The wind howled. Long and impatient. Icy cold.   The snow hurled itself across the earth and air.   The tiny little fox, snow frozen on it's face, it's brown body standing out in a sea of white, put it's head down but unbowed, walked straight into the snowstorm.   That was a sample of the scenes I had in mind when I finalized my plans to go to Hornstrandir.   The reality was another story.   As our boat made the last turn from where we could see our landing point, we looked a

I have just returned from a trip to Iceland. We had gone to Hornstrandir, a peninsula in the north, to photograph the Arctic foxes in extreme conditions. More about that later, here are a few hastily scribbled notes mostly written while on the trip. The merlin stared back us looking a tad indignant. As if it was wondering what on earth were we doing there.   We stepped back to admire it a little better. The artist had done a superb job in getting the details. And I loved the

Time - this is the third and final installment of my three part series on how I looked at Mara a little differently in my last trip there. You can find the earlier posts, on Space and Colour here and here . The searchlight shines weakly as it swings in a lazy arc before its pale light collapses and gets gobbled up by the dark.   We are returning to camp.   There is a pleasant nip in the air and the breeze has that reassuring coolness that suggests that rain might not be too

This is the second of three posts on what I tried to capture in my last visit to Masai Mara. You can see my first post on my website here . ***** “ Spider webs. Lots of them .”, Antony pointed out.   That’s when I noticed them. Hundreds of spider webs were all around us, carefully stitched between the stalks of the tall grass.   We slowed down, soaking in the simple delight  of the discovery.   The golden brown grass wearing shimmering silk hats, swayed gently in the breeze

I so distinctly remember the feelings, the emotions that I went through the first time I had come to the Mara.   It was a family trip, a long cherished one, a dream that had finally come true after quite a few missteps. I was still a novice with the camera, in the throes of that early excitement of a new hobby and deeply convinced that I will return with some award winning images (Spoiler alert – I didn’t).   But more than the excitement I had about going to this magical plac

I put my camera down.   The scene was too amusing to remain detached and focused on mundane things like composition and carefully considered camera settings.   I was sitting on the ground, right in front of the bungalow I was staying in. In front of me a Lion Tailed Macaque was utterly captivated by an empty coconut shell. It studied it closely. It tried to peer through it. It gnawed at it in various ways. After a while, it seemed to get frustrated that it hadn’t unlocked the

The refreshing coolness of the air was what I first registered as I opened the door and stepped out onto the verandah. The joyous awareness of the musical symphony the birds were creating followed a second later.   That insouciant lad whistling gaily in the happy knowledge of the fact that he is going to be skipping school today ? That was the Malabar whistling thrush.   That pedantic knocking of a labourer going about his daily dreary tasks ? That was the barbet.   Then the

Bloody. Brutal. Horrific.   Every scene around him was just that. One typical war zone scene after another.   His eyes stung from the smoke. He smelt the burnt remains of metal and muscle. His ears rang with the screams of the injured.   Above all that, he felt intense frustration.   He was a photographer who believed that it was his duty to convey the true horrors of the war to the people back home, that it was not a heroic, chest-thumping event, but a terrible event where r

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