Skidding across the continent and scuffing my heels I greedily swallow the lives that flash by me. Lives of rest and lives of woe. I swallow entire lives but they leave no taste. And many times they leave no impression too. These are the lives that left an impression. These foto grafs were taken on the long road to Mumbai. It is mid morning and the sun is struggling to be heard through the veil of a dusty shroud. I often wondered why the landscape had such a forlorn aspect in the mornings. Many times you could see the vultures circling already - before the day had even blinked. Many times it felt like a dream. Are these people people or are they ghosts? Did I see these things? I often wonder whether I was there. It seems like another life to me.
The story of this man is the story of a path unknown to me. I glimpse but that is all I can hope for; a glimpse. We must walk our own paths. Chosen or otherwise. Ah, Reflections! Reflections! I can see what you're thinking. Are these mine own reflections? Can you see them in the water? My reflections?
Such scenes are repeated everyday. Mile upon mile. Life upon life. I view these with a strangely singular eye. Seeing but not watching. Watching but not seeing. Sometimes an image condenses and leaves an impression; like breathing on a cold window pane. This image is rectangular and two dimensional, but life is not. But there is more! Behind this image there is much more! You just gotta look.
We are treading the same path. Will it lead to where I want to go? Perhaps this family knows. Should I ask them? If I am lucky they will not laugh in my face. 'Where are you going?' I often wonder this question of my subjects. 'Where are you going in such a hurry people?' Can I come too? - sometimes they even let me.
