She chose photography.

When she started out, she filtered all the colors out.

“Black, white, shadow, space” she said. There was a stark simplicity in the blacks and whites, the straight lines which could be only one of two polar things. If not one, it was the other. Her trees seemed taller, her flowers more austere, her men more severe, her women more beautiful. Simple. Life was simple then.

Shads of grey crept in, complicating the oversimplification. What was the need for the greys? Well, her subjects move sometimes, and the greys captured the turn of the head, the tilt of the chin, the arm raised for a dance, the swirling skirts, the rustle of the leaves.

Yet when people asked her why she never used color, she could not answer. She could not think that way. Color was a vulgarity, an extravagance. So much colour all around you, does it not distract you from looking straight at the core of things, where lies but one truth? The two dimensions of black and white were too much to describe the one truth she saw.

Yet ask her why there is so much colour in her photographs now. Ask her why there is a spectrum…not just sharp blues and greens and reds, but subtle mauves and magentas and butter yellows and candyfloss pinks? Why there is so much of ‘vulgarity and extravagance’ as she put it? Maybe there is some truth in all that complexity? Maybe the truth is to be seen as a picture, in its entirity, and not resolved into blacks and whites?

-suchitra-

]]> http://talesfromme.wordpress.com/2009/11/25/colors/feed/ 1 Suchitra http://talesfromme.wordpress.com/2009/09/08/twilight/ http://talesfromme.wordpress.com/2009/09/08/twilight/#comments Tue, 08 Sep 2009 02:46:50 +0000 Suchitra http://talesfromme.wordpress.com/?p=248 ]]>

What do you do when a lifetime does not give you what you want, but you are not prepared to face the twilight with anything less?

Why, of course, you light the candles, strike up the band, kick your shoes away, and dance with abandon!

Dreams come alive @ Twilight.

The story’s at Twilight.

PS: I am back sooner than I thought. Two months is a long time to keep away from my favorite vice, and if I am stammering or stuttering here, it is just that I have too much to say and too little means to do so!

Too many real life stories happening, which means the ones I am spinning here will have to go on a break. I know I will be back, but I am just not sure when!
Take care, people. Au revoir!

~Suchitra~

My music was stolen, but who was the thief?

The story is posted at Stolen Music

Want, need, desire, question, love and hate.

I have always wondered whether these are primarily verbs, or nouns.

Well, here’s what I’ve always wanted. A primary want, almost a need.

Th story’s posted at Want.

As far as this story goes, I started off with a seed, a single thought. I have been struggling with the story for quite a while now, and this was my best(!) draft. The thought is precious, though. If anyone  reading this thinks they can express the thought better as a story, you are welcome to do so!

My version: A horrible person

A life long wait.

Am still Waiting.

Dear Indhu,

You wanted a few lines in your autograph book. I refused. You were annoyed. 

This is the best I could come up with.

This is the letter I wrote you; my last one. An attempt at merging fact and fiction.

~Suchi

In case you missed it, you can find the story here.

அவன்: சத்தியமா சொல்லறேன்… உயிருள்ள வரைக்கும் உன்னை கண் கலங்காம பாத்துப்பேன்.

அவள் : என் கண் கலங்க உன்னை பார்க்க விடுவேனா?

___________________________________________________________________________________________
இந்த கதை எனக்கு உறுதுணையாய், உற்ற தோழியாய் இருந்து, என் கற்பனைக்கும் எட்டாத சிற்பமாகவும், என்னை நான் ஆக்கிய சிற்பியாகவும் திகழும் நிலாபாரதிக்காக.

இன்று மணக்கோலம் காணும் ஹரீஷ் மற்றும் ப்ரீதிக்கு மன நிறைவுடன் வாழ்த்துக்கள்!

It was true. One stage before mine, husband and wife were getting off the bus. We were seated next to the door. I could see them standing next to me, waiting for the bus to stop. Extremely close range. I was now looking at the enormous dimples on his baby-like cheeks, a strong contrast to the ripple of the muscles beneath the folded sleeve of his shirt.

This story, as the title says, has two endings. I have given both endings with the story; let me know which one you like.

The story is at: Two endings