tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52448183844781275502024-03-05T16:17:33.956+05:30Droplet of a CascadeFor a dose of random inspirations.Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-32068061687777475822013-02-14T17:03:00.003+05:302013-02-14T17:04:37.808+05:30Grim Reaper and the Merry MormonOh how lovely were the days when the sky wore azure drapes, and the soft tufts of silky clouds floated far far away... mused the merry Mormon as she fluttered about the jasmines, flaunting her vivid crimson motifs through the greens.
From morning to night, and night to morning it rained for days on end. Why? Did anyone ever do something to invoke the wrath... of the god of rain?
The jasmine Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-89733261388466021092013-02-04T21:50:00.000+05:302013-02-04T21:51:09.551+05:30Lucky shot or not?Moments of photography... from a newbie's point of view.
A lucky shot: While snapping macro shots of flora, I found this 1cm or so sized spider
hidden amidst yellow bell flower bud
Case #1:
I sometimes wonder what's the difference between two photographs. You see, some subjects turn out as your lucky encounters. You spot them, you snap them, and that's all to it. Some subjects Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-75633820992950302602012-08-02T19:49:00.001+05:302012-08-02T19:49:38.380+05:30Between positive and negative
Between the palm leaves on a thin branch sat a bird with his eyes fixed towards the blue sky. He sighed whilst gazing at the scenery unfolding below.. running far to meet the jagged hills of blue. He turned left and right, up and down. The world felt so empty, he was all alone.
The palm leaves waved gently, rustling now and then, as the zephyrs rushed to catch the unseen clouds in the far westHarshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-2203839973324656012012-05-19T23:41:00.000+05:302012-05-19T23:54:44.582+05:30The droplet and the friend
On the yellowy green banana leaf I sprinkled some water. Tiny mirrors suddenly popped. They allowed me to see the world, through their eyes.
Dew drops on a blade of grass can't last long. But when those pearly droplets drop on to the ground, they connect and make tiny puddles. Water can't survive alone, nor can humans.
I then wondered if friends are also like droplets. They may start outHarshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-6619377104468314892012-01-27T21:28:00.001+05:302012-03-26T19:08:40.442+05:30The SunThe Sun...
Our very own sun
One microscopic star in the boundless universe
Blessed us with a million of things including...
A planet exuberant with life
Of all shapes, colors and sizes
Bright cheerful mornings
Ringing with a chirpy chorus
Beautiful blue skies
Dotted with silky fluffy clouds
The magic of a rainbow
Hidden in the midst of a drizzle
Vibrant blossoms
Exuding the sweetest fragrance
Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-49397299028150380202011-12-18T16:00:00.000+05:302011-12-19T21:32:07.385+05:30The Kite and the Bird
I thought we were the same.. when I saw him and I, both soaring high... riding the winds in the boundless blue sky.
As I flew higher and higher my frilly long tail fluttered like waves. He glided stretching his coffee brown wings.. and flapped from time to time to catch the current. But soon we parted our ways. 'That was the beginning of the end..' the kind northern wind whispered in my ears. Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-39340321889569728282011-11-30T23:09:00.001+05:302011-11-30T23:46:21.356+05:30The ClockThe clock I see before me always ticks... never stops... unless the life of the battery runs out. The 3 hands.. of varying lengths and sizes.. move only towards one direction. Clockwise.. we call it.
The second-hand moves faster. The minute-hand moves a bit slower. The hour-hand is the slowest. They all stop by 60 times at 60 points.. covering 360 degrees... in their never ending, unrelenting Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-22160231331102031872011-11-19T23:42:00.001+05:302011-11-20T00:34:03.614+05:30Sunny side of Life
On my way to work.. some months back.. I used to intently scan this heartless gloomy garage filled with metal scraps and old dusty vehicles. I looked for my motivator. The happiest dog in the whole wide world, who'd cheerfully greet his masters skipping on just 3 legs. He peacefully slept outdoors, went for morning walks.. somewhat far from the garage. He was carefree and high spirited despite Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-4570575462643494952011-11-19T23:33:00.001+05:302011-11-19T23:40:16.514+05:30The Mobile<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-1750593031788925392011-11-19T23:09:00.001+05:302011-11-19T23:26:26.658+05:30(Un)controlled<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-31867918145749585902011-11-19T22:54:00.001+05:302011-11-19T23:04:18.719+05:30Irony of fate
I recall no particular incident for this inspiration, it was totally random.. but maybe some early observations of my favorite and not-so-favorite arthropods triggered its concoction.. passively. Nevertheless the intricate patterns of a neatly woven web (not the world wide web), never fails to amaze me.
............................
As the morning dew becomes pearly beads
and rollHarshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-41314237797670530062011-11-19T22:12:00.001+05:302011-11-19T22:22:49.451+05:30A poet... one of a kind<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-56567564844375842082011-11-19T22:06:00.001+05:302011-11-19T22:24:44.540+05:30The Maestro of the Street
Think I wrote this after seeing a street performer.. not so new of a sight in this part of the world. But sadly those who appreciate their efforts are no more.. or visibly less.
......
In the corner of a dust covered street
Under the scorching sun’s heat
Amidst a throng of sullen people
He’d willingly take a seat
Pulling out a few instruments
From a safely packed bundle
He Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244818384478127550.post-14934860299421398762011-11-19T21:48:00.001+05:302011-11-19T22:11:08.102+05:30S.M.I.L.E.This will be the teeny space to hatch those random inspirations I get from time to time. So here goes the first.
S - seemingly unrelated.. insignificant
M - moments... captured gracefully by the mind;
I - in the nick of time.. a
L - language unspoken.. interprets itself.. and
E - etches its trace.. permanently... in the heart.Harshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02572392151451730317noreply@blogger.com0