Last time when it rained I was standing watching the Mediterranean Sea change its colour I distinctly remember how quickly it happened From deep azure it went to light turquoise There were none on Promenade des Anglais Soaked in tender drops The blue chairs were empty They looked lonely Drenched with memories of pouring rain I went and had coffee Looking at strange faces. As I sit here now Facing the window

In love with this solitude The shadow cast on the wall The book that’s lying on my bed Vervain infused warm water The white translucent curtain Creases on the blanket Vacant pillow Indistinct chatter from outside Memories spread on the wall The quiet moving of life My soul almost tangible

Already thinking about my room in Bangalore. Sky from the room window is a recurring dream these days. Smell of the empty corridor and the silence of the moonless nights. The days I slept and the nights I stayed awake comes back to me in pieces. The clarion call around…

In this silence I hear voices from the sea The time when I sinked my head Into the crashing waves Trying not to get hit back to the shore Finding balance to stay swinging and caressing each wave The voice of the sea calling out my name Repeating the same…

It’s 9:37 pm, I just read Sandra Cisnero’s One Last Poem for Richard that I feel sentimental and hence I’m here. It’s getting colder day by day and I regret not going to the sea the past week. French Riviera to me is pure poetry, being here spending the beginning…

Does this loneliness have a name? The smell on my bedsheets Clothes look exactly like how I left them Untouched… Empty wastebasket I open my cupboard and memories rise from their deathbed The sky from here now has the face of melancholy What do I do now How do I…

do you have days when everything feels like a grey cloud days when you can’t get out of your room never open the blinds one little peek outside the bright light pierce your eyes the clouds too white to stare at them for comfort blissful evening turning into a dark…

this water as ancient as time in the form of waves charcoal coloured touched my feet it felt like a million kisses were placed on my toes shiver ran in upward motion ended at the tip of my hair and i couldn’t feel anymore the patterns formed on the sand…

I designed a photography book using Adobe Indesign that includes a few pictures from the trip I took to the South of France https://indd.adobe.com/view/d1aa51c2-9cd8-4e7b-8190-2583e36fd08f?fbclid=IwAR12XKP06fr5ssGFgJwjnt9DBmDDIyOsMcKz5kWiUecmHcvjPDLbSFGU2qM