1. Gorillas.

    (Dharamkot, HP)

     

  2. From a rare outing with a 35mm SLR and Kodak BW400CN.

    ————————————————————————-

    ONE

    Abdul Hussain Lamuwalla, the proprietor of Lamu Guest House, where I had the pleasure of staying for a few nights.

    Some things he told me:

    - He is one of only two Indians left in Lamu

    - The two are not friends

    - The other one put a curse on him, and Mr. Lamuwalla became very ill for a long time

    - His faith / the Syedna’s blessings saved him

    ————————————————————————-

    TWO

    Lamu Guest House was originally the Lamuwalla family home. A rather large house for a rather large family, built many generations ago, where Mr. Lamuwalla had lived his whole life.

    Over time, everyone had either left or died, and the house had been chopped up. Part of it was sold, and what was left became the guest house.

    And yes, he was the only Lamuwalla left in Lamu.

    ————————————————————————-

    THREE

    His wife used to make things out of shells, like little boxes, statuettes, and frames for pictures and mirrors.

    She had passed away a few years earlier.

    He was calm when he told me this.

    Then I saw his face crumple.

    And now crying, he told me how much he missed her, how long they’d been married, and how each day felt empty without her.

    It’s the kind of awful thing that some people find beautiful and romantic.

    ————————————————————————-

    FOUR

    It’s funny how, in a fish-out-of-water situation, two people can form a bond over nothing much at all.

    A contact from Mombasa had put us in touch, and we recognised each other easily on the jetty as the only two non-African, non-European people there. He showed me around a little, without ever insisting I stay at his guest house, but I decided to anyways.

    We’d chat every now and then, and though I struggled to mend my broken Gujarati on the fly, we managed quite well, with him filling in the gaps with Hindi.

    He told me about his life and his past, cried about his wife and his loneliness, and spoke with sadness and resignation about how their little island was changing, and how he was becoming an outsider with the increasing Wahhabism around him.

    And I wondered then if we’d have even spoken if we were just two random people that had ended up next to one another on a bus or train in Bombay.

    ————————————————————————-

    This was a eulogy of sorts:

    Though Mr. Lamuwalla is alive and well, he now lives in Mombasa.

    All good things must come to an end.

     

  3. Little green men.

    They’re everywhere.

    (Multiple exposures with a Mamiya 645 and Kodak E100 cross-processed)

     

  4. In the shade.

    Ratnagiri, April 2013.

    (Kodak E100VS + Mamiya 645)

     

  5. Little Yuri.

    Għajn Tuffieħa, August 2013.

    (Kodak CN100G)

     

  6. : /

    San Pedro La Laguna, June 2013.

    (Mamiya 645 + E100G)

     

  7. Last minute portrait.

     

  8. Under the over.

    Mohammedali Road, January 2014.

     

  9. You’re never alone in Bombay.

    Cuffe Parade, December 2010.

     

  10. Blacks and whites on opposites sides.

    Colaba Causeway, December 2013.

    Reminds me a bit of this one.

     

  11. The past, the present, and the future.

    January 26th, 2014 - Miss Lovely, playing at Imperial Cinema.

    Enjoy it while it lasts folks.

    (I really mean that)

     

  12. What a load of shit.

    (For the Jan-Feb 2014 issue of Terra Eco magazine)

    A story about the practise of manual scavenging in Gujarat.

     

  13. September, 2012.

    Selection from an interiors shoot of an office in Bandra for (talented) designer Karishma Bhatia.

     

  14. Swings and misses.

    Ahmedabad, December 2013.

     

  15. On the trail from Nagarkot to Changu Narayan. Nepal, February 2012.

    This is Roald, named so for her slightly vulpine appearance (yes, it’s contrived).

    She joined us at a junction and walked along for several hours in that curious yet aloof manner that mountain strays have (after they’ve given up being friendly when they find out you’ve got no food).

    I’m not sure how they knew (there was another one, he was golden), but they trotted off ahead of us at the junction, picking the right path, and leading the way. They’d run off ahead, then pause… looking back and waiting till we caught up, then run off ahead again… every so often disappearing to investigate a butterfly or a bush or some faint sound of doggie interest.

    It was nice company to have.