These photos are from a time when I was visiting Delhi in 2011 and met an old friend. I needed a place to stay and he said come over, his family wasn’t in town, they had gone to their village for the holidays…. It felt perfect, I accepted & stayed. We were meeting after a long time so, naturally, he had lots of stories to share, mostly about his own personal journey. But there was something remote about his ‘living space’, as well appointed as it was,  which I found disturbing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It didn’t matter for he himself started unravelling after awhile. That loneliness I felt in the air was real, which led me to explore the house. And in a way, I ended up finding its ‘life’. A photograph of his father, his book collection, the well-kept kids’ room

full of books & toys, the old world interiors, it seemed like every nook had a story to tell. Even the regular winged visitors in his balcony, they were all part of it, live elements, an everyday connection. He and his companions.

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