Notice: Please see the video at 3 tones below medium volume.
The man with the sunlit eyes
When I noticed the notificatiom - out of reading purposes, and then in the mail - saw the name ‘John Carey’ - somehow it looked familiar! - but I couldn’t re-collect how..
Thanks for writing Yuvraj, its nice to hear from someone with similar interests to my own. Are you still interested in hearing my point of view on a camera system?
Thanks for writing, sorry about my slow response time!
finally the mail loaded and I read the lines, only strange thing..I thought it was Mr Gaglonian, another photographer whom I had asked for my cam requirements - but the name was still John Carey..
..then, I glanced to to which the mail was replied. And it STRUCK! He was that! :))
Hi Mr Carey,
I got to know about you via the ‘day one’ interview thing you did.
A little weird start! - how out of scrolling through so many names on ‘day one’ site - I chose yours to read; I guess because the little starting lines visible on the page -
I guess it was probably because I liked the picture, and few words in that tiny writeup visible interested me. And then, I read the whole thing. What it’s results were, I will tell you shortly. First, a little introduction please.
I am a student of engineering, and one of the hobbies I have is photography. I have been doing it for few years now, about 4 I remember. I have been very fascinated by it - by the unknown product that finally comes out in my lens, and after editing. I photograph everything - Being in a phase where I find beauty anywhere and everywhere; or in other words, inspiration is everywhere. And I have decided to buy a professional cam.
Now to your interview, as I read it - word, by word it struck me and I stopped in the middle of it and asked myself, - Why did I choose his [interview] to read? How could he be so similar [in approach to everything] to me?! How is all this happening?
Ofcourse it was in a very pleasurable manner.
And then when I finished reading it, I would call it a hunch, or an intuition. But I desired to ask you with which cam or equipment to buy. And if at all to buy or not. Would you fancy that or be able to?
— the mail was sent to him on 22nd july, his response came on 30th aug / ~1month 8days later! FUCK! - I haven’t sent back the mail to this woman who asked for my reponse, when, 3 months back she wrote.
His profile description
And how I looked at this photo and realized that murakami was coming again and again in my life, by some way or other - namit das mentioned him, then nilanjana roy did, others too.
and days later!!! - on the day his mail came and i looked at his email address - fiftyfootshadows, DID I REALIZE IT WAS HE ON INSTAGRA!!!
I told a lie.
I told it multiple times.
I told it over and over. I told it ten times, one hundred times. If I told it once, I told it a thousand times. I must have said it a million times. I told it infinity times infinity.
I told a fib. I told a tall tale. I told a cock-and-bull story. I did a song and dance. I told a whopper.
I falsified information. I misrepresented the facts. I perjured myself.
I told a little white lie. I told a whole pack of lies. I lied down with dogs and picked up some fleas. I lied like a rug. I lied in wait. I lied in ruins. I lied at death’s door.
I told it with a look. I told it through my teeth. I told it with a smile.
I told it in a whisper. I mentioned it in casual conversation. I shouted it from the rooftops. I told it to the ends of the earth. I told it to the moon and back. I declared it to the heavens.
I put it mildly. I put it bluntly. I told it to the best of my ability. I told it with piss and vinegar. I told it with vim and vigor.
My lie was an all-out effort. It spared no effort. It was a last-ditch effort.
I told it at full strength. It was my main strength. It was my weakness. It did not know its own strength. It was my pillar of strength.
My lie kept the home fires burning. It was fired up. It was fired upon. It added fuel to the fire. It spread like wildfire. It fought fire with fire.
My lie was a force of habit. It was out in force. It was full force. It was forced down my throat. It was a force to be reckoned with.
My lie was idolized — customized — publicized. It vitalized — galvanized — agonized.
My lie has been an open secret. A trade secret. My lie has been safe with me.
I told it to my friends. I told it to my co-workers. I told it to my neighbors. I told it to my pastor. I told it to my family. I told it to acquaintances. I told it to strangers.
I told it to myself.
My lie has reached to the sky. It has been out of reach. It has reached its boiling point. Has it reached its conclusion?
If the truth be told, it’s the moment of truth. Can I handle the truth — the naked truth, the gospel truth, the honest-to-God truth?
Here’s the truth:
He died. He’s gone.
Here’s the lie:
— False Bravado
**Yuvraj says**: “..I don’t know..I mean, who talks to users like that?!!” *he bows (and vows) in gratefulness*
**Advanced User Caption**: I was installing a web extension by them.
**Caption of your concern**: If you read content - articles, save them for later reading, on the web, I think this - Instapaper, is the finest app out there. For many other reasons too. Try.
I found that uncle’s unconscious make up funny; and later on also realized: Learning english can’t (How dare y even …!) replace intellect.
Museum: I went to their canteen pretty soon. And Oh My! - it as precisely my childhood home - confined place, in basement; homely stuff - old style plastic chairs with flower designs; ample light bathing in; Look! Chips Oh So tastiest! and Cold drink. And Homely staff and old style kitchen. My! - am I even talking about, well heaven?
Structures I loved! Look there.
School kids! How they ran! An atmosphere created. Though they had cellphones, next time I want it deposited at gates please.
She is beautiful. Always was, I guess.
We had the pride of the whole world: Light and Kids with their laughter ringing in corridors. With families.
Look a circular arena it was! Look. Hashtag Museum.
Notice! : Please watch the video at ‘1 Tone’ - Above - medium level of volume. Thanks.
It was an extremely pleasant surprise to find that flower after I reached the second floor. I wasn’t supposed to come on this floor - out of trivial fault I reached at it.
And those women - held musical instruments in their arms and hands - commencing the start of something pious, and sensual. Were made in Maharashtra, India, in 19th century.
But before that was that woman, a level down. A short, fairly dark complexioned sitting and l
chatting with her mates. I guess she was the sweeper. And sweeped me. Oh - how light touched her. And took me to her feet! to the feet finger ring she wore, how she rubbed one foot on another.
My first site! there! Beckoned by the omniposymmetro light. And I flowed.