CHIAROSCURAY

somewhere between lights and shadows

[chiaroscuray]

XW As of now, this space is filled with multiple explosions everywhere, And with every explosion it expands, Time And space. As one is becoming many, Forces take birth, And patterns emerge.

XX Now and here, A rock with  a strange fluid cycle appears, Its beautifully clear, Moulds the orange light, Like glints, Deep down below.

XY A crust shears, The surface like waves, Smears, Up and down, Fluid fills the voids left, Some surface still a bit heft.

XZ The force of central explosionatory affects, They circle it, More complex patterns appear. Invisible and unbound, The forces govern the gears.

01. First and Final Entry (valid) "Just witnessed life appear" Linear reading 9017 SENT. End of Report.

(X denotes Void Entry)

blue pencil sketch, inverted in PS

[chiaroscuray]

A Movie Review

Language. It alludes me even today how there was just one reason which led our bond to happen and then exist in memories.

I first noticed her (almost everyone did) the first time, during an impromptu question session,The question being "what is the greatest human invention?" and all kinds of answers were coming while I was trying hard to not get influenced by these, and think of an original impactful invention, she raised her hand and said

"Language-the spoken and written word"!

And to my surprise this class which was called "the hoodlum 63" by the contemporaries, went the quietest it had ever been, only murmur and hush-hush remained which seemed to go down by every second but never quite died. I was stunned too, in-fact it shocked me unlike anything that has ever happened in my school life.

'Language?' An Invention? How come?

Till that point in my life it had never occurred to me that language is a tool, invented by human beings. For me till that point, language was as natural a part of me as my throat was, my tongue was, my mouth was, my lips were, my thoughts were. Now suddenly I could see it as something that was not a part of me, but was given to me. I went straight to her, and still in disbelief asked her, "how language?"                                                                                      

"As much as it has empowered us to progress it has been limiting and restricting our capabilities as a species enormously....”

And it baffled me, to the point I just replied "you are crazy" and walked away. Whatever she said never convinced me and we fought over it a million times in our 500 days of summer.

She came to me later, and we just sat there. I didn’t realize but I had already fallen for her. She kept quiet and I kept expecting some words from her. She never spoke and I just stopped bothering and started enjoying her presence. We sat there forever. Before my parents found me dozing there. That was the first time I felt high. She had left long back and I never realized (to this day I am not sure she ever came in the first place or it was all my imagination)

What that event gave birth to were some of the most beautiful times of my life. I owe most of  my thoughtful, brighter side  to those times. Time rolled on, and like everything else we withered away, slowly and painfully. We had stopped listening to each other and then eventually we stopped seeing each other too.

Without words to listen and a face to see, people fade away too soon.

All this came down rumbling back to me sometime ago, when I chanced to see this sheer brilliance of a film called "Arrival" . Not the first time when I saw it, the second and the third and the subsequent times I watched that film. As its protagonist 'Louise' gains the ability to see her future, I gained the ability to finally perceive language as a tool. I could now really see the reason what she meant when she called language as a bad tool.

What kind of tool doesn’t allow me to communicate universally to beings of my own species?

“A powerful tool is one which is universally usable by the whole species” then she would pick up a pencil and add “look at this, anyone on this planet can pick it up and just in minutes can make use of it” .

And years later, I had gained that clarity, moreover I finally understood why we break apart, me and her, you and him, they and them, If it was not for language, we might have never had a misunderstanding in the first place. It alludes me how it made us come together and part our ways….language.

P.S. After that revel, I started observing that the spoken and written words fail to convey more than often, specially meanings and feelings, which led me to believe and question Is there something else which can transcend our current communication of spoken and written word? Is such a tool possible? If yes, how can we break from this to that? 

Voluntary Test Subject IFO9lY1 Year 11 Self Conversation no 98189 Dated : 2017

[chiaroscuray]

Maybe memories are evolution's way of coping up with life threatening boredom and loneliness that fills most of our lives.

whole in the head

[chiaroscuray]

There is something here,

makes me wish,

I was there,

There I wish,

you were here,

Between here and there,

This exists,

And that persists..

a ping pong ball,

friend that I lost

One whom I found,

times I really hugged,

Others I denied,

Eye to eye,

Sometimes too shy,

Chat rooms and tweets,

Deactivation for weeks,

not moon but mars,

an ice-cream treat over bouquet flowers,

Not him but her,

Red or blue,

Maybe peach will be through,

The other day,

Spent thinking about today

Today brooding over that day,

Ah those cupcake frostings still make me sway,

Lost and found,

Naive and profound,

A lot that floats, hovers

and mimes,

not here or there,

But one place instead,

A (w)hole in the head !

[chiaroscuray]

was i ever born? i wonder, was i ever dead? i wonder, ain't i the cosmos?... i wonder, ain't you the cosmos? i wonder, then what makes us not one, but two? i wonder...

Blue pencil (a mechanical 0.5 mm kurutoga with blue staedtlar colour lead) sketch on paper, ps edit.(invert) See more

[chiaroscuray]

As much as we live and let our bodies exist in reality, we are rooted in presences, presences that are from some other time and place, multiple of them, all the time. Yesterdays kiss, tomorrows hug, last year's glum evening, that walk among the clouds one morning and the best part... presences of things that never happened and probably never will. Presence of a touch by a secret  lover you never acknowledged your love to, presence of being embraced by nothing but vacuum around you, presence of being somewhere else, soaking in that environment, presence of something and everything this life wont allow you to have, but nonetheless cant stop you having from...how did she put it, let me remember...ah! Yes, "anything is as good as much you believe it into, be it the forlorn comfort of your mother, or teaspoons  of sugar...presences, isnt it?

staedtlar pigment liner on paper ,over a couple cups of lemon ginger honey tea

[chiaroscuray]

She would often look for questions,  For answers never came her way,  Between time and space as they say,  She swayed,  Mirror to mirror,...  Questions that once were,  Withered,  Everything reciprocated...  For she realised,  answers were questions were answers...  Hence, existence was idealised,  as a paradox,  Mirror to mirror,  X to y,  Unknown to why?  What she saw and what saw her,  Were different things generated from each other,  Equivalent and fragile,  It was one and multiple at the same time,  only the mirror existed but no wall...  Self Reflections sublime,  Re(x) was the formula after all,  Does the wisdom to know the difference,  matters at all?  and she would often look for questions,  For answers never came her way,  For it was the questions that were the answers to themselves...  She would often,.....just shhhh! it down...

//marker sketch on paper+ps edit 

[chiaroscuray]

....and for the umpteenth time, he emptied himself. All the voices that made him warm, all the smiles that made him feel butterflies in his stomach, all those kisses that made his heart skip a beat, all those words that wandered, he let it go. It was not a choice, you see, he couldn’t have lived sane otherwise. Emptiness and the following loneliness was a feeling he had grown use to every once in a while, a lot of whiles. Someone had died, when it happened the first time, lost love the second time, the dreariness of life the third,  the ugliness of human society was probably the fourth time, fifth sixth and innumerous since then...he puked for days, puked from his eyes and guts at the same time till his stomach had nothing to spew but its own acid, eyes devoid of salt, dry and yellow.  It burned, but more than that, and which no one could see was acid that was left in his head, burning him through every moment. Then it happened, he puked till the last drops of those memories were gone... and with it came the emptiness. Woah, what a bliss it was! He could finally cuddle up under a blanket and see dreams, but with nothing to linger upon, memories gone, he had to fill his dreams and memories all by himself, a universe  where he could belong to. A dream he could live into, so what if the dream is not a shared one? Isn't reality nothing but a shared dream? But the lure of this magnanimous shared dream pulled him in quite a few times and every single of those times, he ended up being devastated, going through the same burning, same sadness, same insanity that lingered for a few days, months, sometimes even years, until for the umpteenth time, he emptied himself for the umpteenth time he survived the dream... an ode to "the dream" , migraine, delusions and survival... (pigment liner pen+markers+white pen+ps) sketch See more 

[chiaroscuray]

“I am sorry for every time I hurt you, I now know I was stupid and shortsighted. I am sorry for the times I could not be humbler, and made you feel small. I am sorry for not answering your phone calls and the beautiful letters that you wrote, which I still keep safe in a drawer nearby. I am sorry for that time I did not tell you the truth, because I lacked the courage and was afraid I will lose th...at impeccable trust you have put into me. I am sorry for being so careless, for every drop of tear that rolled out on your cheeks due to me. I am sorry I couldn’t keep my promises, but believe me that when I made them, I really believed in them, in fulfilling them. I am sorry for that time when I couldn't listen to you because I was too troubled myself and  didn’t say anything to you, even though you kept asking me tirelessly, to understand me. I should have just talked and made ourselves at peace, like we used to. I am sorry for the awkward silences and difficult situations that I put you into, even when you didn’t want to. I am sorry for getting possessive about you and killing your freedom with words and actions that I forced upon you. I am sorry for being angry with you, or shout at you, it was never meant to be for you, it was anger towards myself, my failure to follow along with everything, the fear of losing you, slipping into darkness that most of my life has been. I am sorry for being a part of your life and ruining it. I hope, with your magic, you will still turn all these times into something beautiful and meaningful because I cant, I am tired of myself and I have failed as someone, as anyone, as everyone....its those memories I hold dear, they still light up my life like remaining glints of a full upto the brim fire, that our youthful days once were...I am sorry to let that fire die, to let that light go which once embellished the (now)bleeding red eye..”

from the last love letters. (pigment liner pen + marker sketch / PS edit)

[chiaroscuray]

She would fall for bits and pieces... Of people time and places... In her diary you would find scribbles ... A poetry of dribbles. ... the boy with teal eyes.. Letter that began with a sorry instead of an hi, Strokes of a dried up felt pen, The curl of his lips saying amen... Salt and pepper shakers from that bar, Tint of green from an old glass jar... To talk to her, was hovering through a scent, One with million bits of essence, Like raindrops they fell, Her words, from here, from there, with the parts of people her love adhered, She would fall for dreams, Not the sleep, She would fall for atoms, Never for elements, She would fall for my squares, Not the circles, She would fall For the couplets, Never the whole poem... water colours, white pen on paper, a scratch  sheet and a photo taking box.+ps edit See more 

[chiaroscuray]

i am a woman, you will find me behind multiple shades of eyes, but for that, you'll have to look beyond my chest size... ... i am your mother and your wife i am the procreator, the one who gave you life... i am not a box to be filled with your desires, i am not just curves to admire... behind the viel, shreds and tatters... lies a soul so much brighter... thousands of sun, shine here in my heart, the only reason world has not broken apart, i am red, yellow,purple,blue and innumerous colours of ink... and not just a few shades of pink. i am the one who bears the pain, and dancing away in the tears of rain... i challenge you to reach to me, i challenge you... to touch my soul and kiss my mind... to set free the heart so divine... watercolours on paper See more

[chiaroscuray]

after all was said and done, she would hit water, air too thin to sustain her dense ghost, cluttered as it was, noise of the air now gone lub dub sounds, an archaic hum, memory of 9  months, blurred and hazy, her shell floated, her ghost sang, melody of queries, since the big bang, what separated air from water? earth from sky? ghost from the shell? her from existence? half in air, half in water, parts of her craved for the other, is she one? Or two? air and water, one or many? after all was thought and mum, she would hit air, water too dense for her body to exist… a balance, a vital twist…

[chiaroscuray]

Between sky and earth, Is all that exists? All those words, That I said,... All the beautiful literature, To me, he ever read, All that time, frozen€¦ Like an essence, A state of Zen, All the effervescent thoughts, brighter than the sun, long shadows, that they drops, fathom the deepest of oceans, All those bonds, And tear drops, All the longings to a candy shop, Every kiss that happened Perfectly In head, and the ones, when I messed, All the smiles that brought joy, Those smokey gazes, Oh boy! Between the beginning and now, is all that exists? if every moment, is nothing But a birth, Of another universe, Equally vivid and diverse A place where, All I ever could be, All I will never be, All I will be, Between sky and earth, Is all that exists. markers on paper, white pen + PS

[chiaroscuray]

"If there's one place in Bombay, where i would love to shoot sunsets it would be this. Black Sand spells its magic in the reflections of the golden hour. What else a photographer can wish for?"

when i look back now, these words from him make more sense than ever...Bombay and its various sunsets, I always had the best ones at Gorai... .

[chiaroscuray]

it rained of tears, all these years, I sat with him, and with her, listened to all those times.... when all they spoke, Was with their lungs choked, All they told, With their eyes fold, Was their fears, Morphed into tears...

All of them left, As time weft, Bare and in bones, I stood alone,

nobody listened, nor gave me their ear, This time, my lungs needed some air, All it got filled up with, Was smoke, laugh crazy, its all a joke!

i seek peace, i seek refuge, i seek someone to whom i can feel dear... i am tired of keeping so many things in my mind's rear.. i wish to sleep, I wish to weep, But all I could do, Is to let some smoke seep… A little in my eyes, a little in my sighs...

and it rained of tears, all these years… small, little stupid fears, Went up high , soaked, All in that puff of smoke….

ink+markers+white pen on paper

[chiaroscuray]

She had a strange habit, one that has always amused me through all this time. A methodical ritual of smoking…undressing herself slowly before the bath, she use to choke the bath tub with the plug and let the water rise. She entered the tub and use to look in the mirror, she would bend a little to check herself out, from top to bottom and bottom to up, then she would look herself straight in the eyes…smile a little and light up a smoke…and the next few moments or so, she would keep doing that, taking puffs, making snuffs and rings out of that smokey stuff, and constantly looking into her eyes…then suddenly as if the hallucination has broken, she would turn on the shower, making that smoke go out with a little hiss sound that she loved, sometimes she finished the whole smoke, sometimes it was just a puff or two, before it went out. She would then close her eyes, and lie down….inside, with all the water and the smoke just hung up there….static and placid….magical and vivid, as if she existed somewhere else, between a crossfire of hell and heaven, past and present, untouched and absent….

Quick ink sketch on paper, ps edit. —

[chiaroscuray]

She was always the quiet one. She use to sit in a corner in her class. She realized soon, that being quiet doesn’t mean, people don’t notice you. In fact they notice you more. She was teased, abused, and often the victim of the tricks by her classmates.

She grew up, learning how to evade those tricks, she submerged herself into books, colours, and the night sky. 

There was always this ongoing whirlwind of unseen motion and sound going around her, which she never seemed to care of, as if the dusky long hairs of her, flow around her eyes to keep her in a different time stream. And if you could see beyond those streaks of hairs, you would notice a strange kind of peace that filled her face, and the eyes were like, they belonged to a child who has been a ten year old for centuries….

Don’t ask me about her smile, for nobody had ever seen one adorn her face. One day she vanished, never came back to the class again. Nobody missed her, nobody cared, they never had.

I miss her sometimes, for her presence use to bring, a tranquility of the rarest kind, the one you feel in the eye of the storm, the storm that is, this mad, restless and crazy world...

quick marker sketch on paper. edited in ps