Dying to attain moksha

Dying to attain moksha
“Hindu devotees travel in a boat in river Ganges in the northern Indian city of Varanasi December 15, 2007. Hindus believe that dying in Varanasi and having their remains scattered in the Ganges allows their soul to escape a cycle of death and rebirth, attaining “moksha” or salvation. (INDIA)” (Reuters Daily Photo)

REUTERS/Arko Datta
http://www.reuters.com/news/pictures/slideshow?collectionId=1296&galleryName=24%20Hours
The composition of the boat scene is remarkably beautiful,especially the boat moving in the fog. The sun is downplayed making the sky a big uncertain hole as though it were death itself.

“Moving Sleep” -a photo by G.M.B .Akash

Moving sleep

I have just come across a fascinating photo collection by G.M.B.Akash .In particular I have liked the train pictures .All of them are about people who travel on the train’s roof and on every conceivable space on the train including the precarious chain links between the coaches. Apart from the human interest of the picture above, what fascinates me is the counterpoising of inertness of sleep with the blurry speed of the train ,achieving a kind of death-like effect , the inevitability of the dark tunnel as though it was an intended return to the womb. The man is disintegrating in the vast space-time continuum and the walls of his consciousness have broken apart as he gets sucked into the vastness of empty space.

“I will be your mirror” photo by Abhayah in File magazine

The Mirror
By Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful —
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

Washing the buffaloes on the Chennai beach

Washing the buffaloes
“Washing the buffaloes”- a photo by John Isaac

The picture belongs to the pre-digital camera era.Look at the quality of the light and the sheer beauty of handling the prosaic theme of washing the buffaloes. The sensitivity displayed in the capture of the moment places Isaac among the topmost artists of our time.

http://www.digitaljournalist.org/issue0504/isaac01.html