grey blues

past \ present \ future.

All Images Copyright © 2016 Ankit Banerjee. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized reproduction and/or uncredited republishing is prohibited.

I wish I could write you a poem, On the kind of poetry you are. how our first meeting began with your hands over my eyes, As though we knew each other for at least seven years, But you were just another face in the crowd, Drawing my attention, distracting, attracting. The funny gittters when you crush on somebody, When you want to be in love, But love doesn’t come and go so easy. How I had wished that I had stalked you online before we met, To tell you that, ‘i like the aesthetic, but you’re my kinda aesthetic.’ That never seemed to matter, as words left us when harmonies took over your room. Suddenly, I didn’t know what I felt more exciting— The comfort, or the person in front of me, or well, the Les Paul. Little did I know that this feeling wasn’t just mine alone. Or, at least I’d like to think so. With a bottle down, I didn’t seem to care if it was Billy Joel or something like that blues singer. In front of me was unlike anything I’d experienced, The cracks between (y)our mattresses which you painstakingly laid, Soon began to disappear, as the rest of the world did too. Drifting into another space, with flat picking guitars and complementary vocals of the milk carton kids echoing, I felt the warmth of a woman I wish I knew more. The next morning I faintly recall opening my eyes to a silhouette in orange light, A figurine not unfamiliar to mankind, Yet, bursting all kinds of bubbles of curiosity— 'Usually they wrap themselves in something’, Fortunately you were no usual 'they’. We laid there with your head on my lap, I could feel a lump in your throat as you took a drag of my smoke. And before I knew it, the smoke filled the room and we choked on our actions. I wish I could write you a poem On the kind of poetry you are. Only if I knew about who you really are, Soon, my words failed as a pen that ran out of ink. And I began to wonder, I wish I could write you a poem, But I’m no poet, and you know it too.

Local Karga in Shantinagar. It was loud!

All Images Copyright © 2017 Ankit Banerjee. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized reproduction and/or uncredited republishing is prohibited.

Hundreds of fishermen make a fresh catch one morning at Malpe Beach, Karnataka. July 2016.

All Images Copyright © Ankit Banerjee. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized reproduction and/or uncredited republishing is prohibited.

“Some things I’ve learned in a couple decades of dating” by Scott Muska

Last Sunday, Bangalore and it’s humans witnessed Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” inside the bamboo grove at Cubbon Park, performed by Bardolators of Bangalore. The play is a journey into a magical forest where fairy tricksters play games with the mortal hearts of mixed-up lovers. This production offers a queer take on Shakespeare’s famous romantic comedy.

All Images Copyright © Ankit Banerjee. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized reproduction and/or uncredited republishing is prohibited.