Here the photograph of the inside of an ancient temple with elaborately carved stone pillars is highly evocative . This would surely have been a throbbing centre of activity two centuries ago when hundreds of devotees thronged the place for worship. The temple today , being devoid of God in the sanctum and in a state of neglect, has collected puddles of rain water and has become green and slippery with moss. A photograph is surely equal to a thousand words !
Here is another photograph of an ancient temple in ruins in Sanchi which is equally evocative:
A poem deals with the temple in the following way:
Thinking never felt so good
Beads of perspiration glistened
While luminous peace arrived in spurts
Behind was electricity of high voltage
Words flowed steadily in thought
In fast disappearing streamlets
There was the power of fragrance
Of lighted camphor and tiny flowers
My people’s concentrated history
Flowed through these stone archways
Stone people who lived on forever
These are my own dearest kinsmen
My flesh and bones are made
Of the same powdered red rock
We worship the same granite god.
(At the Hazar Rama temple in the Hampi ruins)
I have come across a beautiful photo-essay which presents several ruined buildings of the urban landscapes each of which has a fascinating story to tell.Let me quote what the author Shaunne Oboyle says :
“Ruins are a window into human histories, they tell the tales of the past through the architecture and objects left behind. Ruins capture the imagination with their ability to tell stories, the rich language of architecture opens a window to the past, a poetry of architectural spaces, structures and found objects capture past events and offers them to the keen observer. Memories are inscribed on the walls and in the discarded objects; the silent rooms and dust covered furniture recall moments when these places were occupied. One of the more powerful aspect of ruins is the subject that is missing in the photographs; the people who once worked and lived in these spaces, their presence can still be felt in the architecture and discarded objects. Ruins are the containers of events played out, still vibrant and suprisingly alive with the memories of the past. These places are true museums, preserving the past in its unpolished and raw form. The aging surfaces bear the etched marks of former times, memories from the past pulse from the walls.
There is a layered meaning in these places, random pieces of a historic and social puzzle are clumped together, confused by years of decay, these ruins are an archaeology of our culture, they reveal unexpected artifacts of a past that seems distant and foreign. Archived in these ruins are the collective memories of a changed culture, the forgotten pieces of the past being preserved as in a time capsule. Modern ruins exist in the fringe landscapes of our cities, places that were once hardwired to the center of the social and industrial infrastructure, now they have become faded shadows hidden behind cyclone fences on the outskirts, along old canals and abandon rail lines. They map an old system of industrial landscapes now encroached upon by office parks, expanding suburban sprawl and industrial enclaves.”