Thursday, January 29, 2026

Unwoven Dawns

Completion — was just what has always been aimed for.
Though paths went on, dwellings were always onshore.
A desire to perfect things beyond perfection,
Was stitched into every sweater in her collection.

The winter that existed once, is nowhere to be seen,
Every cashmere strand there, still preserved, holds its sheen.
They smell of fresh sea and lavender of the yesteryears,
Treasured in the oak chest of drawers, in neat tiers.

The spring now— jubilant in bursts of blossoms and blooms,
Dances to tunes of velvet and songs of colorful plumes.
But there's still a teal scarf for the yellow-scented autumn breeze,
Left imperfect (knowingly unfinished) for the salt of distant seas.

The unwoven thread has been a solace for the breathing heart,
In aches of unendings, beats promise of a dawning start.

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Monday, January 26, 2026

The Cheese No One is Looking For

For as long as I can remember, I have been inclined to visit museums and galleries over almost any other attraction. Whether traveling alone or with family, I always prioritize art galleries, museums, and local eateries. While the latter two categories typically enjoy high footfall, galleries are almost always devoid of a human presence. Although history museums, science centers, or specialized pop-up attractions attract considerable crowds, art museums remain sparsely visited, often hosting no more than ten people at any given time.

Generally, galleries are the least successful crowd-pullers. People do turn up for opening or closing events when a specific exhibition (by an individual artist or a curated group of artists) is launched. However, the days in between witness few visitors. In this beautiful (yet risky) calm, a profound silence resonates, shaped by the communication among the displayed art pieces and the dance of light and shadow on polished floors and textured walls.

Recently, I visited one such exhibition during peak hours on a holiday. It was saddening to see no one there — and mind you, the entry was free. I have never seen more than five people in any gallery I have visited, and I have been to many over the years. 

I usually spend anywhere from two to five hours in a gallery, depending on the scale of the space and breadth of the collection. Only twice have I been the lone person in a gallery during my time wandering the halls—once in India and once abroad—but those instances occurred when no active exhibition was running. This time, just three days into a new show, the silence was a first. While I am not suggesting that no one else ever visits, or visited this particular exhibition, the sparse nature of the audience is often deafening.

I wondered how the curator must be feeling, how the artist must be feeling. Standing there, I felt a wave of shame and found myself hesitant to make eye contact. I wanted to ask the curator if there was anything I could do to help pique interest in the exhibition, but I just couldn't find the words.

I rarely take photographs, but I did this time to help publicize the event, even though my reach on social media is extremely limited, laughable at best. Even friends and acquaintances are not particularly inclined toward visiting galleries and rarely accompany me, even when invited. I wish I could have done more, or at least had some idea of how to bridge this gap. Perhaps only then could I visit an art museum or gallery with a sense of happiness and pride, rather than guilt and shame.
Copyright © 2026 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Friday, January 23, 2026

ANTIDOTE: a whisper

So many lifetimes forged 
into a glimpse of lines,
a mere encounter with words, 
and a whisper of souls, 
that existed 
beyond today 
and what is known
of yesterday 
or tomorrow...
possibly even more...
Yet not a single heartbeat glances,
never a breath wasted.

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A Little Something:

A "whisper", though not a literary category per se, is somewhat of an ontological state, that might fit an essence (or soul) into any form of literary category, be it a poem, an aphorism, a fragment,or anything else for that matter.
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Copyright © 2026 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Still

A thousand storms rage in the soul,
Yet not a single hair shall stir;
Among the greys of howling wind,
A single blossom begins to bloom.

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Copyright © 2026 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, January 1, 2026

Blooming Bliss

A dew-kissed blade of morning grass,
Embellished in shiny drops of liquid glass,
In the field of earth-scented golden daisies,
Opened up to the shimmering misty skies,
Unravelling hope as the sunrays dance.

There are glimpses of paints from distant lands,
That have color of sands from the brighter strands,
The sweet sublime fragrance now fills up the air,
Scintillating glory so radiant and rare, 
And sings of the bliss across seas and the sands.

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Copyright © 2026 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

About Me

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As a blogger, one of the things I am often asked is "How/ When did you get started with all this?" For as long as my memory takes me back, I have always found myself pondering about a plethora of things. I have always loved reflecting on the small but wonderful aspects of life. Ipsita Contemplates has been very special and I love to get the opportunity to share my musings, my thoughts, and my perceptions with you. It is also a way to appreciate the essence of Life!