around since the beginning

Concrete Wanderers

Masroofiyat se Tumhari,
Fursat ke Pal Maangne aaya hoon.
Chhota sa kaam laaya hoon.
Bhaari ho Aaram se, jab palkein tumhari,
Us "fursat" mein, Yaad rakhne ko,
Halka sa mera naam laaya hoon.

Walk in

A tavern, for the curious. The walls are lit with stills, the shelves with etched anecdotes, and behind the hearth, slow-drying colors. Travellers come to rest here. To wander, awhile, before moving on with life.

Stills hung in candlelight

Storm over the hill
The Concrete Wanderer
A rose, observed
The Concrete Wanderer
Diya, lit
The Concrete Wanderer
The waking city
The Concrete Wanderer
Patient architect
The Concrete Wanderer
Two, leaving
The Concrete Wanderer
Enter the Stills →

Anecdotes etched so far

"Samwise"
A flight delayed in the dry heat of New Delhi. A friendship that began with a left-handed misunderstanding. And a wedding, somewhere along the way, where the Hobbit theme played as the bride walked in.
— by Stefan Vats · Hand of Spades
"Letters to a city I haven't met"
Six small letters written in transit, addressed to a place the writer is yet to arrive in.
— forthcoming
"What the bookshelf saw"
A house, narrated by its objects. Beginning with a paperweight that has not been moved in fourteen years.
— forthcoming

Brush Work yet to dry

"Studies in moonlight"
A series of small ink paintings made by a traveller who only paints between two and four in the morning.
— forthcoming
"Things I saw on the train"
Watercolours from a sketchbook left behind on a long railway journey. The sketchbook is travelling its way back to us.
— forthcoming
"The shape of an old room"
Charcoal on rough paper. The corners of houses the painter grew up in, drawn from memory.
— forthcoming
By the hearth

Letters from the cavern.

An occasional dispatch. Sent only when there is something worth sending — a new traveller arrived, a new wall opened, a small piece worth your idle hour.