Legs are trained,to hault at Calls, ‘Bees Rupya Paao,’ and tongue,to haggle over each price you talk of, ‘Das me Dijiye’. Days trained these shoulders to brush past, ‘Thoda hatiye,’ and eyes to spot the fresh of all, ‘Taaza nahi hai?’ It’s the sound that holds the story, never letting you hear what sits behind.
I’m sure this angle for this renowned Indian temple is unattempted.(Dakshineshwar Temple,Kolkata, India)
INDIAN ARCHITECTURE(PHOTOGRAPHY) There’s something hanging on this Window. Oh! It’s my breath.
Clichès induced a fear, unless it was Monsoon.
What Kanhari am I talking about? A hill in my town Hazaribagh(India) in whose vicinity I grew up. These pictures take the lead in talking to you, while I muse lightly,sitting on the edge. I have no plan to tell you how inclined you will be towards Nature if you grow up in its Green,…
The farther I lay my eyes, it’s the hills I see, the quieter I become, it’s her rape I hear.