The Peace of Wild Things


When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry


The gaze

There is just something about the way people back in the village look in the camera. I say in because they don’t look at it but right through it, through your shield and straight into your soul. It’s a disconcerting feeling.


From the archives

“One day I might be the deepest imprint embossed upon your heart; the second, a mere acquaintance and the third, just a fading memory…”

This is a rather old photo I took sometime in 2010 on visit to our native village in Rajasthan. Shot with a friend’s point and shoot (I didn’t own a camera back then; I made do with borrowing), the photo isn’t staged. The woman merely happened to be walking in front of me and when she reached the bower, I knew I had to shoot.