“bzzzzzzzzzz!” it was the carpenter bee. black and rotund and a little hazy as it whirred about and dashed against the blooms of the bright yellow trumpet flower. “oh, up early today i see!” exclaimed the lavender mauvely, it was the nearest to the blues it could get. “let it be… let it be…! let it beeeee…” replied the carpenter bee, it had a thing for punning. no one ever said a bee couldn’t, after all. lavender rolled its spikes,…
a feeling i guess doesn’t lie. nor does grass gently rolling down the slope; nor do flowers by silent stones, nor stones standing in rows, saying things that i hope i heard. there was a watchfulness about the sky… as if it wanted to know something. for some reason, i wanted to go to the war cemetery at kranji around remembrance day this year. i say for some reason because i’ve never been too aware of the second world war…
when i see flowers i think of you purse your lips and perhaps you smile there is no distance beyond the hour the hour that comes unmindful of season and time this flower whose name i do not know yet it sits right by my sitting room’s window and amid its cloak of silken unbending leaves bursts forth in colour of hue intense and pure there is no uncertainty in its lines no murmur of may i or if…
the heavy teakwood doors burst open. binota and gopaler ma looked up startled, a few bodis fell off the muslin cloth onto the mosaic floor and broke and scattered. she came running out, her pale pink jamdani saree billowing, the pallu flying behind her. she held the fine gauzy gold tinted cotton bunched up in her fists on either side, lifting her saree at least half a foot off the ground, her ankles clearly visible, almost her shin, as she…
i was looking at this shot above when i suddenly thought of perfection. it’s a simple iphone shot, a top angle view of some flowers floating in an urli. i was enjoying the play of colours, shapes, freshness… the word beauty was bound to drift into mind. my eyes strayed over the tiny red flowers, i don’t know their name, to the playful red powderpuffs, to the pink frangipanis, and as i reached and stared at the white jasmines, this…
Once upon a time, on a beautiful morning, when the birds and bees were heralding the arrival of spring, I found myself alone; in a place, that was my home. It wasn’t long before I realised, I knew a warm and handsome guy who was in the mood for an adventure. He is a curious, loyal and dauntless sort of a fellow. A perfect companion when setting out for an adventure. So, we stepped out from the confines of the castle.…
What hits me first are the sounds of Pike Place Market. A constant hum of chatter of hawkers and gawkers. This is followed by the riot of colors that the eyes register even though the old worn out buildings have a muffled air and dispersed light somehow managing to find a way in. Flowers, fish, leather, paintings, scarves, vegetables in their vibrant raw beauty. Then comes the smells of fish (wrinkling nose here), coffee (freshly brewed in styrofoam cups), roses (and…
there were flowers everywhere. from holland, from australia, from taiwan, and who knows where else, many i am sure from singapore too, like those orchids. i didn’t have to fly somewhere far to see them. nor was that splendid array there only at a certain time of the year. no need to plan a time to go view, nothing. on a hot sunny morning i went walking along macritchie reservoir and thomson road and there on a bend in the…
When one thinks of summer, the first thing that comes to mind is the heat, the hot sun, sweat pouring down as one goes about with their daily chores. An annoying temperament but one has to do what one has to. Of course, the AC being there or not being there has nothing to do with it. The heat gets to you nevertheless. Although I must say, before I had one installed it was absolutely roasting in my house and…