The Unmmaried Bride

The Unmmaried Bride- A Photo series by Sayan Acharya

“Tum aye nahi jane kis wajah se

aur mein thami reh gayi jane kis wajah se,

Mehndi rachi thi bahut gehri,
sabne kaha mohbhhaat bahut hai tumhe mujhse,
par aye nahi tum jane kis wajah se…
Yeah jhumhar aur nath pehni mene jab
pehli dafa toh socha tumhe bahut pasnd ayengi
aur meri ankhon mein lagaya gaya surma
gehra-gehra k jo tum in mein kho jaogy
to meri gesu’on k khuhbsoo leyanengi
kheech k tumhe merey labo tak
magar aye nahi tum jane kis waja se…
Gajrey meri zulfon se murjha k ghir gaye
jaisey patjrad mein mayus patien khucley gayein
tum aye nhai jane kis masuam k wajah se
aur mein thami rahi gayi barish k wajah se.”
~ Asna Azhar

The Unmarried Bride is a Photo series by Sayan Acharya

Model: Aastha
Co-Photographer: Annwesha
Poem – Asna Azhar

Fever and pride.

Because they say,’never out of fight’, Read Fever and Pride 🙂

The Mountain Knights

“How is it going Tenzing?”

“Aah!  Fine, this boy is too slow, what about you?

“My client is pathetic but he is pushing himself well”.

“Who is he?” pointing out at me visually he asked Tenzing.

“He is a friend, just met him on the way.”

His client reaching closer he resumed his descent along with his client.

We were about 200 meters below the shoulder that lead towards the summit of stock Khangri (6153 meters).

My two teammates from Poland were already on the shoulder of the peak. The third one was ahead of me and the fourth was behind me. I was in no hurry to move ahead. The pace was good and I was enjoying the company of the rugged boys of Ladakh I met on the way with their clients. I was also in no mood to leave Pawel behind although he would have reached the…

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The Reckless Climb

I was well aware that I was alone. I, also knew that my other two teammates from the USA were at the base camp. If my life was in danger I will not be able to send any signal to the base camp as there were no radios. Even if I had one, questions like why would anyone come? The cook and helper are not much physically tough, know nothing of rescue they somehow managed to reach base camp, there are useless in such demanding situation, even if they hiked a little up in order to find me they won’t go far, thoughts of their wife and kids will stop them.The cook being a Gurkha was daring but physically not strong enough to meet the need of such situations. Other two men from the USA being remarkable climbers, I still doubted that they would come for any rescue.

via The Reckless Climb — The Mountain Knights

Evenings after Office at Abulane

Some evenings after office I go alone to take strolls in the elite pavements of Abulane, Meerut. Like, I did in C.P when I was in Delhi a year ago.
A year ago, I was just the same, the throbbing pain that refuses to heal and leave, my head. It clutches me as tightly and fearfully as a new bride clings to her newly wedded husband, just at the moment she is leaving behind everything. But, what am I leaving behind?

Nothing and everything.

I sit and stare from the glass window of the café I am in. Moving cars, bikes and bodies, some dead and some moving. Caked faces with powders and lip stained with bright colours. Indeed, women are getting bold to wear such seductive colours in the broad daylight. I wonder how many men would be desirous of getting kissed by those lips.

I sipped my coffee.

My diary lays in front of me, the papers are calling out to me to write verses. Perhaps, I fail to convey that it’s an old friend and lover, who has taken over my mind like it did two years before. My words are failing me like they did before. I am forgetting verses and words are fading from my head. At times, it is difficult to remember a simple spelling. No matter how hard I try it won’t come to me, then infuriated, I’d open the dictionary and things would settle, momentarily. How can I forget the spellings like that? Years of education and personal readings have done nothing to me or its just I am failing at everything.

I took another sip from my coffee.

The nervous waiter appeared, he enquired whether I need something else? I stare into his eyes as if he is asking for my life. I wanted to reply but I could not find a pretext, I don’t know what I want. Am I not human anymore? Humans have unlimited wants, but what are my wants, I don’t know, it’s long back I stopped expecting things and when they pop out from life at times they make me anxious or at times they fail to baffle me. Because I know it’s a trap and I will not fall in the trap. I have to move and keep moving till the day I succeed. Succeed in something that I don’t know, but there must be something I must be good at.

The waiter was panicky, I think it is his first job that’s why his hands are shaking, the way I was shaking when I first delivered a speech in school on republic day. The way I was shaking when I was in college and was asked to give a class presentation, the last day waiting for metro when I left college and everything changed. Breaking from the train of my thoughts I questioned myself Do I look like Medusa with my dishevelled hair, after a busy office day? Of course not!

I broke into a smile with these thoughts and he smiled back.

I always hate to look at fancy menus. So, I asked him straight away do they serve Brownies? He approved with a nod and I was again lost in the outside world. When did he come and go, I do not remember minutes later I discovered a bowl of brownies with ice cream rolls. I despised that sight till now.

How long it has been since I had an ice cream last with a merry heart! No, I don’t have any haunting memories attached with ice creams, it’s just we don’t hang out anymore. Ice creams too dislike me like the rest of the world. In the heat of the evening ice cream melted away, untouched. As people like me die every day without poison. To fade out one doesn’t need a reason even I don’t have one for me. People say I overthink, but that’s how I understand them where their words fail and I interpret their silence.
Silence have more stories to tell that the words can convey. Just like my professor in creative writing class says, “at times fiction goes deeper than the truth.

At Abulane there comes elite people and there are malnourished children just like you see at C.P or outside the metro stations. They are the children of God, hope and future of our nation. As soon as these elite ladies step out of their cars these children surround them and her pretty babies, begging for few coins, but the men shoo away the future of the nation and go inside the five-star hotel. At that point, my phone rang up and heads turned towards me. It always happened, Slash’s guitar can’t go unnoticed especially when its ‘sweet child o’mine.’

It’s Tasmia on the other side of the phone. Tasmia is my little sister, though elder to me in many aspects. It’s not that she is dominating, she understands things when I fail, moreover, she got a special talent of swiping my stuff at one go, from the little corner which I managed to get for myself after much struggle. She dislikes my ways as Maa does. The way my papers, books and dairy rules the little table in the large room. She swipes it off at one go, no matter if I had arranged it the way I wanted. But, I love her. During the days when I was I Delhi we had frequent conversations, where she just asked me to come back. Then, the warmth of her voice was the only essence of home.

I said hello! She asked me to come home soon as it’s getting dark. I nodded staring out, getting no reply from me infuriated her. Though, she just exclaimed get something good to eat! I said I will try to and hung up.

I stare back to the fading bowl. I wish the waiter had known me he would never have served me ice-cream. I asked for the bill, I paid for the bowl of ice cream as well. I said the coffee was good he smiled may be, he will sleep with a smile like that knowing he is doing well in his life. I think he is not married yet, though it’s his age. Well, he turns back and vanished into the kitchen.
I picked up my bag and left the café on my way back I get some delicacies packed for my sweet child at home.