Of us!

 

Hold me closer

A couple in an embrace while on an evening stroll on the sea bed in Chandipur in Odisha, India.

Do you remember that evening,
On the beach we were strolling?

Hand in hand, and in an embrace,
Our differences without any trace.

Everything was at ease and no rush
Yes, that is what I remember of us.


What is that you remember of the last few moments spent with someone who once meant a lot to you? This is my attempt at it.

In frame: A couple in an embrace while on an evening stroll on the sea bed in Chandipur in Odisha, India. I shot this frame using my 35mm Canon FTb QL manual film SLR on an Ilford HP5 Plus 400. Chandipur is famous for the vanishing beach. One can walk for kilometers into the sea during low tides.

VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.

© Amrit Panigrahy. All rights reserved.

 

Glory Road

Glory Road

A stretch of good road on AH46 somewhere in the Eastern ghats, in Western Odisha. 

With a lot of apprehension, I decided to take the road less traveled,
Little did I know what lay in front of me, not just asphalt or gravel.

Just after I took the turn in front of me, with crossed fingers,
The road was in fact far better, just like I had seen in pictures.

The fear of the unknown had kept me bound to the sign board,
In the end, the road less traveled turned out to be my glory road.


When was the last time you got rid of the fear of the unknown and took the road less traveled?

In frame: A stretch of good road on AH46 somewhere in the Eastern ghats, in Western Odisha. I shot this frame using my 35mm Canon FTb QL manual film SLR on an Ilford HP5 Plus 400. This was the last bit of good road and was nothing like what lay for us in store ahead.

VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.

© Amrit Panigrahy. All rights reserved.

 

The Play

Right notes

A musician of Sankirtan playing the harmonium. 

That your show would end soon and with a smile you would pose,
Music would get gloomy as the play would be coming to a close!

Thinking, that your play, your life, you just scraped through somehow,
And you would be sad that it didn’t go the way you planned it to.

Were you an actor in the play or just someone standing by,
Because, if it was indeed your play, it would end in a high.


In frame: A musician of Sankirtan playing the harmonium. I shot this frame using my 35mm Canon FTb QL manual film SLR on an Ilford HP5 Plus 400. Sankirtan groups go around singing the praise of mainly Lord Vishnu in rural Odisha. A harmonium is a pump type music organ.

VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.

© Amrit Panigrahy. All rights reserved.

“Shell”f-centered

Death

A dead oyster on the sea bed in Chandipur, Odisha. 

“Live a less self-centered existence for a change”, I was told.
I had already included grains of sand in me, and that was bold.
Day would come when my pearls would brighten up everything around,
That would be my gift for everyone, and I won’t be anywhere to be found.


In frame: A dead oyster on the sea bed in Chandipur, Odisha, India. I shot this frame using my 35mm Canon FTb QL manual film SLR on an Ilford HP5 Plus 400. Chandipur is famous for the vanishing beach. One can walk for kilometers into the sea during low tides.

VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.

© Amrit Panigrahy. All rights reserved.

Immortal

Ibrahim Rouza

Ibrahim Rouza, Bijapur in Karnataka, India

And the emperor said, “I will make myself immortal.”
Looking at it now, his shot at immortality seems futile.
What was buried of him is probably not there anymore,
And his tomb too will fail the test of time, sooner or later.


This short poem is penned by me. Man has been obsessed with longevity and immortality since time immemorial, probably from the time man saw death up close for the first time. Death is the end of the physicality of existence, as life we know it. But the subtlety of existence is indestructible. The Islamic and Christian Kings and Emperors of medieval times were more focused on the physicality of existence. This is reflected through the importance they attached to grand mausoleums they built for themselves and their spouses, in India and elsewhere.

In frame: Ibrahim Rouza, Bijapur in Karnataka, India. Ibrahim Rouza is the tomb of Ibrahim Adil Shah II, of the Adil Shahi dynasty of Bijapur. I shot this frame using my 35mm Canon FTb QL manual film SLR on an Ilford HP5 Plus 400. You can read about Ibahim Rouza here: https://amritpanigrahy.com/2017/06/28/dome-diaries-part-iii-two-and-a-half-tombs-and-other-things/

VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.

© Amrit Panigrahy. All rights reserved.

 

The Basement

Corridor

Light at the end of a dark corridor in a basement parking lot.

*beep beep*, the car alarm beeped and the indicators flashed. After parking her car in the basement parking lot, Nidhi pressed the lock button on the key and then walked around the car checking all the doors to confirm they were locked. She was late from work and it was well past midnight. She started walking towards the staircase to go to her flat on the ground floor.

Satya, her boyfriend and live-in partner, had called about five hours back, just before he started from his office, to check when she was coming home. Upon knowing that she might be delayed, he said he would order dinner from outside.

As she was approaching the dark portion of the basement, she heard foot steps approaching her from behind, as if someone was running towards. She looked back, and to her astonishment, it was Satya, still in his office formals. “But he must have reached at least four hours earlier.”, she murmured to herself as a smile was about to break on her face. As Satya came closer, she could faintly see blood on his face. The smile turned into a look of concern, and she almost started crying.

“Did you hear it, Nidhi? Come home fast.”, said Satya before he ran and took a left, on to the stairs, and gone from her view.

“Satya, Satya!”, really worried now, a crying Nidhi ran behind Satya, calling his name out loud a couple of times. In less than a minute she was in front of their flat. To her shock, the door was locked from inside, and there was no sign of Satya anywhere. She could hear the sound of TV from inside their flat though.

Crying, she searched her bag for her set of keys and took them out. Tears almost blurring her vision, and she fumbled to get the keys inside the keyhole. She heard the door getting unlocked from inside, and it door opened slowly.

“Why were you calling my name so loud?”, said Satya. He was in his shorts and a t-shirt, with a smile on his face and absolutely no sign of blood. Tears flowing down from her eyes, Nidhi stood there with her mouth open, as she dropped her bag on the ground.

“Security guards don’t stay in the basement parking lot at night, because they think there is a ghost.”, she recalled their neighbor telling her a couple days ago.


DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

In frame: Light at the end of a dark corridor in a basement parking lot. I shot this frame using my 35mm Canon FTb QL manual film SLR on an Ilford HP5 Plus 400.

VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.

© Amrit Panigrahy. All rights reserved.

Grey grass

Grey grass

A carpet of grass and tiny flowers.

On the other side, the grass is always green,
Or so I was told by all, wherever I had been.
And search for greener pastures did continue,
Till they all looked the same grey, old or new.


This short poem is penned by me. As we move ahead in our respective lives, our search for greener pastures (a better paying job, or a bigger city, or a more posh locality or a swankier car) continues. And as we have a false notion that moving into a greener “pasture” means we are growing in our life, this moving in and out of “pastures” usually doesn’t end. If we look at it, it is only when we would be indifferent to different “pastures”, that we would have truly grown and moved ahead in life.

In frame: A carpet of grass and tiny flowers. I found this when I was out walking in an abandoned stone quarry in Hyderabad, India. I shot this frame using my 35mm Canon FTb QL manual film SLR on an Ilford HP5 Plus 400.

VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.

© Amrit Panigrahy. All rights reserved.