I don’t recognize the city in this photo. I don’t recognize the city in front of me. Every day it changes a little bit, changing completely and yet not changing at all.
Everything is jumbled: Everything is new. It’s all the same. I am a stranger. I am at home. I sweat unbearably. I am perfectly comfortable. I want to leave. I want to stay.
In the jumble it all makes sense.
Mumbai, April 2010
I’ve taken to writing (myself) postcards when travelling. I’ve this image in my head, of me, thirty-forty years down the line, going through stacks of yellowing postcards, and thinking about the good old days, a cup of hot chai in hand.