Light & all that it does to you

It was three minutes to seven PM, I sat there, on the floor with my legs crossed. A human beside, someone who probably hates me or meets my gaze with an air of indifference on other days.

We sat there, right at the centre, with the Mysore Palace standing like a kingdom that would come to life in a few blinks, in three minutes.

The Palace radiated history and strength in reds and a colour of grandeur.

Lights are something that makes my soul feel intense warmth, it fills me with hope and goodness in any room and consequence.

And to be sitting there, with a thousand other beings, a few crossed legged, a few standing, a few scattered and a few gathered,

It felt surreal.

To anticipate as a tribe, strangers coming together to witness some magic that would appear in one moment of shared dusk-time.

I closed my eyes, and a deep breath allowed itself into my lungs. The sky sizzled with blue hour and the glow of a setting sun.

That deep breath made me feel something, I had paused the moment. The time, the people. Except the movement of my breath. Flowing in and out like a smile between two people in love.

I had a few free thoughts, about the day, about the people I travelled with, whom I cherish regardless of our history, when we live a good experience together. 

A breeze blew a soothing whistle in my ear, and I opened my eyes.

In a flashing second, the world changed.

It was all lights.

Yellow warmth radiating in symmetry, adorning all edges and curves.

The red domes of the palace glowing like blood red moons.

The sky suddenly dark, suddenly deepened.

And silhouettes of moving people trying to capture a photograph.

Shadows against Palace casted light. 

Shadows of people who are loved, somewhere, somehow.

Shadows of people who are unconsoled.

Shadows of people who are left unseen.

Shadows of the shadows in all our beautifully unique minds.

All diminished by a jarring wash of good light.

The Palace coming to life, like a yellow celestial element. Unreal, magical and undescribed.

We had a very few minutes to capture this dream into frames, we had a train in twenty minutes.

In rushed tones and hurried runs, we captured and ran.

Ran to an auto that trudged its way to the railway station with a punctured tire.

Somehow, we made it.

We made it like fireflies flying towards a last light.

We made it like moonshine spilling into a boat anchored.

There is an original beauty in that rush.

And it's happened twice.

Same people.

Different cities. Rush, run, we somehow make it into the train, and it moves; in three minutes.

The exact minutes left for the palace to light up, when I sat there in its lap.

And just like that, another train journey began.

…

Hum chale baharon mein

Gungunati raahon mein

Dhadkane bhi tez hain

Ab kya karein?

…

As I sat there in a train taking me home, I had moments flipping in memory like a set of rare cards.

That moment when I felt like an island, water all around me. Waves glistening, and sun smiling.

That moment when I slipped into my drunk on laughter mode, because of a reel where a child had an outfit that would act as a mop when it crawled around.

I tripped. I laughed like a maniac on sugar rush and case study exhaustion.

I got into a green boat, with a friend who somehow coincidentally ends up being in the same team as me on all our trips. A friend whose friendship began in another city than ours.

I clicked a photograph, exactly similar like the one dad clicked in tenth grade. In that red life jacket at Karanji lake, with a smile that was more of a life jacket than the one I was wearing.

I walked with an assorted bunch of people I never really talked talked before, until now. Except one person; Chetana , along with whom I made constant efforts to make everyone feel seen today.

I had beautiful peacocks four steps away from me. I wanted to stand in the way of a sprinkler that was watering the lawns. I put on a cap on my face to play hide and seek with the sun. I clicked pictures of streets, people and architecture that got me here in the first place.

Earlier that day, I walked with another friend with whom I resonate. I saw an old grandma sitting on a stone slab, in a typical Indian, green saree with a bright bindi.

Her energy and wrinkles were very inviting.

And as we were walking around talking to people about their experience in the particular area, I talked to her as well.

And with that conversation, beyond the threshold of that painted door, we stumbled into a 400 year old Shiva temple.

Bright colours on the forehead of a pillar, stone pillars holding ageing slabs and a small Linga in the centre.

A series of godly photographs and a small dog house with a steel bowl full of dog food in the corner of the temple.

This was a very unusual temple. It had a home right adjacent to the Garbhagriha, within the confining compound, home of the caretakers. Just four steps from the temple's sidewalls.

And as we walked the first round around the idol, a Small Siberian husky low jumped on us.

I was genuinely so in love, I felt so much happiness petting that fur baby. It was like a soft greyish white blanket.

I was at peace, in that temple. And I had forgotten the hundred challenges attacking me from all sides.

It was a day that held a lot of walking, conversations and smiles.

A moment of kindness when a 13-something-year-old boy gave me the window seat for half an hour, just because I had to write.

And in subtle moments of the Palace's light shining through my soul, that old grandma's pleasant smile, that's small Huskey's lick, a moment where I found myself humming between a random mix of friends, a stranger-child's patience to let me have the window seat even when it was not mine, I felt fulfilled. I felt loved in ways the universe was re-inventing, as days unpacked themselves.

I realized, that hope is a real thing.

It arrives, in a blink.

We need to just sit there, crossed-legged; allowing a deep breath into our lungs.

And at some chosen moment in our journey,

In a flashing second, the world will change.

That there is always a jarring wash of light, 

For the shadows of people who are loved, somewhere, somehow.

Shadows of people who are unconsoled.

Shadows of people who are left unseen.

Shadows of the shadows in all our beautifully unique minds.

~Vajjj©

PS. This is the first time I felt like I had captured something surreal, as a photograph and not just as words. And the joy of leaning into another art is unreal. An art that I haven't owned yet but something that's taking shape, glowing like a small flame that holds expression. As I journaled this entry that you're reading, I fell in love with the city and the art of Photography.