Much as I am a lover of language, I allow sometimes that there are instances where a photograph says it so much better than a few words. You could describe perhaps how the scent of the cardamom tea wafted into a room with French windows up in the mountains, a scent no photograph could emanate from within its frames. Yet, there are photos of some days which tell you all that you will want to remember about that moment.
Some photographs best tell of your little anecdote, an aside, of a tiring evening that stretches into a nice, slow mid-morning. On the table, the regular scene where falls the light of a bottle of intelligent wine, on the table perches the blue mug for black coffee, the newspaper, a plant, the light that bleeds in in slivers through the window and throws up pictures on the wall, other stuff in wood stone paper cloth. A photograph coloured by the slight crisp air of a cloudless October morning. No better words could envelope the story of that one moment.
Though in the absence of that precious photograph here on this post, these words will have to do.
Some photographs best tell of your little anecdote, an aside, of a tiring evening that stretches into a nice, slow mid-morning. On the table, the regular scene where falls the light of a bottle of intelligent wine, on the table perches the blue mug for black coffee, the newspaper, a plant, the light that bleeds in in slivers through the window and throws up pictures on the wall, other stuff in wood stone paper cloth. A photograph coloured by the slight crisp air of a cloudless October morning. No better words could envelope the story of that one moment.
Though in the absence of that precious photograph here on this post, these words will have to do.
1 comment:
Yet deepa, there are movies done on books which can never justify them. I mean, the movies could never match up to the books.
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