A snob. Someone high above everyone. Photographed by Shrey Agrawal.
This shattered shell that once held life inside of it once reminds me of how quickly we humans lose that spark, that light inside of us. One fall breaks some of us so gravely that it’s hard to get back up. We stop laughing, we stop caring, we stop eating, we leave pieces of our life and our heart with people who we once loved and cared for, we stop living. At the end, we’re divided, crippled, and lifeless. Photographed by Shrey Agrawal.
See that leaf? It’s going to turn yellow and curl up and fall down soon- but till that time, which is fast coming, it’s going to live is life. It’s going to play with the wind, let rain droplets dance on its smooth surface, let the sun rays hit it and make it feel alive. And then it’s going to fall gracefully, having lived all its life beautifully. Photographed by Shrey Agrawal.
This blade of grass unimportantly and passively looks over the horizon as the sun sets, for it is used to it day in and day out, the sunset is not a beautiful sight. It just calls for the day to end and the night to bestow its dark cloak over the skies. Sinfully beautiful. Photographed by Shrey Agrawal.
She sits there, wrapped up in a dull shawl, while selling a beautifully embroidered bed sheet, which could perhaps be used to cover her children’s small bodies that lie naked in the cold night, turning sides, trying to steal some warmth from their surroundings. But she sits there, with a tight smile on her face, trying everything she can to sell this piece of cloth that might just give a chance for her children to study or have two meals a day, or clothes to keep them from the chill. But such is the situation in India- people aren’t self-sufficient, they are dependent; people aren’t hungry, they are starving; people don’t sympathize and help, they show pity and walk away. In a nation full of Maharajas, she is but one of the many peasants. Photographed by Sukhnidh Kaur.
How a child trembles, then cautiously thinks before returning a heartwarming smile to a stranger, who instantly considers this as an opportunity to make friends, but then with a confused look on his face, he realizes that he misread the moment as the child carelessly looks away. Children make me wonder how once we were so easily distracted, how less we cared, how frequently we laughed, how joyously we went for family outings. It’s all in the past. Photographed by Sukhnidh Kaur.
A circlet. A circlet that would make her feel beautiful again. A circlet, whose flowers would replace the ones she ought to have received. Photographed by Sukhnidh Kaur.
Religion and gods are omnipresent in India. They even dawn the walls which are often a destination people go to to relieve themselves. Photographed by Vedant Puri.
Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain’. These are lines of ‘Story of my life’, if my memory serves me correctly, and these are the lines that I now fully understand after looking at this picture. Generations come, generations go, and there are so many memories, and so much love each of them leaves behind. The painted wall starts chipping off and tattering as euphoric days become memories, as the laughter of a child becomes the slight smile of a woman, as the roars of a man become bouts of cough instead. Photographed by Vedant Puri.
Ninth class economics tells us that these people make up the ‘unskilled labour’ segment of the society , however shouldn’t they be called the skilled ones? Photographed by Vedant Puri.
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