Blue rose given to a woman

Self Portrait
Olympus C170/D425


Blue rose given to a woman,
Considered sacred from a heart of silent souls,
Words spoken, silence was a bond created;
Her boldness spurred from a single blue rose...

- Hanger

Wish you all a very happy new year. Well....tell me what are your resolutions for 2010 :D.

Mine are -
1. Start chanting regularly. I joined Soka Gakai a year back but I still don't chant when I really should. May Buddha give me the strength to do it now.

2. Lose weight

3. Get a job.

4. Get my 1st DSLR

5. To try harder to make photography a means of living.

oh yes and

6. Take up singing a little more seriously now. I plan on recording few songs and uploading them here somewhere. I plan 2 become more than just a bathroom singer.

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If I ever write this letter

Olympus C170/D425

The Letter -
Natalie Merchant

If I ever write this letter
Oh the pages I could write
but I don't know where to send it
you have vanished
heaven knows where you live
heaven only knows

if I ever write this letter
bitter words it would contain
just and unrequited lover
wishing she had never
spoken your name
had never known your name

but if I ever write this letter
the truth it would reveal
knowing you brought me pleasure
how I'll often treasure
moments that we knew
the precious, the few


I love this song and this singer.
To hear it click here link

Merry Christmas everyone :)

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I WISH I knew that woman’s name

Canon Powershot S3IS
Way back from Badrinath

I WISH I knew that woman’s name,
So, when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears,
For fear I hear her say

She ’s “sorry I am dead”, again,
Just when the grave and I
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only lullaby.

E.D.

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My Daydreaming place...by the lake

Renuka Lake, Himachal
Nikon D70

I watched the ripples, as I drifted away
the lake was deep, on this golden day
Lured by reflection, in this tranquil deep
I lost my mind, then I fell asleep

Trees were talking, murmered rustling leaves
sunlight glistened, on catkin weaves
Dragonflies, and fish that spawn
could not awake me, from this dawn

I floated far and I drifted near
there was no time, as was not fear
Taken away, on this autumn noon
stars were shining, behind the moon

When crickets struck their evening call
the bullfrog chirped, his sombre all
And as the sunset shone, upon this land
the moon took me quietly, by the hand

I stretched and weeped, the night, it fell
I returned my spirit, to this inspired shell
The lake, my friend, shall always be
my place of relaxation, next to, and within me


by Jon Coe

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M a a . . .

Canon Powershot S3IS
Sariska

“A mother loves her child most divinely,
not when she surrounds him with comfort and anticipates his wants,
but when she resolutely holds him to the highest
standards and is content with nothing less than his best.”

Hamilton Wright Mabie (American writer, 1845-1916)

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I know great horses live again

Sar Pass Trek, Himachal
Canon Powershot S3IS


Somewhere in time's own space
There must be some sweet pastured place
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
Some paradise where horses go,
For by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again.
~Stanley Harrison

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The hijra of India

Badrinath, H.P.
Canon Powershot S3IS

The hijra of India

The Ancient Indian Kama Sutra refers to people of a "third sex" (triteeyaprakrti), who can be dressed either in men's or in women's clothes and perform fellatio on men. The term has been translated as "eunuchs" (as in Sir Richard Burton's translation of the book), but these persons have also been considered to be the equivalent of the modern hijra of India.

Hijra, a Hindi term traditionally translated into English as "eunuch", actually refers to what modern Westerners would call male-to-female transgender people and effeminate homosexuals (although some of them reportedly identify as belonging to a third sex). Some of them undergo ritual castration, but the majority do not. They usually dress in saris (traditional Indian garb worn by women) and wear heavy make-up. They typically live in the margins of society, face discrimination and earn their living in various ways, e.g., by coming uninvited at weddings, births, new shop openings and other major family events and singing until they are paid or given gifts to go away. The ceremony is supposed to bring good luck and fertility, while the curse of an unappeased hijra is feared by many.

Other sources of income for the hijra are begging and prostitution. The begging is accompanied by singing and dancing and the hijras usually get the money easily. Some Indian provincial officials have used the assistance of hijras to collect taxes in the same fashion; they knock on the doors of shopkeepers, while dancing and singing, and embarrass them into paying.

Recently, hijras have started to found organizations to improve their social condition and fight discrimination. There has even been a wave of hijra entering politics and being elected to high political positions. In the epic Mahabaratha of India, Arjuna, one of the 5 heroes who is originally a handsome man, warrior and great archer becomes Brihannala, a eunuch when they spend their last year of exile in the kingdom of Virata. Brihannala/Arjuna lived among the palace women as a teacher of song and dance.

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I wish I was a boy...

Canon Powershot S3IS
Manali

Local kids at Manali. Boys have so much fun in life. They are truly freebirds from childhood. They can and are allowed to do so many mischievous things which girls don't or can't do. No pressure of looking pretty to find a suitable groom. Carefree life, skinned knees and scars from play, all are just a part of the life for a boy.

I wish I was a boy.

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L o o k

Canon Powershot S3IS
Delhi Zoo

U know what they all are looking at? Rather oggling at.....a Handsome Male black buck

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Weathered faces lined in pain

Canon powershot S3IS
Badrinath

Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

-Don Mclean

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