Crystal walked in the centre of the quiet road, laughing, frolicking, humming a sweet tune, breaking away from the role of the pedestrian, swaying and moving forward, sideways and backwards, sideways.
Reaching on time didn’t bother her, so she jumped out of joy, tapping on the road as if saying hello. The road, a bit confused, said “where to?” And Crystal tapped, tapped, tapped and said, “do you change and grow bigger when it’s quiet?”
Quietly the road began observing itself (and continues to do so even now).
Walking ahead Crystal met a tall tree that mimed some ten thousand stories, each one blowing away with the wind, now and then. She sat to listen, then walked away carrying a dozen (stories) in her pocket.
She has been walking since so long, she doesn’t remember when and where did she start. But nothing is amiss and so she continues ahead with now some hundreds of stories in her pocket.
Crystal stops only near water-wells to drink the cool calming water and see her reflection in it before gulping it down. An older self beams back at her from deep within the well and Crystal, checking her hairstyle, waves a greeting, rippling the water.
The stone steps, the tiny plants, the rope and tin bucket, in union with the well, then tell the visitor (Crystal) a story about the well and the sky. She is carrying this tale along, she dropped some (stories) there to make some space.
And she is walking, walking, walking away… laughing and frolicking, humming a tune, breaking away from the role of the pedestrian, dancing on those days when it rains.
Quiet and meditative energy of the whole world appears to erode everything here for it is a rocky desert region, and that golden sun and that bright moon drop shadows, following every soul as if to engulf it.
But that which is eroding is full of life and not static. It moves in all directions, in exuberance, this energy does, swallowing whatever comes in between.
Nothing is lost here and nothing is found, everything stays right in front of your eyes and you take in as much as you can.
A कारवाँ (a caravan of people travelling together) moves through such a land and is caught unawares in this directionless, seamless bigger movement. They stay in shock until they learn to tune themselves to what is unfolding.
What is unfolding is too simple to be seen in a rush, it is a drama that is acting upon itself. Its movements are beautiful, in stillness it rises and flowing it colours us all, sooner or later.
The कारवाँ sees its beauty, at times terrified by its brutal suddenness, unable to see its care in a rush. They finally become one with the quiet and meditative energy of the whole world, the whole universe that appear to be eroding everything here.
Sirāt is a 2025 drama road film directed by Óliver Laxe and co-written by Santiago Fillol and Laxe. It follows a father in search of his missing daughter along with his son and a group of ravers in the deserts of southern Morocco. – Wikipedia [Image source – whentostream.com]
It is not a humble, gentle quest they all set for, but a challenge that they take up passionately, blindly, gladly to find out the meaning of love. And while it sounded, and was, a glorious and grand task like a celebration, they were tricked by the challenge itself. Nevertheless, this push and pull continued and filled the space with the aroma of first, passion and daring, then, possibilities and impossibilities and finally, it filled the room with love.
The rather quick journey that took the form of a grand challenge unfolds here melodiously, in the form of a Qawwali and forms the climax in the romantic musical film Barsat Ki Ek Raat (One Rainy Night, 1960).
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Barsat Ki Ek Raat (1960) directed by P. L Santoshi, story by Rafi Ajmeri, starring Madhubala, Bharat Bhushan and Shyama.
Na to Karwaan ki Talash hai… Qawwali by Sahir Ludhianvi. [Source – IMDB]
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Words may never be able to capture what love is, but here Sahir Ludhianvi’s lyrics gallops any and every gap so beautifully that it presents the careful listener with tales, promises, whispers of love, pain, joy, tears, bliss, death and the sublime. The lyrics burn away the duality and confusion, the conflict and rigidness with so much love that your eyes well up.
Melos (song or music in Greek) and drama (drame in French) combine to form melodrama. A fantastic tool used to present all that is life in just a few minutes and hours on stage and screen.
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Listen to mesmerising qawwali as you read ahead –
The music creates the mood, it is a jugalbandi (jam session) between the musicians, it rises and falls, it promises nothing and everything and then it stops letting the singers and words to take the centre stage… charismatically.
Male Singer –
Na to caaravaan ki talaash hai I am not in search of a caravan Na to humsafar ki talaash hai I am not in search of a fellow traveler Mere shauq-e-khaana kharaab ko teri rehguzar ki talaash hai That ruined place of my desire searches for the path that leads to you
Team One presents a challenge via their craft, for it is a matter of love, they know the stakes are high, they challenge the other team as well as declare that they, who know love very well, know how to manoeuvre in this space. They talk about the lover who is content in their loneliness and doesn’t need any support from fellow travellers – another strong perspective – they are talking about someone who is already walking alone in this maze of a world, and that it is a choice because all this person desires is to find the way to their beloved.
Female Singer –
Mere naamuraad junoon ka hai ilaaj koi to maut hai If there is any cure for my unfortunate obsession, then it is death Jo davaa ke naam pe zehar de Give me that medicine whose name is poison Usi chaaraagar ki talaash hai I am in search of such a healer
Team Two keeps forth a situation less as a reply and more as a fact as the singer is deeply in love with someone who loves another, it starts with and stays in a personal space for her. This lovesickness of hers, an obsession for those who don’t understand her, has only one cure and that is death. She raises the stakes further hinting at her looming death.
The words like obsession, cure, death, medicine, poison, healer, beautifully amplify the intensity of the entire song so early on; but after all, dying, loving and living aren’t separate. The singer is also surrendering, though not giving up, rather she is ready to give up on her life. She is surrendering it all with love.
Male Singer –
Tera ishq hai meri aarzoo, Your love is my desire Tera ishq hai meri aabroo, Your love is my honor Dil ishq, jism ishq hai, aur jaan ishq hai My heart is love, my body is love, and my life is love Imaan ki jo poochho to imaan ishq hai If you ask for faith, then that is love too Tera ishq main kaise Chhod doon? How could I ever leave your love? Meri umr bhar ki talaash hai That love is what I have been searching for all my life
Team One doesn’t believe in surrendering, they are only too invested in winning the competition. They’re eager to charm the audience too and thus, they announce, that for them the beloved’s love is their desire, honour, heart, body and whole life and in fact, even their FAITH. Whatever is on a pedestal in their lives, they have already kept it at the feet of their beloved and after struggling so much how can they let go of their love, it has been a life time’ search and now they cannot abandon it, they cannot surrender.
This grand announcement receives applause. Continuing the search for love is what the majority does and so the majority claps; those in deep love, watch with love.
The song gallops as it has promised to do so and the tempo changes.
Male Singer –
Yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq This is love, this is love, this is love Jaan-soz ki haalat ko jaan-soz hi samjhegaa Only one in torment can understand the condition of a fellow sufferer Main shamaa se kehta hoon mehfil se nahiin kehta I am speaking to the flame, not to the company gathered here Kyonki yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq For this is love, this is love, this is love
Team One enjoying the mood, the vibrancy and lead, takes a rather cheap shot at the opponent that isn’t recognised by all. Showing concern for the wounded lover he says he understands that pain and that is why now he is speaking with the flame directly and not the audience members. While on one level, he seems to be talking about the moth and flame metaphor that represents a self-destructive devotion, yet on another level, he is talking to the lead singer from Team Two, her name being Shama which means flame.
Female Singer –
Sahar tak sab ka hai anjaam jal kar khaak ho jaana By dawn, everything will burn and be reduced to ashes Bhari mehfil mein koi shamaa yaa parvaana ho jaaye Everyone in this gathering shall became either flame or moth Kyon ki yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq For this is love, this is love, this is love
Seeing that the lead singer is in tears, the second singer from Team Two replies instead and that too sharply. She carries the moth and flame metaphor to its finality, declaring that by dawn, everyone present there may very well die because it is possible for them to turn into either the flame or moth – one will die-out and other will burn to death.
Hero –
Vehshat-e-dil rasn-o-daar se roki na gayi Love is not stopped by the madness of the heart or ropes and the gallows Kisi khanjar, kisi talvaar se roki na gayi It is not stopped by any dagger, by any sword Ishq Majnu ki woh aavaz hai jiske aage koi Laila kisi deewaar se roki na gayi, Love is that voice of Majnu’s which Laila followed and which no barrier could stop Kyon ki yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq For this is love, this is love, this is love
Team Two is joined by the Hero (of the film) who is sitting in the audience, who knows them very well and can see Shama is hurt, he understands her more than anyone for he himself is pining for his beloved; he pitches in so that the enquiry into what is love goes on.
He gets enough aural space to match the rhythm.
Addressing the audience more than the opposition, he says that you are talking about flames here, while love cannot be stopped by anything, be it swords, ropes, gallows, walls or even your own heart. Referring to the celebrated but tragic love story of Laila and Majnu, he says that nothing can stop any Laila once she hears the voice of her Majnu. Indirectly, also saying that there were and will always be people who would choose death over separation from their beloved.
Male Singer –
Woh hanske agar maangen to hum jaan bhi deden, If she laughs and asks, then I would even give my life Haan yeh jaan to kya cheez hai? Imaan bhi deden! Yes, after all what is this life? I would even give up my faith! Kyon ki yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq For this is love, this is love, this is love
Team One also talk about life and death, reiterating what they had said earlier. They say that we are ready to die, if that is our beloved’s wish; in fact, not only life, but we can let go of our FAITH too. What was there a need to reiterate at all? What happened to their sharp gift of repartee?
Hero –
Naaz-o-andaaz se kehte hain ki jeena hoga, I am told that I must live with my fate gracefully Zehar bhi dete hain to kehte hain Ki peena hoga They give me poison, and say I must drink Jab main peetaa hoon to kehte hain ki marta bhi nahiin, But when I drink it, then they say I won’t die Jab main martaa hoon to kehte hain ki jeenaa hogaa When I am dying, they say I must live Yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq For this is love, this is love, this is love
Hero’s witticism is filled with love. His voice and words are imbued with the freshness of love. Thus, he counters Team One simply by not countering, he has crossed and reached another level, he speaks directly to his beloved who is listening to his voice somewhere for sure. He knows it, and so does the viewer.
He shows what a paradox romantic love often becomes, where one inadvertently ends up torturing the other, all the while hoping to heal and rise and unite. “You’re asking me to live and die at the same time. Ah love! Tell me how is it possible? Only in love?”
Male Singer –
Mazhab-e-ishq ki har rasm kadi hoti hai, The laws and customs of love are very strict Har qadam par koi deewaar khadi hoti hai At every step, there is a barrier standing
With the sudden change in position, Team One falls down without any noise. They themselves seem unaware of this that from opposing team in a competition they have taken a stance that is somehow opposing lovers. They now talk about the “complicated” laws and customs of love that often places a wall in front of the lovers. They seem to be enjoying restrictions and in doing so they restrict themselves from moving further.
Hero –
Ishq aazad hai, Hindu Na Musalmaan hai ishq, Love is free, love is neither Hindu nor Muslim Aap hii dharm hai aur aap hii imaan hai ishq Your own duty and your own faith alone is love Jis se aage nahiin shekh-o-Brahaman donon, Both Hindu and Muslim religious men cannot surpass this Us haqeeqat ka garajtaa hua ailaan hai ishq The reality of that thundering proclamation is love
What started as a jugalbandi (jam session), now moves towards a solo performance, a solo voice taking the lead and love, having shed the superficial flimsy faces attached to it, begins to spread in the air like perfume. Love is freedom and freedom love, and it is that which can liberate. Love, the hero says, has nothing to do with the man-made ideas at all. He proclaims that nothing can surpass love. And this truly makes him the hero.
Female singer –
Ishq na puchhe deen dharm nu, ishq na puchhe jaataan Love does not ask your religion or creed, love does not ask your social class or caste, Ishq de haathon garam lahu vich doobiyaan laakh baraataan ke Love has drowned thousands of wedding revelers in its fiery blood Yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq This is love, this is love, this is love
The second singer from Team Two, sings in Punjabi, maybe because it needed to be said in this language, maybe because it doesn’t matter which language you speak, when it comes to love, the essence remains the same. It is yet another passionate declaration – Love doesn’t discriminate. Love also becomes something that vividly is alive, for it consists of “fiery blood”. From abstraction it enters a known realm.
Male Singer – Raah ulfat ki kathin hai ise aasaan na samajh The path of love is dangerous, do not think it easy Yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq This is love, this is love, this is love
Team One tries to fill the lovers with doubt and thus, they use fear instead to rise in front of love.
Female Singer –
Bahut kathin hai Dagar panghat ki The path to the riverside is very dangerous Ab kya bhar luaun main Jamuna se matki? Now how can I fill my jug with water from the banks of the Jamuna River? Main jo chali jal jamuna bharan ko dekho sakhi ji main jo chali jal jamuna bharan ko As I was on my way to fill my jug with water from the Jamuna, Nand kishor mohe roke jhaadon to The young boy of Nanda [Krishna] stopped me Kya bhar luaun main Jamuna se matki? So how can I fill my jug with water from the banks of the Jamuna River?
Bringing in cultural reference, talking about the majestic couple – Krishna and Radha, the female singer from Team Two sets-up the stage for the Hero to take over. The reference also brings us closer to the hero and the heroine of the film, that they too are like Krishna and Radha, their love too is divine and that they’re united in their love for each other, even if separated by distance.
Male Singer –
Haan, kya bhar luaun main Jamuna se matki? So how can I fill my jug with water from the banks of the Jamuna River?
Ab laaj raakho more ghoonghat pat ki Now protect my honor, this veil of mine
Ab laaj raakho more ghoonghat pat ki Now protect my honor, this veil of mine
Team One talks about honour and we wonder what about the love which is above honour and which they were talking about earlier? This is their last remark, though they do continue to show their craft, failing nevertheless. They humbly recognise this at the very end.
Hero –
Jab jab Krishn ki bansi baaji, When Krishna played his flute Nikali Raadhaa saj ke Radha emerged, dressed up Jaan ajaan ka dhyaan bhulaa ke, Forgetting all she was taught Lok laaj ko taj ke She left the honor of society Haaye ban ban Doli Janak dulaari, The darling child of King Janak [Sita] swayed into the forest Pehenke prem ki maalaa And wore a garland of love Darshan jal ki pyaasi Meera Meera thirsty for her a glimpse of her Lord Pii gayii vishh ka pyaalaa aur phir araj kari ke Drank a glass of poison and then pleaded Laaj raakho raakho raakho, laaj raakho dekho dekho, Protect my honor, protect my honor, protect my honor Yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq This is love, this is love, this is love
In the story, the heroine following the voice of the hero, reaches the venue, showing by her mere presence how love triumphs, how love liberates, and it happens instantly. And Shama, the lead singer, is troubled, she loves the hero, but knows he cannot be hers; she salutes the heroine and almost loses her consciousness, she is taken away.
The hero, meanwhile, as if in trance, begins to touch the pinnacle, rising from mundane to the sublime; from romantic love to sacrifice to total devotion to complete surrender to union. It is all love, all life is love.
Hero –
Allah rasool ka farmaan ishq hai The commands of God and Mohammed are love Yaanii Hadith ishq hai, Quraan ishq hai The teachings of Mohammed are love, the Quraan is love Gautam kaa aur Maseehaa kaa armaan ishq hai The wishes of Buddha and Christ are love Yeh kaayanaat jism hai aur jaan ishq hai This material existence and this life are love Ishq sarmad, ishq hii mansoor hai Love is everlasting, love alone is victorious Ishq Moosa, ishq Koh-e-Toor hai Love is Moses, love is Mt. Sinai Khaaq ko but, aur but ko devtaa karta hai ishq Love turns clay into idols, and idols into Gods Intahaa yeh hai ke bande ko khuda karta hai ishq The pinnacle is that love has the power to turn a man into a revered God Haan.N yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq, yeh ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq Yes, this is love, this is love, this is love
Playing with fire called love, the hero lets everyone feel its warmth, holding the elixir in his hands, he lets everyone see their reflection in it, surrendering with love, he rises in love.
And he manages to do this because he is united with his lover, though he still doesn’t know she is there.
He shows how beautifully all the religions converge when they go deep enough in exploring this life, undoubtedly finding love as its source. Something divine yet purely simple.
Love is everlasting, it is the universe. Love is truth and it is everywhere.
Mountains break Time. Mountains – gigantic, dense, rocky, snowy, meandering tracks and meandering rives crisscrossing each other – break Time.
Mountains – loudly still, gently dancing, lightly flying following the wind, touching the clouds – break Time.
Mountains, not continuing in any way or form, not turning behind or looking forward – break Time.
Mountains – splitting nothing, turning nothing into halves, in its completeness – break Time.
A mountain’s roots, deep inside the earth, swirls freely, effortlessly, embracing the warm energy that has no beginning or ending, that has eyes and senses and something that swallows Time.
The grass on the mountain top and the plants, trees, rocks and rivers, all curl up and rise, filled with this energy, breaking Time.
Mountains – tall peaks and sweet hills – know just the truth and the truth has nothing to do with Time.
As if anger – throbbing and tight-, burning hatred and cold fear filled this person’s veins and arteries so that there was no need of the warmth of the blood, red wasn’t red anymore, it was all too dark.
Jassi clung to the darkness, crumpled into it, eyes wide-open that almost attacked every direction mercilessly, the glances were like arrows, everything in darkness, not allowing a ray of light or laughter or love to enter. Jassi was blind, it happened in an accident.
True! Colours were colourful before, but not anymore.
Jassi hated to ask for help, hated the space around, bumping into things now and then, and most of all hated the breeze, why did it try to play, sing, sway or say anything, thought Jassi when nothing moved or flowed within? No, not even the thoughts moved, Jassi killed them, the memories – good/bad – in the very first year after the fatal accident.
Some years passed and an opportunity knocked. A new technology, a new expert, a new experiment could bring back Jassi’s eyesight. To everyone’s surprise, Jassi agreed to undergo another surgery, everyone hugged and cried for Jassi was still alive somewhere inside that stern piece of shell that reciprocated nothing all this while.
Pushing every loved on aside, Jassi spoke – I want to see the galaxy and only the galaxy first!
That was Jassi’s condition, it was accepted, and with some difficulties arrangements were made. Days passed by, it rained, the sun too came out and a rainbow beamed, but did Jassi hear all this? Nothing!
Like never before, Jassi refused to go out of the house or even the finite room. Jassi’s steady un-moving eyes tried to pull, it seemed, the movement of time towards Jassi, not to fight a battle, but to bring it to a stand-still. Jassi had changed and no one knew what fruit this change would bear.
Jassi’s steady, un-moving eyes’ pull worked, so felt the others as the day of the surgery came and passed only too quickly. The doctor said it was a success, but Jassi’s firm and unwavering voice made the doctor sweat and slightly doubt himself. All this for a couple of minutes because Jassi refused to remove the bandages and no one touched the new black goggles; everyone knew how much Jassi abhorred them.
And soon, very soon, so soon that no one remembered what day or time it was when they left for the astronomical observatory, and when they reached the place.
After climbing down into the dark abyss, Jassi got up to climb the stairs to reach the galaxy.
Jassi couldn’t hear anything but felt extremely cold, especially on touching the telescope. Jassi reacted like a little curious child, whispered the others.
The guide guided and made adjustments, but only Jassi’s shell listened, Jassi followed not the guide, but an energy and removed the bandages from the cold eyes, that were shut not so tightly this time. Jassi took a breath and touched the telescope again, feeling the round eyepiece shape through which one could swallow the galaxy.
Jassi gently, almost with love looked through the telescope, one eye open, one closed, then opened both. Jassi looked, looked and looked…
…see for yourself… the galaxy’s arms reaching out, holding Jassi now, breaking the shell with love, showing the dance of colours and light, caressing, bursting with joy, filling the one who witnesses with timelessness and bliss…
Jassi fell on the floor unconscious after so gracefully looking through the telescope that too for so long that the others were by then seated on benches to rest. Jassi woke up in the hospital next, with a high-grade fever and a big grin that turned into laughter.
Tears came out of Jassi’s eyes but the laughter didn’t stop. Jassi’s wet eyes glistened, the eyes looked like jewels, the eyes looked beautiful.
But the doctor couldn’t see it, the doctor was worried, he had failed. Jassi couldn’t see anything from one eye and the other eye tried to see through haziness. There was another way out, doctor promised and sighed that Jassi should not have travelled right after surgery.
Jassi left the hospital the same day and went to eat in a restaurant with the loved ones who were confused, also happy, but unsure.
Jassi has stopped explaining anything to anyone now and has started living. A friend’s friend gave Jassi a simple job that promises nothing grand, yet Jassi loves working there. Jassi walks to the workplace using the stick and a new furry friend, Milo.
Every mirror shows that Jassi is doing good. Walking briskly, so lightly, breathing calmly, Jassi looks like a flight-less bird.
Often hurt, Jassi keeps bumping into things at home and office as if every morning chairs, tables, utensils and pens move on their own to trick Jassi.
Jassi gets up every time, not shying from taking any help from the others.
Milo loves Jassi and Jassi finds Milo to be a funny, happy-go-lucky dog.
What do you want for your birthday, Jassi?
Birthday, hmm, nothing much, will be meeting friends, that’s it. And Milo will be there. Well, we may go stargazing.
A house martin building its nest. [Source – Pixabay]
Sun-soaked! [Source – Pixabay]
At work! [Source – Pixabay]
Collecting mud. [Source – Pixabay]
House martins in their sunbaked abode. [Source – Pixabay]
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Living the old-fashioned way, centuries old, ancient maybe, the House Martins are busy today as well, no, no tea-break. Beading a muddy network, necklace-like, a palace of one room, warm and cozy, like a pretty tiny cup, delicately built yet sturdy and weather proof.
Conquering not the world around but cooperating and cooperating well with the surroundings, these muddy nests form friendships with the mud, grass, grey concrete, wind, rain, moss and all life, very peacefully, no show-off.
Dashing up, slanting down, catching its meal mid-air, round and round, it pierces the sky jet-like.
Their sunbaked abodes, their sun-soaked flights, their sun-tuned lives – the House Martins follow the sun, old style.
An illustration by Maria Merian. Plate 5 of Caterpillars vol 1, depicting the metamorphosis of the garden tiger moth, its plant host, and parasitic wasps. [Source – Wikipedia]
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Little Maria loved drawing. Drawing something beautiful, beautiful like an insect, a small being living in a jar, brimming with life, ready to burst, ready, delicate wings, ready to fly, fly-fly-fly, finding that plant, that flower, that fruit, which becomes its new home, where it rests and lay eggs for the cycle to continue blooming, for life to rise in a tiny form, a beautiful form, in sync with the movement, the grand movement, grand yet subtle, that speaks with the sun, the stars, the galaxies, all light and bright, such colours in the dark, brimming with life, bursting, moving in waves, gently touching all life, gently letting the wind lift the tiny insect which flies looking for that plant, that flower, that fruit, which becomes its new home.
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Title page of The Caterpillars’ Marvellous Transformation and Strange Floral Food, first volume, published 1679 – Wikipedia
Plate I of Caterpillars vol 1, entitled “Maulbeerbaum samt Frucht”. It depicts the fruit and leave of a mulberry tree and the eggs and larvae of the silkworm moth. – Wikipedia
Plate showing the stages of the Cocytius antaeus from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium. – Wikipedia
Coloured copper engraving from Metamorphosis, “Spiders, ants and hummingbird on a branch of a guava”. The spider in the bottom left corner is eating a bird. – Wikipedia
Plate 1 of Metamorphosis, showing a pineapple and cockroaches. – Wikipedia
Plate 8 of Caterpillars, first volume. Depicting a dandelion Taraxacum, with Dicallomera fascelina, the dark tussock moth. The Dutch common name for the moth Meriansborstel is named for Merian. – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XXII. – Wikipedia
Duroia sp. and assorted insects – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate IX. Maria Sibylla Merian, 1705 – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper-engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate VI. 1705) – Wikipedia
From Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XIII. (Spondias purpurea) – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper-engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XLVIII. 1705 – Wikipedia
Illuminated Copper-engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XXVII. Musa paradisiaca, 1705 – Wikipedia
Illuminated copper engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate XLV. 1705 – Wikipedia
Maria Sibylla Merian was a German entomologist, naturalist and scientific illustrator whose work led to the advance of entomology in 17th and 18th centuries. Her first book of natural illustrations was published in 1675. In 1679, she published a two-volume series on caterpillars and in 1705, she published Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium (“The Metamorphosis of the Insects of Suriname”).
Arguably the most important work of her career, it included some 60 engravings illustrating the different stages of development that she had observed in Suriname’s insects. Similar to her caterpillar book, Metamorphosis depicted the insects on and around their host plants and included text describing each stage of development. The book was one of the first illustrated accounts of the natural history of Suriname. – Britannica
Her detailed work contributed in understanding the life cycles of an insect, dispelling the two millennia old scientific theory of ‘spontaneous generation’ according to which insects were thought to be ‘born of mud’, that living creatures could arise from non-living matter.
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Watch this short video now to know more about the awesome Maria Sybilla Merian and her work –
A gentle, love filled spotlight! [Source – Pixabay]
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That which is now is old and gold, golden, oldie, yet lively, burning energy, fire, light, warmth and love, shining always like a flower in spring.
It is the sun we are talking about. It is the sun we see, it is the sun we breathe, it is the sun we eat and drink.
The sun, that which is now, always now, carves in nature its most delicate presence – from a tiny leaf to a magnanimous mountain, from a roaring river to a dancing dew drop. Dance it does, the sun, rhythmic and magnetic, carving along, letting the rhythm seep within all, making magnets of us all.
That is all, a beautiful movement, matched by nature, calmly, ferociously, fearlessly.
The rise and the fall of all follows this powerful rhythm. And every morning the sun touches and takes us along.
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Nature’s ready, the sun’s shining… and action! [Source – Pixabay]
I forgot my hat, the cat on the mat didn’t forget anything, but I did, somehow, somewhere, my hat.
A summer fresh rhyme, time for the flowers to blush and soak in the summer fresh rhyme, flower, them I looked at with love, picked and plucked, and placed neatly on my hat that then looked summer fresh.
Our colours matched, summer fresh orange and violet, my hat and tiny bead-like flowers as if beaded in a chain, the summer fresh evening sky, seen from my room’s window.
My room, my small room, an artist’s room. A dream for some. Back then? No, even now!
A chair and a table and good space to work and rest and look at the summer fresh evening sky and rolling gushy whispery light clouds through the window.
And the neighbouring spaces, floating yet firm terraces, all cheerful, soaking in the summer fresh colour and air.
In the room, small room, I roam and wave my hat, let it dance and then rest on the chair, I spoke through it and it spoke on my behalf, my hat, with all that appeared static but wasn’t.
The hat carried and passed my restless ideas to nowhere and no one; the calm space let the restless idea be, which when rested, breathed its last and vanished. The artist’s room continued breathing and then so did the artist, and every time later, even after losing her hat.
The cat sitting on the mat, the neighbour’s cat, this one, a peace-loving warrior, jumped up when the artist opened the door, climbed to the window, its tail waving a slow cheerio at the artist before sauntering out on the roof top.
Back in the room, hat still missing, the artist sat down to work, breathing in the room’s calmness inside, forgetting about the matters that followed her till the room’s door shut.
One glance around, the hat’s not in the room, the artist sighs, gets up, walks towards the window, finds that cat on a different terrace, sitting still like a statue, aware about the artist’s glance, itself looking downwards at a passer-by – a dog, notices the artist too and turns looking up at the summer fresh sky and then goes back to work.
A Corner of the Artist’s Room in Paris by Gwen John (1876 – 1939) inspired the blogger.
Endless footprints following footprints/
When suddenly a few of them rise/
To bloom like a flower.
Greetings!
A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.
Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!
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Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Ranked as one of the greatest British films of all time, The Lavender Hill Mob confides in the audience, letting them see, feel, laugh and think without tickling persuasively with a joke here and a punch-line there.
Godard… Breathless and Alive
A Tribute to Jean-Luc Godard, the Film Philologist who Reinvented Cinema.
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
Meredith and the Green Lake
Illimitable Splendour
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
