Tales of Wrinkles
Framed in: Every wrinkle tells a story.
How often do we truly notice that wrinkles don’t just appear — they arrive? Quietly. Gradually. Without announcement.
We blame them on age, on sunlight, on time. But rarely do we pause to consider that each line etched onto our skin carries a memory we once lived.
The first time we notice a wrinkle in the mirror, we look closer. We wonder how did all this start. What we forget is that it was forming all along — in the background of our lives… During those laughters that refused to end… During those tears, we tried to hide… During those moments when the heart swelled too full for words.
Every wrinkle gets added up as and when new experiences come and embrace us. Every wrinkle contains in itself a tiny piece of us in it. In that sense, they are the sum of who we are. They are a gentle reminder of all our love, loss, courage, waiting, and becoming.
And not all wrinkles are born of happiness. Life isn’t only sunshine and open skies. Storms have their share in shaping us. Some lines deepen during sleepless nights. Some settle into the face in long stretches of silence. Can we really tell which wrinkle holds a laugh and which carries a tear? They coexist. Intertwined. Indistinguishable.
Sometimes, a wrinkle forms infront your eyes — like the one in this photograph.
That stare. The awe in her eyes. The faint new line unlocking itself near the corner of her gaze. Bliss rising from somewhere deep within. A trace of disbelief — as if she herself cannot fully trust the moment she is living.
It felt as though joy had quietly signed its name on her face.
Some moments reshape you. And when that happens, the body responds. A new wrinkle manifests itself. But never take it as a flaw, because its a proof, a proof that something meanigful has embraced you.
If we must gather wrinkles, let them be glowing ones. The type born of fulfilled dreams, enduring love, and courage that refused to give up. When you notice a new wrinkle, don’t be upset about it. Pause. Touch it softly. Allow it to serve as a reminder that you’ve made progress.
The more happy wrinkles we have, the more we live our life to the fullest. That is the simplest definition of a life well spent.
As you read this, somewhere on your face, destiny may be leaving its quiet signature. Can you feel it?
More often than not, such signatures prefer subtlety over proclamation.
Framed out: This photograph feels incomplete without speaking of what lies beyond the frames.
It was taken from the viewpoint of Paro Taktsang — the Tiger’s Nest — in Bhutan. A Vajrayana Buddhist monastery dedicated to Guru Padmasambhava, built in the 17th century and built impossibly on a cliff nearly 10,000 feet above sea level.
Long before I saw it with my own eyes, I had seen its image in a magazine. A monastery suspended between rock and sky. That image stayed with me. It pulled me across borders.
Most times, what lies outside the frame is more intriguing than what’s in the frame. This is one such moment.
Much has been written and photographed about Paro Taktsang. But what often goes unspoken are the stories of people like her — the ones who stand before it. To understand what I mean, you will have to google and see the images of this place, if you haven’t seen it yet. And I am sure, it will pull you to that place, like it did to me!
The climb demands something from you. Two to three hours uphill through forest trails and steep inclines. The air thins as you ascend. Each breath reminds you of gravity. I was on a biking expedition across Bhutan, and this was our final stop. Some among us turned back midway, citing exhaustion.
And then I saw her.
Just below the viewpoint, she stood still, gazing at the monastery. Not hurried. Not distracted. Just present.
Her eyes were wide. Her smile, warm and almost childlike. An expression that’s universal and needed no translation
The look did tell me that she had carried this dream for years—perhaps decades—and this was her moment of awe.
In that instant, everything including the monastery became secondary. What mattered was the journey written on her face. The lines that whispered of waiting… of persistence… of someone who may have aged, but a spirit that had not yet surrendered
When younger climbers paused halfway, blaming breathlessness, she continued. And here she stood, making a point.
That was when it struck me — quitting is easy. Convincing yourself to take one more step is harder. But far more powerful. When the dream is strong enough, the body listens.
While years may cause wrinkles on the skin, giving up on your dreams causes wrinkles on the soul.
Those wrinkles on her face were not signs of fragility. They were evidence of endurance. I used to think of ageing as a slow retreat. But standing there, watching her, I realized that those lines were just the physical record of her stubbornness.
She had carried her face, and her dreams, up a 10,000-foot cliff.
Yes, wrinkles tell stories. Stories that outlive monuments. Stories that remain long after the frame fades.
Clicked with my Oneplus 5T, this is one of those pics which I knew will go into this space the moment I clicked it way back in 2019. And preserved all these while to translate it into words!
Grey Frames : “Age wrinkles the body. Quitting wrinkles the soul.” Douglas MacArthur
