in other words to be rephrased as a “woman” is to wear a nose pin and regardless of the mineral used, it is the stone itself that becomes a raw mineral when it is worn and paid with the price of respect. This exhilarated my egoistically dignified heart. This is not all that I could tell but there is a lot that I simply couldn’t phrase out with the vocabularies available inside my head, despite stressing myself to the core of my limits. Dusk is the title she has given to this posture. Now how could it not be conditionally pertinent? It is as exact as her emotional balances. The level she carries herself by being a lady of her generation, she excessively works on the intimacy of her feministic flavour. The way she allows her chin to be rested on her hand; My God why would you even seek for a purpose to give me another birth in form of a same incarnation when there is this solid reason available? I promise that I don’t even have the rights to glance or let out a word to describe the duskiness of her architectural eyes. The twilight of the moon is not compulsorily designed to be out in space, it could also be inside a place where no gravity could stop the ball of sphere from floating, which is nothing but her black eyeball. She is magnificent. Simply magnificent. Period.

 ©Anirudh Shreenath

Model: Sowmya Iyer.