Category: Delhi

Vivan Sundaram

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​You missed most of this spring. But hey, without you it wasn’t much of the spring anyway. It’s been raining on and offfor the last two weeks. We had a thunderstorm and hail here in Gurgaon ten days back. Yesterday when you finally came out of the room, the clouds parted for sun who wanted to have a look at you; and this morning when hundreds of friends gathered to bid farewell the clouds kept the shade. Later, it drizzled. Looking at the sky I was reminded of your pencil works. Now, You must be closer to the rainbow now, feeling and touching its colours readying them for your next work.

On 1st January we had decided to meet at your place, you had reminded me of it earlier at Sarah’s wedding also. Sorry, I just couldn’t make it. This one lapse I will repent the rest of my life. Really, sorry to have not taken the invitation seriously. The last we met in your house was when I had come to collect images from the show “Ways of Resistance” which Ishtihaar had used in its calendar and you had treated me to some fancy scotch. I still savour its taste. We chatted late into the evening and Geeta nudged us to have early dinner.

Sitting by the water

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Eye contact with water is all it (the water) needs to sway me off in a matter of moments. In fact this is an old trick I have used on myself, to hypnotize and anesthetize myself in hills to forget the pains and aches of an arduous climb, a long trek, a difficult day. Shrinking further in, the battered limbs, as if shut their eyes and sense the icy melt from where it all began—calming themselves without a Brufen or brandy. A toe dipped in the stream, a finger playing on its ripples and a drop of it on the tip of the nose sends a Kumar Gandharv aalap rushing through the body and soul. Sitting by a stream is nirvana.