The Magic Makers

The creator and his creation taking shape painstakingly, lovingly, one gentle nudge at a time…. 

When an artist invites you to watch him sculpt, it is an honour. The eyes move from the sunburnt face and hands onto the perfection that is being sculpted out of a block of wood. No gap remains between the two. It is as unique and beautiful as any process of birthing can be… 

The finished sculpture, polished and shining adorns temples and prayer rooms of homes that the sculptor might never visit… Yet through his art he has infused the intangible into the tangible…

 #art #creativity #sculpture #sculptor #wood #beauty #artist #surajkundmela #InredibleIndia #unsung #unknown


A Little Magic on the Road :)

Driving down to my studio yesterday, I had the misfortune of having one of those real nasty drivers behind me… Those who drive bumper to bumper, literally sitting on the horn and swearing all the time. I looked at him in the rear view mirror and he looked like a dark cloud of anger. 
How can one hasten a traffic jam? I wondered. And then, for my own peace of mind I decided to edge into another lane, just to get away from him. As he came into the spot I managed to vacate, I looked at him again and to my utter astonishment he was smiling!

The reason was in the car ahead of him… Two cute kids wouldn’t stop grinning their toothless grins and waving at him.. They broke down his armour of anger and somehow their smiles and innocence touched him. 

He waved at them shyly and tentatively at first.. And was slowly transformed into a more joyful being, a magic that only kids can weave… ๐Ÿ˜Š

The Pressed Rose

Remember the joy of coming across a forgotten pressed Rose? A first Valentine memory or a beauty that one wanted to always remember….So one found a book of poetry or whatever it is that one was reading at that time and placed it between the pages and shut the book gently…
And there it lay, a pressed rose, exuding its fragrance and coaxing it into the aging pages of your cherished book, till one day, years later, you chance upon it once again and you drop everything to just sit and reminisce about that small yet beautiful moment in life…

One that came back on the delicate wings of a pressed rose.


Magic of the Mountains

My happiest memories involve the mountains.

For somebody living in the plains, the simple act of filling up a back pack means lightening up the weight of ones existence to an amount that one can carry on ones own back. By the process of elimination, almost every thing seems dispensible, except for the very basic items.ย 

With this selection comes a very real sense of lightness. Knowing that one can do with so little is really emancipating. The biggest possession, one easily realises, is ones good health. It is the single greatest requirement for any kind of movement, especially one that takes you to the rarefied air of the mountains and the walking that it inevitably entails.

Keeping fit then becomes a priority, living simply and eating healthy, a necessity.ย 

I love the mountains for what they bring out in me….

The sense of awe and adventure comes back, the breath tightens with excitement at every turn… ย The comfort of faith, lost somewhere in the cynicism of the city, tiptoes back into the soul. …The audible sound of silence and peace that envelope the nights and the days, help restart stilted conversations within….and reacquint me with myself..

Yes, my happiest memories definitely involve the mountains… ๐Ÿ™‚