Guide to a labyrinth

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If walls could speak, they won’t stop talking about the glorious days, which they have witnessed. I recently visited Bara Imambara in Lucknow, which was build by Asaf-ud-Daula, Nawab of Awadh, in 1784. The walls are designed in such way that if someone just whispers in one corner, it is heard in other corners and galleries. These walls, literally, have ears here.

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Sun saluting the Majestic Asfi mosque

Beautiful arches are the result of the amazing engineering, which distribues the weight of building to the outer structure. Imambara has Asfi Mosque, three halls (Chinese hall, Persian hall and Indian hall), a labyrinth and a stepwell (Shahi Bowli). The place a strategic design, which made the soldiers spot the enemy as they enter the premises. There are many ways, which are blocked now. Legends has that these were secret passageways to Faizabad, Agra and other far distant places.

 

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Rini, showing me the way in the labyrinth

 

Other attraction of this place was Labyrinth and Shahi Baoli (stepwell).

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Shahi Bowli

 

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A setting in the evening

 

A short fiction story

Once a family came to visit a labyrinth. There were four adults and two kids in the family. They hired a guide to show them around. Guide warned them that seven of us will enter but only six will come out. Everyone laughed as the guide was making everything mysterious to make it interesting. He gave a tour around. One of the kid was very chirpy and was teasing the guide, ‘Are you guiding us or yourself?’

In a span of more than two hours, everyone experienced the puzzles of the labyrinth to their heart and now it was time to get out. Guide challenged the tourists to find their way out in next fifteen minutes and claimed that the right way will take just 30 seconds. They never came out and guide was taken away by the police.

 

In few days, a man came and got the guide out of police station.

——————–x—–x—–x———————

A boy of nine is asking another guide if he is guiding the boy or himself and then runs to his mother, who is cooking meal. She shushes him as she takes another child to show her home in a tunnel.

 

Written by Rini

Photos by Avinash

The Connection

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Photo Credits: Rini

You know me , only you do
From first night to this light
Only I was with you.

No, don’t think of me as past or future

Dear I am the one, whose company you always nurture .

When you felt lonely
You were seeking me

When you were happy
You were praying for me.

Each morning when you say to yourself,

“Today is the day when I am making rite

To love this person over whom I have my right.”

But O’ friend, How could you not see
I am the light of your eyes, the blood of your veins

I am the name that people take

Come to me and realise

Your world is not for others
But yours and mine⁠⁠⁠⁠

 

Old and withered

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Old and withered,

yet there remains something unfigured

Losing all notions

what is left of my emotions

Is it time to go ?

It is already ‘a long time ago’?

Why I am stunned?

For me, there is no pension fund

Is it the fear

to not be remembered?

Questioning my existence

I am feeling this resistance.

When lived as a unique identity

now why this attachment of terrenity?

No legacy, not even a name,

No one to make a claim.

May be it is the end of the game

but here, it all remains the same.

So why do I still stand here?

Am I waiting for a Shakespeare,

who will write on the stages of my life?

Look at that purple loosestrife

to whom I provide a shelter

hoping this purity can melt her.

I am to my mother, the nature

A little tree in her portraiture.

 

[ A random thought that occurred to me last weekend, while taking a stroll. Thanks to Rini, for she helps me express my emotions in poetic form sometimes.]

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(Picture Credits: Avinash Kumar)

Clouds

Up in the air, in the fairy lands

I can see the pictures made by beautiful hands.

Some familiar, some undrawn; changing like the black swan.

Whites and grey, paint them if I may

So beautiful to gaze, some swirls, some in a maze

On a blue canvas with wonderful whitewash

Some close to me, some close to sky

From girl’s locks to the cumulus, it varies.

Hopes and emotions that it carries.

They make me float, in feet and in my senses

when I call up, just then it condenses.

And if that wasn’t enough, it changes the color of green too,

the trees which were glowing in yellow of sun, now shining in the dew.

It plays with the soil, somewhere plain, other coyle.

Puddles where she jumps, and I swim in my trunks.


Continue reading “Clouds”

Stream

Look! How has it changed from polluted to pure,

Sometimes milky white, sometimes dirty more

Never has occured to it – take rest

Doesn’t it think for its best ?

Dropping from the heights, making all sorts of noise

While coming down the valley, it plays the musical notes

I do not know who pulls such chords !

At one moment, I listen to its meditative tone

While at others, engulfed by its larger form

Standing there; I was enchanted

Ready to lose all, which I ever wanted.

 

 

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Photo credits: Avinash

Edited by Rini