As I wander through crowded streets, people shoving each other as rickshaws whiz by and cows do their business in my path, I can’t help but think of all the people who come to India searching for inner peace.
I’m having enough trouble finding outer peace; incessantly honking horns and aggressive touts providing a headache-inducing soundtrack.
The pollution is so thick in Delhi I cough black, while some of the country’s most sacred sites — like the Ganges River (Mother Ganga) — have been thoroughly abused (oddly enough through festivals and the Hindu belief that the Ganga is self cleaning).
Beggars are relentless, and your heart will break seeing small children being trained to beg and do tricks for the local mafias, while getting slapped across the face for not performing up to par.
It also made me question the way I travel and the perceptions I felt about where I was.
Was I wrong to feel lucky to live in America where toilet paper and clean drinking water are readily available?
Moreover, as a photographer, it can be hard to put down the camera, and I hoped that people realized that my intentions were purely to capture daily life as it was — the good and the bad — without any “poverty porn” aspirations.
I think back to some of my travel highlights over the years: surfing in Australia
You could wear your favorite sandals without worrying about stepping in fresh cow crap. Instead, my biggest worry was what wine to pair with dinner (vs whether two bites would leave me clinging to the toilet for a week).