#Photoblog: The Story of Our Wedding...

A Wedding is the celebration of a lifetime to commemorate the beginning of a lifelong journey called Marriage!

Whether marriages are made in heaven or not, is up to interpretation, but I can assure you, Weddings, especially, North-Indian weddings, are made in photo studios!

And I am not complaining :)

Thanks to the craze of sharing photos on social media, especially Instagram, wedding photography has taken a quantum leap in the last 5 years. The photographers of today are not only helping couples treasure their most cherished day but are also helping them create moments that are a reflection of their creative geniuses.

But the best memories are not created by the lens but by those who are covered by the lens.

My wife and I, are forever indebted to our families and friends who took the time to make it to our wedding and make it a memorable occasion. This post is dedicated to, and is my way to thank, all of them.

For my online family, let's relive those magical days which made us feel like the real Rajasthan Royals :).



Engagement !

Here I am! I got my swag on and so does my team! :D

Let's go !

Rang de tu mohe "gerua" !

Rings of Fortune !

Grandparents' Blessings !

And the most important question of all !

"Honey! Are you sure? You still have one more day to decide !"



Wedding Day

And so it begins :)

OK! Drying Mehandi, is not my most manliest of moments :D

But let's embrace it with smiles :)

My younger sister gets the joke, now !

निर्विघ्नं कुरु में देव 

Accessorizing :)

Wedding party all set to go!

I won't caption this :)

No wedding is fun till friends show up! But you know, har ek friend______hota hai! Dancing on "tujhe ghodi kinne chadaya___" :-/

My bachcha getting the swag on :)

Azeem-o-Shehanshah ;)

Once again, my friends were the life of this wedding :)

In the meantime, the bride was still posing.....

Until....

"More poses? Talk to the hand , Mr. Photographer!" 

 "Let's do this thing!"

It's a bird! It's a plane. It's a Groom !

Our Parents :)

That moment, which defines the essence of a Jaipur wedding!

Ever Mine. Ever Thine. Ever Ours.

And if you had any doubts about who would call shots in our home, I present to you....

Reception !

Bachcha Party ! :)

There's a story behind these 'two' boxes. Remember, har ek dost____hota hai ;) !

They wondered how did she say yes to me....

...........and I kind of agreed (not that I am ever going to ask the question ;) ) 

Sincerely Yours,

Mrs. and Mr. Prateek Mathur :)

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New York, New York

www.prateek-mathur.com

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in and exhaled till he felt his lungs devoid of any air. He did this three times. He then opened his eyes and stared blankly for a moment only to shut them again. This time, however, he did it so slow that he felt his upper eyelid gently caressing his lower eyelid and the eyelashes resting on them. In his mind he had finally perfected a real life slow motion that this moment deserved. 

He felt calmer and a beaming smile adorned his face. Upon reopening, his eyes were ready for a mesmerizing view.

That view. Oh, that view.

The sight from his penthouse on the 57th floor was exquisite. It trumped the lavish indoors that had a private elevator, French doors, antique furniture, and  oversized, sun flooded rooms. But this was all about the view. That the view was of Central Park made it even better. The fact that he owned  a $5,000,000 house in one of the most beautiful, stately and cultured neighborhood in the world capital of these virtues, made him feel like a King.

The Park was bustling with people, as usual. Those people seemed even "tinnier" from up here. He was one of them for a long time. Not anymore.

Not anymore.

This time he looked up in the sky and burst into laughter. Loud, cacophonous laughter.

Lost in his world, he knew he had made it.

Every victory, mattered in this city.

This  city. The greatest city on Earth. New York, New York.

...............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

He stood there as if he was about to run. With his back arched, right forearm and leg outstretched, he seemed to be just waiting to hear the gun shot to run for his life. But he remained still. Motionless. Even when people went past him, hitting and shoving him, his eyes remained intensely fixed on it. It was the stare match of its own kind and none of them were giving up.

It growled. He growled back. It bluffed a jump. He bluffed a run. None batted an eyelid.

He waited, waited and, waited patiently, some more. The moment the sun came in the right spot, he started to move frantically in the same spot. Incoherence was his greatest virtue. His scruffy hair jumping up and down his forehead, his dirty knees, peeping out of his torn jeans and his bare feet thumping the footpath.

He scared it away, rather, his shadow on the sidewall did. He always knew his shadow is worth more than his being in this city.

He jumped and snatched the sandwich from the rim of the trash can scaring the cat away.

This time he looked up in the sky and burst into laughter. Loud, cacophonous laughter.

Lost in his world, he knew he had made it.

Every victory, mattered in this city.

This  city. The greatest city on Earth. New York, New York.

Holi...

Happy New Year

(1)

At 11.59 PM, he leaned over to kiss her. With his eyes closed and lips quivering, all the years spent with the anguish of being on the fringes, leading to this, flashed in his mind. This was his moment to seize.

At 00.00, she raised on her toes, reached for his face and  gave him a peck on the cheek.

And suddenly, January 1, turned into any other day of the year.

There are still 365 days in this year, he thought to himself.

........................................................................................................................................................................

(2)

At 11.59 PM, he looked around the house once again making sure that it was just two of them. It's been years since the kids' room was vacant but he hadn't got used to it. He leaned over to kiss her. With his eyes closed and lips quivering, he felt anxious just like the first time they had kissed. 30 years of marriage had turned them into familiar strangers.

At 00.00, she raised on her toes, reached for his face and  gave him a peck on the cheek.

And suddenly, January 1, turned into any other day of the year.

There are still 365 days in this year, he thought to himself.

........................................................................................................................................................................

(3)

At 11.59 PM, he clenched tightly to his walker, tested the strength of his creaking bones to the maximum, stood up, and walked to her bed. With his eyes closed and lips quivering, he held her hand in his and kissed her.

When medical science has failed, it's his gestures that will wake her up, from the vegetative state, he believed.

She didn't.

And suddenly, January 1, turned into any other day of the year.

There are still 365 days in this year, he thought to himself.

............................................................................................................................................................................

P.S. I would like to credit my friend ARA from But The Words Prevailed  for invaluable inputs

P.P.S. I look up to my peers and readers to  share and promote my work, if they deem it worthy. My sincere thanks and regards to all of you.

A Dream Lost

(1)

I recently lost a dream. It's strange to lose something that's psychical in origin,  evanescent in existence and meta-physical in interpretation. I was taught that having, preserving and relishing a dream is the way to success. So I dreamt, big. I was made to believe that dreams don't come true without working hard, so I did. They said patience is the key. So I persevered.

My dream to me was the liberation of the spirit from the natural pressures; A buoyant force that freed my soul from the shackles of the matter.

And then, I lost it.

(2)

I lost something that had occupied me for as long as I could remember. It had governed my actions and conduct. It was the string that tied all the otherwise inexplicable fragments of my life. My dream was my subconscious giving all that around me, a meaning.

With my dream, I lost my subconscious and it took along the people, the places and the relationships, it once defined and gave meaning to.

Karma, my religion taught me, is the greatest and the fairest justice of all.

My dream was my Karma.

 (3)

"Living a dream" is misinterpreted. You can have a dream in your future and your past, but you don't ever have it in your present. As they say-"Dreams are but sea-foam".  If it were to become your present, or you "realize" a dream, it simply becomes worldly, losing the enigmatic self that elevated it to the levels of being mythical.  It becomes your story; your Life.

In many ways, I lost my reality.

(4)

A dream is lost when you lose the Desire to sleep at night as that will mark the end of another day you wished didn't happen. And a dream is lost when after every such night you still want to wake up in the past. To live such an illusion, you wish that there was no morning, no sunlight and not another new date in this forced chapter of your life.

A dream is lost when it takes with it the very Faith that drove you to have that dream in the first place. It's more than losing confidence as confidence is merely the reaffirmation of one's own abilities while Faith is the spiritual stamp of approval to trust and back yourself . When the spiritual is lost, the physical has no meaning.

A dream is lost when you steer without Direction. A man can handle setbacks and adversities as long as there is a perceived path ahead. The road ahead might be rough or smooth, bright or dark, easy or difficult, but it's still a path nevertheless. And a dream is lost when you can't distinguish between facing a wall or a crossroad.

A dream is lost when the Realization sinks in that no matter what the future holds, better or worse, you can still never go back to the status quo you once cherished. And you know that this change is irreversible and what's lost can't be replaced or regained. For that matter, you also know that calling it a "change" is undermining the havoc of this apocalypse.

(5)

When the dust settled, the passersby came to help me gather the pieces. They simply asked me to look ahead and start afresh.

Till there is breath in me, there would always be a future, and people would point towards that telling me to aim for a new and better tomorrow. Life, they say, always finds a way. I find that flawed. What I have lost, and what I might gain, cannot be equated. 

Balance, is irrelevant to me.

Losses redefine the parameters. It's then the mind accepts dreams as a useless and morbid exercise keeping us afloat for no reason. We start aiming for the low hanging fruits, consoling ourselves consciously, by instancing the past failures. This new definition of success is impudent to your lost dream, but we ignore it, in the name of life.

A dream is lost when the only Motivation in life remains to connect every dot to get the same pattern that defined your dream once. Time will pass and people will move on but I would find myself living in the same matrix trying to relive the manifestation of the dream that once was.

"Love, Loss and Beyond"- My entry for the Get Published contest

Please vote (click on the heart button) at - http://www.indiblogger.in/getpublished/idea/518

The Idea

People have different ways to cope up with loss. Most enter a seemingly impermeable shell making themselves immune and indifferent from the surroundings. A few, however, become extrovert and try to connect with the world in a more lively way realizing the importance of the fleeting moments. This is also a phase where people connect with others going through similar situations. Connecting with strangers becomes easy and its them, not the immediate family, who finally bail you out of the deep and dark pit of depression and loneliness. 

This is a story of 2 such strangers who met by accident and unknowingly ended up changing each other's lives. 

Siddarth, who after losing his beloved Kacey Smith in a tragic car crash, discovers a secret about their relationship. He believes that he could have recovered from the loss of Kacey had he not known that secret. This has pushed him to the wall and he is about to get lost in the darkness, not knowing a way to cope up with his tragedy and the secret.

At this juncture Zubi enters his life. She is jubilant and carefree yet profound and deeply philosophical. She has a secret too but Siddarth could never get her to open up. However his interactions with her start to affect both of them and they realize it too. They connect instantly. But with their pasts, heavily influencing their present, they can't look too much ahead. 

Siddarth has become shelled after the tragedy, Zubi tries to bring him back to life. She is not ready to share her life but still tries to heal him.

What Makes This Story Real?

This is a story of simple and basic human need of interaction. It's not a fairy tale and the characters emerge from the deepest and the darkest points of their lives. Like all of us, they are nowhere near perfection. And it's their imperfections that help them connect. This is about sharing griefs and recovering.

Can these two ever fall in love? Is love just about ending up together? Is that the best you can do to someone.

There is a Life Beyond the conventional Love and that's my central theme.

Extract

He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his coat. It had some red stains on it. "Could it be blood?" she wondered.

He took her hand and gave it to her.

"What is this?"

"This was found with Kacey that night."

She opened the folds and stared at the paper.

"She wanted me to give me this on our anniversary".

"What does it say Sid? I can't read it."

Sid looked up trying unsuccessfully to hold back his tears. Zubi held his hand and reassured him of her presence.

"You have to read it Sid. At some point of your life, you have to talk to someone about this secret. You can't carry its burden. Speak up Sid."

His lips trembled and looked for words. Words, the ever elusive, words. 

Endnote: This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal andHarperCollins India.

Please vote (click on the heart button) at - http://www.indiblogger.in/getpublished/idea/518

Story of Failure

"Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently". - Henry Ford

I am Failure. Not a failure, but failure itself. Not the verb, but the noun.

I have seen people with mighty hearts and decorated chests, cringe by my very mention. Those widely respected and honored in their lives and fields, pray they never have to see me in the eye. Sometimes, in all my innocence, I wish at least such brave-hearts  would like to take me head on as a challenge. But they don't ever dare to. I have often wondered why.

Trust me, I don't look that hideous!

Like the black sheep, hidden from the glory of the living rooms of all the braggart families, I have a cousin to blame for this.

Bitch, thy name is Success. 

Success is pretty and a lot of people, despite of their age and experience (or the lack of it), have crush on her. It's blinding, it's flashy and it makes one utterly myopic. Many a great souls have lost their way after achieving success. But every courageous soul who has ever had an encounter with me has always set new goals and started afresh.

After every success lies an emptiness, after every failure lies a hidden opportunity!

Beyond every finish line, and before every start, in the solitude of thunderous applause, is me. I am the way to look into the future because I have the vision.

We have a strict framework, rules and definitions for success, but me, I am Universal. With no definitions, explanations or interpretations. Not Subjective. While your success may not convince or appease many, your failure is accepted by all. I am the gold standard against which all your successes would be measured.

Success invariably would always be incomplete. It would always make you worry about others' reactions. I am absolute. I would make you a clean slate. What else could possibly be a better place to dust off and start again?

I understand the fixation of  being successful.  But to forget my role once you have been successful is, well, just rude! If anything, I am the springboard that catapulted you to your goals.

Me and my lovely cousin have frequent contests of "tug of war". We call it Life. As lovable as she is, she never gives me credit for my role. And I don't ask for one.

I am that fifth grade Math teacher who helped you get over your fear of the subject by scaring you more. Now, you don't remember him while you accept your accolades as a great Mathematician.

I am that teenage lover of yours whom you deserted for college. And now when you shamelessly seek attention of the gorgeous ladies at your corporate job, I smile in the background.

I am that parent of yours who put in everything he/she had for your future and you comfortably forgot to mention that in your valedictory speech.

I am that sibling who prayed for your scores in his/her struggles. Now, when I struggle to meet my ends, you shun me.

Success is a result of the work put in by the best teacher- failure!

I am that patient homemaker who ignores all your flirtatious transgressions, knowing  at the end of the day, you will come back home for solace.

And sooner, than later, you will come back and embrace me. You will have to accept me as, in your fancy vocabulary, "part and parcel" of life.

Beyond all inflated egos, materialistic gains and short lived happiness, you will find me.

Accept me now, when you have the sweet taste of success.

Or I will hit back, hard.



Photo Courtesy: www.matchexecutives.au