Lohri Photowalk

The air and light have changed. The first day of North Indian springtime. An hour before sunset - our daily walk, to sungaze, to be out of our tiny apartment. I’ve been preparing materials and talking to our publicist all day. The air has no chill, even though we can see the Shavalik foothills of the Himalayas in the distance.

Of course, there is a cow, but I promise myself that I will never try to please you, the viewer and reader, or take a typical shot of anything. My goal with making photographs as it is with writing, is to meet that ineffable thing that resonates in my body when I meet a subject that catches that part of me. The interaction with the isness of the moment is more important than if it is a good photograph, or if it is in focus, or if the writing is worth a damn. Nothing is worth a damn if we don’t take that fluid risk in all things. The cow is foraging amongst rubbish. There is trash everywhere in the Punjab. The further we get from feeling God inside us and pursuing the utilitarian only, the greater the disconnect with earth and self as one.

In front of the new cremation ground, a tree of prayer cloths and images of the gods, which are symbols of the fractals of divinity within ourselves. The are building some new kind of showroom directly next to where the funeral pyres burn. Death and commerce.

Human ashes cooling in a clay pot, wrapped in a cloth. It is the first day of Indian spring. A six-year-old girl who lives in the hut in the cremation ground gives us a guided tour. Namaskar, and Happy Lorhi we say. I place my hands together and bow to death’s young guardian. We talk about the need to dance more as we walk to the woods.

We watch the sun go down flaming orange. The woods at twilight have an almost shamanic way of holding you; they seem to have symbols to show you. We meet a beautiful, innocent man cleaning the pathways in the woods, cleaning the trash and sweeping the leaves from the paths. He has nothing to do, he says, so he comes in here and cleans the paths. We bow to him, I light and place some incense from my bag, and we pour peppermint tea. Sharing fruit and guzzak with him as he lights a fire to burn off some of the collected detritus, happy Lorhi we all say as it catches. We sit togther, he calls us his children, I might be older than him, he tells us to please come and sit here anytime.

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Thank you for your time and attention on these strange days. It means a lot that you would spend some time here with these humble offerings. If you have attention to spare after this:

http://www.authenticliving.life
https://bsky.app/profile/johnsiddique.bsky.social
https://www.youtube.com/@JohnSiddique

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