The Tendrils of India
India has a way of creeping under one's skin. At this point I've come to realize that all the clichés about finding oneself and awakening to spirituality, all the tales of adventure and mysteries yet to be solved—think Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom—and all talk about how India is a total hubbub-of-a-full-frontal-assault on the sense turn out to be completely and utterly true.
There is no way to deny the country's allure and the deep rooted sentience of its people. As I walk through the halls of crowded train stations and leap frog through traffic, I can't help but feel the immense, but subtle grace of civility. It's not unusual that a passerby with lock eyes with you and give you a nod to send you on your way. My best guess is that this has something to do with the ritualized spiritual practice I see men and women participating in each morning. Or it might just be the calming chai everyone is drinking (at least) three times a day.
**India is such a hard place to photograph without falling prey to perpetuating stereotypes. The tension between these two photos, the two stories they tell, is perhaps their truth. Each one taken alone runs the risk of perpetuating the single story, but taken together they convey a truth about much of India that is hard to fathom**
So far I've been to the Thar desert and back among a community of musicians, to the princely kingdoms of Jodhpur and to the vestige of their royal weddings, to bustling Bombay where red light district slums sit at the feet of high rise apartments and at last to the beaches of Goa where a generation of hippies surrendered to the sound of the waves and let go.
Lastly, a quote:
Within infinite myths lies the eternal truth,
Who sees it all?
Varuna has but a thousand eyes
Indra a hundred
And I, only two.