Photography

Photographs

Portraits and places — mostly Hyderabad, mostly available light.

For a while I carried a camera everywhere. What I kept coming back to were faces — strangers who held the lens for a moment — and the old stone of the city around them. A small selection.

Intense. A beggar on a Hyderabad street one evening — light through his white hair, the look of a wise old sage. He turned, caught me aiming the camera, and held still for a few startled seconds: all his anguish frozen in one frame. A reminder that even beggars carry whole stories behind their eyes. — Intense A beggar on a Hyderabad street one evening — light through his white hair, the look of a wise old sage. He turned, caught me aiming the camera, and held still for a few startled seconds: all his anguish frozen in one frame. A reminder that even beggars carry whole stories behind their eyes.

Anger and Tears. A hawker in Kondapur — the very likeness of Mahatma Gandhi — turning angry and teary-eyed the moment he noticed the camera. Black and white. — Anger and Tears A hawker in Kondapur — the very likeness of Mahatma Gandhi — turning angry and teary-eyed the moment he noticed the camera. Black and white.

An Indian Coolie. A coolie — a porter who carries passengers' luggage at India's railway stations, known anywhere by his red turban and uniform. Gopalapuram. — An Indian Coolie A coolie — a porter who carries passengers' luggage at India's railway stations, known anywhere by his red turban and uniform. Gopalapuram.

I don't know my Mother. Suraj Kumar, a child forced into begging. He said he had no food to eat; when I asked where his mother was, he answered, “I don't know my Mother.” Our talk ended abruptly when other beggars noticed and whisked him away. I wish I could have done more than take pictures and feed him. — I don't know my Mother Suraj Kumar, a child forced into begging. He said he had no food to eat; when I asked where his mother was, he answered, “I don't know my Mother.” Our talk ended abruptly when other beggars noticed and whisked him away. I wish I could have done more than take pictures and feed him.

A Small Storm. A little boy crying a river on the street — one of the children forced into begging, undone by hunger. Aspur. — A Small Storm A little boy crying a river on the street — one of the children forced into begging, undone by hunger. Aspur.

Minaret, Framed. A Qutb Shahi minaret glimpsed through a break in the old stone walls, Hyderabad. — Minaret, Framed A Qutb Shahi minaret glimpsed through a break in the old stone walls, Hyderabad.

Carved in Stone. Sandstone carvings for the peak of the Jagannath Temple, Banjara Hills — the work of some sixty stone carvers, receding into shallow focus. — Carved in Stone Sandstone carvings for the peak of the Jagannath Temple, Banjara Hills — the work of some sixty stone carvers, receding into shallow focus.

Alcoholic Anonymous. A man face-down in the gutter, drunk, mid-afternoon — bare feet, worn jeans, the warm stone holding him. Not a verdict, just a man at his lowest, set down here as plainly and as gently as the frame allows. — Alcoholic Anonymous A man face-down in the gutter, drunk, mid-afternoon — bare feet, worn jeans, the warm stone holding him. Not a verdict, just a man at his lowest, set down here as plainly and as gently as the frame allows.

Silhouette at Dusk. A figure in a bobble hat against a rim-lit winter sky, a lone pine and still water behind. Drawn entirely in edges and backlight. Black and white. — Silhouette at Dusk A figure in a bobble hat against a rim-lit winter sky, a lone pine and still water behind. Drawn entirely in edges and backlight. Black and white.

Windswept. Hair thrown across a face by the wind, caught close — all motion and line. Black and white. — Windswept Hair thrown across a face by the wind, caught close — all motion and line. Black and white.

Between Trains. Commuters cross a Caltrain platform between two waiting trains, low winter sun raking the concrete. California. — Between Trains Commuters cross a Caltrain platform between two waiting trains, low winter sun raking the concrete. California.

Reverie. A half-face turned down and inward, hair falling across it, the faintest trace of a smile — caught mid-thought. Black and white. — Reverie A half-face turned down and inward, hair falling across it, the faintest trace of a smile — caught mid-thought. Black and white.

Thunderbird. The Royal Enfield Thunderbird I rode back in India, before California. Those long roads were their own kind of thinking — the bike less a machine to operate than a place to be alone with a question until it answered. A time of finding myself. — Thunderbird The Royal Enfield Thunderbird I rode back in India, before California. Those long roads were their own kind of thinking — the bike less a machine to operate than a place to be alone with a question until it answered. A time of finding myself.