Monday, 21 December 2015

One of the things she is made up of

I don't have time or the mind to put individual captions to the pictures. The week I spent in Allahabad was full of reminders of how my life could be or would have been along with the 'nots'. 
Education, childhood, wedding, freedom to do certain things or not do certain things. 
To get married when I want or don't want. To follow the rituals that take place the entire night. The gaali singing, so many people, old and young. Some with central Indian influences and others with bengali. All mixed up. The aaltaa and the haldi and the orange sindoor. All mixed up. 
Things that are exclusive to the culture I belong to. Then I feel what is this culture that I really belong to. My roots that span out from a small village in Uttar Pradesh-Bihar and till West Bengal. The eastern Uttar Pradesh Belt. As I retire for the night and brush away random thoughts which are both negative and positive, as I realize that I have nothing left to say, signing off on a visual note will be apt. I feel I have words but nothing worth mentioning here.