Vishwajyoti Ghosh's Blog

RETURNING TO BLOG AFTER AGES

This has been on my mind ever since. To return to this blog and return to my sketch book, as work, bills, imaginary job lists, mindless and mindful scrolling/ surfing keep us so busy and distracted. Last evening I returned to my sketch book after ages and it felt sort of normal, amidst all the brain fog and things-to-do. As Frances Richey in her poem writes it the way it is:
Lately I’ve wondered
what hand guides my way when I am lost.

So here I am, hopefully more consistent, to share my worlds, doodles and all that must be done and seldom is.

The Return
Frances Richey

What do you say when you’ve forgotten

how the grass smells,

married to the dark

soil crumbling in your hands?

When the sun makes a bed for you to lie in?

When a voice you’ve never heard

has missed you,

singing down your bones–

it’s taken so long to get here.

Now I’m breathing in the mountains

as if I’d never left.

And when I go inside

I’m surprised to see a lime green worm

has landed on my shorts,

inching his way across a strange white country.

He stops and rises,

leaning out of himself–

a tiny periscope

peering from the glow of the underdream

where there are no symbols for death.

He looks around.

I place my index finger

at the tip of what I guess to be his head,

though I don’t see an eye or an ear,

or the infinitesimal feet

as he crawls across my palm–

a warmer planet.

Lately I’ve wondered

what hand guides my way when I am lost.

I can’t feel him

though I see him rise again,

survey the future, flat

and broken into five dead ends.

I curl my fingers to make a cup

and carry him like a blessing to the garden–

What will happen next is a mystery–

to be so light in the world, to leave no tracks.

(sourced from poets)

—————————————–

Thank you and hopefully and meet you more often.

Vishwajyoti Ghosh, November’22.

THE WAITER BOYS

(Continuing a new series of jottings, remembering faces one thought was a part of one’s daily habitat, immediate neighbourhood. Never got to know anything about them or ever spoke to any of them. And now they’re nowhere to be seen.)

LOST IN LOCKDOWN #5: THE WAITER BOYS

Post midnight, they would walk back in uniform after a day’s work at a neighbourhood Chinese joint. For customers around, most were now familiar faces by routine who would recommend while taking orders and then turn to silent shadows returning home after an evening of role playing and performance.

#lockdown #lostfaces #memories #neighbourhood #jottings

THE WAITING

(Continuing a new series of jottings, remembering faces one thought was a part of one’s daily habitat, immediate neighbourhood. Never got to know anything about them or ever spoke to any of them. And now they’re nowhere to be seen.)

Many would remember her for sitting at the bus stop, looking at the road and then keep talking. Not to herself but the person she was waiting for, the person she would come to pick up or meet. Everyday without fail, she would be there with her hand bag and a water bottle. Initially, she would come from somewhere, some home of sorts. Gradually this became her home.

#lockdown #lostfaces #memories #neighbourhood #jottings

THE NAI UNCLE

(Continuing a new series of jottings, remembering faces one thought was a part of one’s daily habitat, immediate neighbourhood. Never got to know anything about them or ever spoke to any of them. And now they’re nowhere to be seen.)

LOST IN LOCKDOWN #3: THE NAI UNCLE

He would be more visible on the weekends, visiting his usual round of houses and then giving a call on the streets for those not familiar with his services. Each family had a name for him and the old barber was a Nai Uncle for generic reasons. Hair cut, clipping nails, soft massage he too was a service signpost now serving the third or may be even fourth generation of many families in this colony.[image error]

#lostinlockdown #neighbourhood #drawing

Tagged drawings, jottings, lockdown, lostfaces, memories, neighbourhood

(Continuing a new series of jottings, remembering faces one thought was a part of one’s daily habitat, immediate neighbourhood. Never got to know anything about them or ever spoke to any of them. And now they’re nowhere to be seen.)

LOST IN LOCKDOWN #3: THE NAI UNCLE

He would be more visible on the weekends, visiting his usual round of houses and then giving a call on the streets for those not familiar with his services. Each family had a name for him and the old barber was a Nai Uncle for generic reasons. Hair cut, clipping nails, soft massage he too was a service signpost now serving the third or may be even fourth generation of many families in this colony.[image error]

#lostinlockdown #neighbourhood #drawing

Tagged drawings, jottings, lockdown, lostfaces, memories, neighbourhood

Happy B’day Ruskin Bond
..
Dear Mr. Bond, thank you for a lifetime of stories and keeping the hills in our bookshelves. It’s thanks to you, Mussorie’s Bhoot Waali Aunty now regularly puts the little one to sleep, on time! To many many more! Much love…@ruskinbondofficial
..
#happybirthday #ruskinbond #vocalforlocal #portrait #illustration #childrensbooks #hills #author #portrait #portraitillustration #collageillustration

[image error]

(Continuing a new series of jottings, remembering faces one thought was a part of one’s daily habitat, immediate neighbourhood. Never got to know anything about them or ever spoke to any of them. And now they’re nowhere to be seen.)

LOST IN LOCKDOWN #2: THE VAISHNAV JAZZ SINGER

Very few would remember the old bhajan singer, old with black hair, leucoderma fair and a lovely voice. Petite but powerful, her gaze and her voice would earn her alms. Closely tied hair, she would walk in with her cymbals and her jhola and then she would sing. Of those who would give her a coin or a note, it would be a renumeration and not an alm.

#lostinlockdown #neighbourhood #drawing

[image error]

Beginning a new series of jottings, remembering faces one thought was a part of one’s daily habitat, immediate neighbourhood. Never got to know anything about them or ever spoke to any of them. And now they’re nowhere to be seen.

LOST IN LOCKDOWN #1: THE MAN IN THE BLACK

Remember the man in a tattered black round the year, a black jacket over black salwar kameez. With a rucksack on his back and two big polythene bags filled with his whatevers, no one knew of. He would walk around the markets, pick up leftover food and keep walking. He was a familiar face for most, one thought a part of the daily stock. And then late into the night, he would long stretches on the Outer Ring Road with his world in his hands & shoulders.

#lostinlockdown #neighbourhood #drawing

Sorry for the long disappearance. Once again promise to be more consistent.

Hindustan Times Edit Page/ 26/05/13