"Nothing in life is as important as you think it is, while you are thinking about it." Daniel Kahneman The bridge was around ten to twelve feet long. Around three feet wide.   I stood at one end, hands in my pocket, my camera on its tripod, a grimace on my face and a louder one on my mind.   In front of me, lay spread out a wide expanse of rocks. There was a prominent and deep gash right in the middle. White frothy water gushed over this wide expanse of rocks but not as one g

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

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

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

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

I am not sure exactly when this question started bothering me a lot more than it had in the past.   It could have been while I was lost...