This photo essay, in my opinion, expresses the idea of displacement as one where images of natural beauty can often be juxtaposed with our internal states of unrest within the world we live in.
I also take this opportunity to diversify my writings and so the written accompaniment to photos of the sky taken by me this past summer is unveiled here .
When we look at the sky, we often think of the vast cosmic, mortally mystifying canopy under which we live and thrive as human beings of various ranks. Childhood musings point to it as a haven of clouds, their forms and shapes automatically moulding our naturally endowed imaginations as those comforting rays of the great godfather of them all – the Sun – lulls us into another beautiful space of our own making. But this adult realm of these years crystallizes in my mind as one where even all that light and beauty seems to be infighting to let one emerge out of the two, entities struggling to find their places while looking down at us as we cease to hold our own world in order.
The sky seems to be falling at us with its enraged body, flooding our cities and villages with despondent downpours even as the sun rides his golden chariot to release orbs of fire on forests left to burn, in its wake, human complacency in other parts.
So as I lie down and photograph it all with my lens, I feel a pang, stupefied by how it all came to this point of reference. As I see the clouds unfold their spontaneous shape shifting ritual, I trace forms of monsters and fiery tempers.
So much is undertaken under this great blue ocean of tranquility.
The sky now curses us without shedding tears of pity every monsoon. The clouds gather their drums and thunderclaps, to supplement the calm with a perfect storm of restive spirits. The sun, well, it’s in constant hibernation, resting for an indefinite period before winter and ashen ponderings settle in.
All displaced beyond archetypes of poetry.