Photographs

Life doesn’t wait for anybody. It is a flowing river, gurgling and bubbling. Sometimes its blue and lazy, sometimes it’s fast and dark and scary. 

I was always scared that life will pass me by and I’ll still be at one place. The other day when I climbed up to the terrace of the building that I stay, I could see the entire city. It was dark, and lights were twinkling everywhere, in the planes and on the faraway hills. They say we are busy these days, working, studying, reading, and laughing. But in these exact moments, life passes us by.  It slips away stealthily and we mortals can do nothing but live. 

And that is the exact reason why I click photos of everything. 

Every laughter, every sorrow. So that later, I don’t forget that what a ride my life has been. Later when I’m old and my hairs are greying and when I no longer can run up a flight of stairs without thinking twice about my knees.  

I remember when I was younger, I used to scourge my granny’s house every time I visited her, looking for a photo of my grandfather. He was tall, they used to tell me. He was calm, calmer than my father, they said.
But I never saw him and that thought made me sad.
He must have led an incredible life, must have seen incredible places, and must have been an incredible man. But he’s gone now. Entirely and completely. And that makes me sad. If only there were photographs. If only.

 
I’ve realised that birthdays aren’t too much of a happy thing, maybe even a bit ironic. But what the hell.

 I want to live every moment, cherish every rainy day, fall in love with every day that the sun rises with its happy face. I’ve realised that love is of so many different kinds and so many different colours.

 And I want photographs of each shade.