Dave is right… It’s the guy on the left who makes the image. Neha, my charming airbnb host, believes it’s the guy standing, but he’s the bass, not the lead. BTW, Dave is a girl with a boy’s name, and she’s not a girl but a young woman who works as an editor for India’s largest daily. Ten minutes before, the 2 inseparable friends stumbled into the flat; it’s only 9, they’re already drunk and giggling uncontrollably. I took the foto earlier that day in Mumbai’s urban train as it was nearing Andheri station. My station. Andheri (west) is where Neha lives with her boyfriend in a slick apartment dating from the 30s or 40s. The lights are low and we sit on the floor. I sip red wine and the girls argue over where I should buy a piece of leather for my new leather bike grips that came with fake leather from Taiwan. We listen to the Orb and venture to the window sill every 10-15 minutes to smoke that cigarette. The two share panda eyes… ‘I stay up every night and smoke and giggle eyes’. Knackered, Neha vanishes into her bedroom… Dave stays behind a few minutes then retires; I told you, the two are inseparable. I’m left looking at my images; a Mumbai night finally cools, some red wine left in the bottle and there’s the window sill, waiting to be finished.

Yes she’s shy, like so many women in India are. In a 2 by 3 meter brick and dirt cubicle, she lives with her husband and 3 children. There’s no door. On the floor there’s a thin mattress where the 5 sleep. They quibble with the neighbors for space and for no other reason other than to express their frustrations. Yet, a huge fighting spirit resides in the heart of this woman, and she’s proud of the tea she makes for me. I ask her to pose for a photo… I’m intruding her space but I can see that this brings a moment of happiness amidst her life of struggles. Instinctively, like so many women do, she covers her smile with her hands. I’m stunned by the beauty in her eyes. Her husband asks her to bring them down, but I stop him. I want her like this. This is the moment… Disarmed and innocent. She’s perfect. When you live on the edge, the only thing that matters is now.

I’m being chased by 2 Shivas. Around 5, Neeraj picked me up on his scooter and we headed to the main gat in Ujjain for one of the most important Aarti events (fire ritual at sunset) of Khumb Mela… It’s the most auspicious bathing day of the entire festival, and literally millions have been gathering all day along the banks of the sacred Shipra river. Neeraj knows the young priests, we’re in the inner circle. Skinny young holly men draw large circles with fire in the air facing all cardinal directions while drums are being played and the Aarti climaxes with people caressing the flames with their hands and touching their face. I’m left to my own as Neeraj has to rush home. Alone to cross an ocean of 100, 200, 300 thousand people packed in the tiny Ujjain streets. It’s hot, I’m still recovering from my bike ride from Indore, the flu is peaking in my throat and I’m in cold sweat mode, almost shivering. I come across a young boy dressed as a pink Shiva, complete with his trident… ‘Cool’… After a few photos, his twin appears, this time it’s the blue version, smaller, but much more aggressive, like they always are. They both begin to whip my bald head with long broom like things which is a sort of blessing; ‘there, I’ve blessed you, now give me money’… Within seconds, they’re chasing me down Ujjain, amidst a tightly packed crowd of thousands of festival goers and obviously, these thousands of people all have eyes, all keenly focused on the bald sweaty white guy being chased by twin Hindu deities, one blue and one pink, screaming Money Money Money. Thus begins the weirdest 10 minutes of my life. Relentless, they won’t give up… Money Money Money!!! This is not happening… This is not happening. They’re like two little machines; unstoppable, un-exhaustable and un-lostable. A normal person would have stopped after 10-20 meters. If I stop, they’ll just hit my bald head a million times with that broom thing saying Money, Money, Money with identical gusto… I’ll look even more ridiculous. Obviously, it’s easy to spot the bald white man, the only white man, at the event. A kilometer of about 100 Money Money Money later, I finally reach a police post… The Shivas vanish.