Before he kissed her one last time, he never dared to look into her eyes for those 45 minutes, when they were holding hands in the taxi, because he was supposed to. He was scared he would see some truth there, which he was not strong enough to see. That was one of the toughest 45 minutes of his life, and he had his share of shit…. He was doing everything he was supposed to do… he was saying all the sweet words to console her. He was telling her “it was not a goodbye” he also said “distance, borders and oceans are not strong enough to keep us away”. Inside he felt a deep shallowness, his words had no meaning, he knew as soon as he kiss her one last time, and when she will be gone, not to be seen anymore, lost in the lines of checkins and securities….. that was it…. There was nothing else beyond that. He is going to find the first girl he could and sleep with her, kiss her with same fake passion she kissed her goodbye.
Now there it was, he pulled her close, hugged her and took her face into his hands and pressed his lips on hers. He saw her red eyes full of sadness, tears were rolling down, and so he cried too…. some fake tears rolled down his eyes too, his voice also choked, he could not say even a single word … it was all a masquerade. He was just waiting for all this to end, so he could go being on what he really was…. Someone who had no respect for her love… someone who didn’t deserve her…
Then she left… he kept staring at her, till her silhouette disappeared in hundreds of other silhouettes. She was nothing to him now, like those hundreds of silhouette between whom she ceased to exist…… ceased to exist for him.
Taj Mahal, Agra
I haven't met a photographer or a traveler who hasn't been to Agra to capture this architectural marvel. My favorite activity in Agra was to capture Taj Mahal from different locations across the city and Yamuna bank. This trip was also my first photo walk with Streets of India and I met few wonderful people and photographers there. Still remains the only city I visited in Uttar Pradesh.
"Seven, and outside a temple,
a little girl, seven, swimming in tears of first failures
and consequences of reality having a different modus operandi
broke away from her mother’s tight clasp.
“I might infect the Gods with my sadness,
I might infect God,” she said.
“Don’t make my life difficult!”
mother says as she grabs my hand tugging at every finger,
trying to latch onto the hope
that when pulled hard enough
atheism turns back to faith.
I stop her as she removes her footwear,
“I might infect the Gods with my ability to create,
I might infect God,” I say.
I m p u r e
my power to replicate what God
is venerated for.
The discarded blood bed
meant for fetuses to snuggle and snore on
the hardware store precursory for birth.
Some of us have to bleed,
every month, to house
a life the Almighty needs only seconds to create;
if the blood in my underwear
delegates me power so impure
I can’t step inside your gates,
why did you put it there
in the first place?"
Azam Khan Sarai : Azam Khan, also known as Mir Muhammad Baquir was a Mughal governor. He built a palace known as Azam Khan Sarai in 1637. Its entrance, 5.49 meters high, opens onto an octagonal hall which had a low balcony made up of stone in the upper floor. It was used as a resting place for travellers in the Mughal era and as a hospital and a jail during British rule. Now Its known as Government Book Depot.