Varanasi, one of India’s holiest cities, is where people come to die and achieve liberation upon the never extinguished funeral pyres. Directly across on the Eastern bank, it is barren since time immemorial except for those who gather straw and wood for the pyres across the way; and, body parts, like this skull from people who could not afford wood for a funeral pyre. Their body was wrapped, submerged into the river, the swift current taking it downstream, only to be washed ashore, desiccated and to bare witness of the ongoing play of life and death across the river.
I have been taking photographs since I was 7 years old when I took my first self-portrait as a Brownie with a Brownie camera given to me by my father. That was the first of many he would give me including his beloved Leica M3 that I still own. It ignited my passion that led to my career as an award-winning filmmaker. But photography has always been the portal to my soul. It is a meditation – my mind gets still, I lose sense of time and something amazing happens in my capturing a moment – then I get to share it. In the past 2 years I’ve donated 3 landscapes to silent auctions in LA and NYC. All 3 have sold.