memorygraphs

Two ivory bullocks plowing an entirely dark brown landscape.

The banks of the Ganges, deserted except for one lone, burning pyre. The orange flames of the pyre battling with a slight rain, against the blue backdrop of the river.

A train approaching in the distance. The slow chugging of the wheels mingling with the delightful cries of children playing hop scotch under a majestic banyan tree.

A still as a mirror colourless lake and a solitary raft floating on it. Three women on board, each wearing a saree of a different color.

A woman in a bright orange saree walking through never ending fields of green under a blue and white sky. The very picture of India.

A deserted railway station. Relentless heat. Only two trees at a respectful distance from each other and two circles under them. One of bare chested men, the other women in bright ghagra cholis. Two different worlds. Colliding only in bed.

A man walking with the help of crutches in a narrow street. His friend walks with him. Every now and then, he halts, his arms hurting because of the wooden crutches. He sits, while his friend stands next to him. Is his friend getting impatient? Bored? Irritated? I can't figure out from where I am. My train crosses them and enters a station. It halts. When it starts again after a half hour break, the two have just reached the station. A salute to the human spirit.

A woman with four earthen pots perfectly balanced on her head and a child on her hips walks next to the railway track. And they call her the weaker sex.

Memories that I couldn't photograph.