6:02 PM

Big red bindis were her thing, just like books were. Big books that smelled like how coffee beans would when she craved for a cup of hot strong coffee. She always went back to books than people. She always slept with books on one side of her empty bed. 'It is always comforting to wake up to my books in the middle of the night, they don't leave' she'd say. White was never her color, more because she dreamt in Grey. As a kid, she'd never attempt painting on a huge canvas thinking she'll spoil the white. As plain as a canvas before she spill the ink and called it art. She wears white like she owns it now.

Lal paar never felt this better. Her big red bindis worn with her favorite red saree could make you believe that she is more Bengali than a real one. This was her favorite game since childhood -  make believe.
Lawyers. There's always something about them. The power to convince, make believe, twist words and then their chambers. Cases, stories, some living and some dead, but stories of lives being lived and lives being forced with agreements, understandings, compromises. Are you happy?

Old Bengali households, there's always something about them. The smell of early morning breakfast, the wait for the lunch and the evening adda to the late night dinner and long walks with the familiar smell in the air and music from afar. She would always make her space between people speaking in a language that she was never taught. Eating 'bhaat' with her hands, she had learnt the art of eating the cuisines well. The houses excited her, the colors completed the canvas she had left white all this while.

Walking on the Tollygunge road, with the yellow flowers that occasionally fell like she was in a movie scene made her the happiest. All she wanted was someone to capture her in that moment while all she captured was the moment itself. The yellow saree would always remind her of the late night rains and the yellow flowers scattered on the streets with a yellow taxi pass by once in a while giving way to the sound of the tram at unequal intervals.

Calcutta streets have a soul. She always stopped by to breathe and appreciate the stillness and life at ease. Bhaad er cha was better than her usual dose of black coffee. Even better while walking on the unfamiliar streets to an unknown destination with her usual "Kemon acho dada" to the guard of her favorite cafe. Evenings would take her to undiscovered nooks and she'd come back happy. The empty canvas was being filled up by colors one day at a time.

The Old House, the house she always went back to had already written her future way before she stepped into it. She would always go and stay there all by herself. The old world charm and the old Calcutta vibes would make her happy like a little child who has found some hidden treasure. It took her a while to share it with the world, but when she did; that house had become the reason for who she has become. A canvas full of stories.


"I just really allowed my muse to be my guide and I just go with whatever I'm feeling."

Shot by 

Shot in Calcutta. 

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  1. Wow wow! I'm amazed and astonished and everything thereafter! What write up what shots Devya!


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