#atish

[tracksampm]

45 Minutes of Melodic House & Techno, Organic House, Minimal Magnetic Rose Jelly For The Babies, Nicolas Viana Torn Whoriskey Re Connection Jepe The Golden Dawn Molac Trida Gorge Friends ARTBAT Remix Meduza Shola atish, Nhii

[mucdj]

(Schwungrad Dieter)

[calamitoustide]

funeral - phoebe bridgers/unknown/the nostalgic feeling poem by atish home chowdhury/funeral - phoebe bridgers/unknown/funeral - phoebe bridgers/after the movie, marie howe/unknown/unknown/funeral-phoebe bridgers/unknown/@/nobodysflower/funeral-phoebe bridgers

[jannetranews]

दिल्ली की CM Atishi आज air pollution पर उच्च स्तरीय बैठक की अध्यक्षता करेंगी

नई दिल्ली, 15 अक्टूबर : दिल्ली की सीएमओ ने कहा कि दिल्ली की मुख्यमंत्री आतिशी आज दिल्ली सचिवालय में air pollution की स्थिति के बारे में एक उच्च स्तरीय बैठक की अध्यक्षता करेंगी। दिल्ली के मुख्यमंत्री कार्यालय ने कहा, “दिल्ली की सीएम आतिशी आज दिल्ली सचिवालय में air pollution की स्थिति के बारे में एक उच्च स्तरीय बैठक की अध्यक्षता करेंगी। पर्यावरण मंत्री गोपाल राय भी इस बैठक में शामिल…

[herpsandbirds]

Black-necked Storks (Ephippiorhynchus asiaticus), L - female and R - male, family Ciconiidae, order Ciconiiformes, Jamnagar, India

photograph by Atish Chapadiya

[yourbelgianthings]

travis mcelroy on mbmbam episode 109 / nighthawks by edward hopper / the view between villages by noah kahan / image from gregory crewdson’s beneath the roses series / the nostalgic feeling poem by atish home chowdhury / reflections of the past by shirley israel / hiraeth

[hrtiu]

I finally got around to writing some Solavellan fanfic! Thank you to @namedbrina for the prompt! It's not exactly what you suggested, but hopefully the spirit remains. Also sorry it took me so long to actually write 😅 You can find a link to the fic on AO3 here, or simply read below. I have a whole long story plotted out, but we'll see how much actually gets written ><

Solas has never liked necromancers and is surprised to like Lavellan. But she has always respected spirits and wisps, so perhaps it shouldn’t be as surprising. She who wears Falon’Din’s marks, who even Dorian is a bit in awe of/scared of, and who never leaves a battlefield without using the last of her mana in a Dalish ritual to soothe whatever might remain. As the only elf and perhaps mage around, she teaches this ritual to Solas so he might be able to do it if she has no mana? Idk.

Of all the titles Solas had carried in his long years, his favorite was healer.

Perhaps that was why he was enjoying his time with the Inquisition so much. To many of the folk around Haven, he was known only as the reclusive, slightly odd elf healer. There was something freeing about the many centuries of baggage his name and face carried being stripped away. Solas the healer. Mender of bones, salver of wounds, fixer of broken things. He quite liked that.

Atishal, the so-called Herald of Andraste, enjoyed no such reputation. Oh, the people of Haven respected her, and were all too willing to place their hopes on her thin shoulders. But her Dalish traditions and strange magic warded off any reputation for wholesomeness that might otherwise develop. Necromancy had a way of doing that.

There was something mesmerizing about her magic. Necromancy had always left a bitter taste in Solas’s mouth, but the Herald made it seem natural, almost elegant. Together with Varric and Cassandra, they fought through the chaos of apostate mages and rogue templars, but always his gaze was drawn to her. He was so preoccupied by the sight of spirits from the Fade willingly lending Atishal their strength that he never saw the templar’s arrow coming. 

“Ah!” He let out a pained grunt as the arrowhead buried deep into the flesh of his shoulder. He sank to one knee and grimaced, the hand not holding his staff moving to grip the shaft of the arrow.

“Solas needs help!” Atishal shouted above the fray.

Varric tossed a red bottle his way, and Solas managed to catch it with one functioning arm. Solas pulled the cork out with his teeth and drank just enough to muster the energy for a fade step. He stepped through the veil and ended up on a small hill just out of range of the still-battling templars. He caught his breath, intending to reenter the fray when he got the chance, but Varric, Cassandra, and the Herald didn’t seem to need his help any more.

“How are you doing, Chuckles?” Varric asked, hefting Bianca over his shoulder as he trudged up the hill towards Solas.

“Let’s get back to camp,” Cassandra said. “He can rest up there.”

“No need to wait until then,” Atishal said.

Her soft footfalls barely seemed to depress the grass as she made her way to Solas’s side, kneeling down to get a better look at his wounded shoulder. Ginger fingers tested the flesh around the injury, and she hissed in sympathy.

“I don’t have the strength right now to numb it, but I can heal it after the shaft is out,” she said. “Do you want me to do that now? Or should we wait until we get back to camp and we can get you some willow bark for the pain? Or a lyrium potion so you can heal it yourself?”

“Just do it now,” Solas said, not wanting to make the hike back to camp with an arrow in his shoulder. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Got it,” Atishal said. She gripped the arrow shaft with one hand and braced her other hand against Solas’s shoulder.

“One, two, three.”

Searing pain shot through Solas’s body, his grunt of pain pushing through gritted teeth. Then, in an instant, the pain disappeared.

Atishal’s hand against his shoulder felt warm. She was still murmuring words of healing under her breath, her eyes closed and her brow unforrowed in an expression of peace.

He blinked in confusion and surprise. Her spell had worked marvelously—he couldn’t have cast it better himself. That was… unexpected.

“Are we ready to go, Herald?” Cassandra’s no-nonsense voice broke through Solas’s daze. “It isn’t safe to stay in one place for too long.”

Solas pushed himself to his feet as elegantly as he could manage, nodding to Atishal in thanks. “Yes, Seeker. I am ready to go.”

They moved in near silence down the rough Hinterlands trail. The battle had taken a lot out of them, and with nothing but more long days of closing rifts, facing down rogue templars, bandits, or mages, and struggling to make a name for the Inquisition, nobody was in the mood for chatter.

They reached camp—a cluster of tents by a tranquil pond—and Solas gratefully took the stew Scout Harding offered him. He didn’t usually eat much, but he was famished. He pressed carefully at the place in his shoulder that had held a templar arrow only hours earlier, but the flesh was whole. A little tender, but whole.

Atishal sat next to him on a large rock by the water’s edge, a short distance from the gathering of Inquisition scouts around the campfire. Far enough away to create some sense of privacy. Solas wondered if she thought they were in some kind of Elven guild, and the thought brought a grimace to his lips. 

“How is your shoulder?” she asked, her deft fingers unbraiding her long, brown hair.

“Feeling good,” Solas said, rolling his shoulder in demonstration.

“I’m glad.” She let her hair fall in thick waves over her shoulder, still lovely despite the sweat and dirt of the day weighing it down.

The conversation lapsed, and Solas let the ambient sounds of the dusky forest fill the silence.

“You are quite a skilled healer,” Solas said eventually.

“You sound surprised.”

“I don’t think many necromancers make the effort to learn the art of healing.”

“Really?” she said, turning to him with a raised brow. “I don’t see necromancy and healing as being so different.”

“Healing the living versus drawing wisps into the vessels of the dead? What could be more different?”

She didn’t respond for a long moment. Solas looked over at her, noting the tense line of her mouth. He recognized her expression, of course. He’d grown used to offending people since waking from his long sleep.

He waited for her to leave. He knew her well enough by now to know that the Herald of Andraste tended to shut down rather than confront. But though he gave her plenty of space to make her exit, she stayed.

A mourning dove let out a plaintive cry, and the sun slipped behind the trees. Twilight transformed the woods around them, marking a boundary in time and space. 

Atishal picked a stone up from the ground and tossed it into the pond. It made a satisfying thunk as it landed in the water, and she watched the ripples slowly expand for a long moment.

“I used to be a healer,” she said quietly.

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Ah?”

“Do you think a Dalish tribe has much use for necromancy?” she asked, eyes still trained on the last remaining ripples in the pond. “For the first twenty five years of my life, it never entered my mind to practice necromancy. I soothed scrapes and bruises, mended broken bones, guided women through difficult childbirths. Easing peoples’ pain and healing their bodies was my calling.”

Was. There was pain in that word, pain that felt familiar to Solas. He, too, used to be a healer. He could no longer claim such a simple title—at least not by itself. No matter what the people in Haven thought, he knew the truth.

“What happened?” Solas asked.

“A plague. It wiped out more than half of my clan in a single year.” She said the words plainly, without sentiment. “After that, I realized among those who needed healing were the dead along with the living.”

“Healing for the dead?”

“Yes. I know… I think their souls are gone. Inviting spirits to inhabit their bodies doesn’t change that. But so many spirits clustered around our tribe, feeding off of sorrow and tragedy. I found that allowing these spirits space to act, to work through the pain… It was beneficial both to the spirits and to those loved ones who remained.”

The way she talked about spirits… Solas began to regret the condescending tone he’d struck in their earlier conversation. She clearly had a conception of spirits that was much closer to his own than he’d realized—much closer to his than most of the people in this strange half-world. And the way she interpreted necromancy was novel to him.

“I’ve never considered that,” he said. Words rarely spoken.

“I hadn’t either, before the plague. Necessity is the greatest teacher, after all.”

“True.”

Silence fell between them again, and Solas pondered her words. It made sense, in a way, that necromancy would develop new depth and meaning in this hellish world he had created. The people here were so numerous, their lives so cheap.

“You have given me much to think about, Herald,” he said.

She looked over her shoulder at him, a rare smile gracing her lips. “Somehow, from you that feels like a compliment.”

From him, it certainly was.

[mutant-distraction]

Atish Chapadiya

Happy monsoon

Dancing Peacock Jamnagar, July'24.

[qalbofnight]

Ishq ko apne dil mai dafan kaise karte hai ?

Iska jawab sawal mein hi chupa hai, jaisa ki Khwaja Ghulam fareed likhte hain,

"atish paani naal bujhe te ishq ta daru kehda?

If fire is quenched through water , what is the (daru):medicine for love?"

Which I conclude there's no cure for love except love.

[mastmalangs-blog]

Apno k darmiyan begane dhoond raha hun

Tumse baat karne k bahane dhoond raha hun..

Pee to sakta hun teri ankho se sharaab mein

Phr na jaane kaunse meykhane dhoond rhaa hun..

Likh to sakta hun apni aik haseen dastaan mein

Phr na jaane konse afsaane dhoond raha hun..

Woh bhi kisi kohinoor k heere se kam to nhi

Phr na jane kaunse khazane dhoond raha hun

Woh atish e ishq me jal k khaak hogaya Riz

Phr na jane kaunse parwaane dhoond raha hun??

[bananaede]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

Hi mootea:D sorry for not answering ur ask for who knows how long:'>

1- My kind of women by mac demarco

2- Francis forever by mitski

3- atishe by poobon

4- poison tree (instrumental) by grouper

5- hatachi no koi by lamp (I think)

[bazm-e-ishq]

assalamualikum

it's so good to see your posts on my feed 💕💕

just wondering if you have some poetry recommendations for someone who has just started reading Urdu poetry

Walakium assalam

Aww tysm. My heart feels so full when you guys appreciate my blog like this <33

I have some recommendations,

Mir taqi mir (hasti apni habab ki si hy)

Khawaja Haider Ali atish(rukh o zulf par jan khoya kia)

Mirza Asad ullah khan Ghalib(dil e nadan tujhy hoya kia hy)

Bahadur Shah Zafar(Lagta ni hy dil mera ujray dayar mein)

Ahmad faraz (suna hai log use aankh bhar ke dekhte hain)

Momin khan momin (wo jo hum mein tum mein qarar tha tumhein yaad ho ki

Mirza Ghalib(hazaron KHwahishen aisi ki har KHwahish pe dam nikle)

Nasir kazmi(dil dhaDakne ka sabab yaad aaya)

Allama iqbal(sitaron se aage jahan aur bhi hain)

These are a few from our rich Urdu literature which I'm in love with. Enrich your life with these ;) and come back anytime.

[barg-e-sehra]

‏دھیان کے آتش دان میں ناصر..

بجھے دِنوں کا ڈھیر پڑا ہے

dehan k atish-daan mein nasir

bhujay dinu ka dhair para hai

[zanorangejuiceenjoyer]

Obsessed with poppy bros Jr so i made him

Atish is just kinda there and uh in the bottom right is Kevin (r.i.p) from failboats video

[herpsandbirds]

Black-necked Stork (Ephippiorhynchus asiaticus), family Ciconiidae, order Ciconiiformes, Jamnagar, India

photograph by Atish Chapadiya

[thesufidotcom]

Hazrat Khwaja Haider Ali 'Atish' R.A "Ishq ke mareez ko, hosh-e-khuda hota hai, Jab woh ho jaata hai, begana khuda hota hai." Translation: "The one who is afflicted with love, is conscious of God, But when they are completely overcome, they become strangers to God." www.thesufi.com https://ift.tt/MR5hI2c