May 23, 2009 at 7:11 AM
People plant trees. It's very natural. Trees are not fried or washed or driven. They are planted. Even i planted one. But not in a garden or jungle, rather on a paper. This drawing or painting in this image is that tree which i painted with a friend. Our friendship was so rare and strong that the theme of the painting was of a tree growing up in middle of a desert. But something happened and such a strong wind blew that uprooted that tree of friendship. I still remember that wind. Plum, fatty, liar and fork-tongued. The friend is gone. The tree is gone. The wind is no-more. And i stand even today. . . in the wilderness of the deserts of my heart.