maya / माया

Leh November 2024.

Those who know me well, know that I seek out places akin to time travel; spaces folded softly into themselves, stitched together by whispers, stories, and shadows. Walking the crumbling bazaar, the veil between now and then is gossamer-thin, where streets dream aloud and walls murmur forgotten verses. A man gently breathes life into an ancient harmonium, broken notes spilling like secrets at dusk; faded letters rustle silently in the old court, clinging to bulletin boards like leaves refusing autumn; abandoned mansions lean into sunlight, wrapped tenderly in vines that protect their secrets from the prying present. Yet, these quiet wanderings feel like long goodbyes. In these corrupt days, when signs of cruelty bloom everywhere, my nostalgia has become a bittersweet symptom -a yearning to slip from a violent present into a gentler past (or so I think). For I know too well that when I next return, this fragile beauty may be erased, swallowed whole by the ugliness that passes for today’s political fashion.

“I don’t have a philosophy. I have a camera.” – Saul Leiter⁠ ⁠ @thamesandhudson presents a groundbreaking collection of previously unseen images from visionary New York City photographer, Saul Leiter.⁠ Until now, the majority of Leiter’s images that exist within the public realm are those published in the landmark monograph, Early Color, which all but introduced his extraordinary talent to photography enthusiasts some sixteen years ago. Though he also photographed in black and white throughout his career, it is for these revelatory, chromatic images for which he is best known. "The Unseen Saul Leiter" continues in a similar vein, further demonstrating his innate ability to transform fragments of quotidian life into deeply compelling, color images. ⁠ 👉 Hit the link in our bio to read our review.⁠ ⁠ Photos: © Saul Leiter ⁠.⁠ .⁠ .⁠ .⁠ .⁠ #independentphoto #tipstories #nyc #streetphotography #photo #colorphotography #streets #photooftheday #colours #photographer #photoinspo #analogue #photographers #analog #photography #people #photostory #photoseries #colorphoto #vintage #35mm #film #colors #artist #instagram #streetphotographers #style #kodachrome #meistershots #color

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violets shed on the heel that has crushed it ~Mark Twain [Flowers, fate, literature, Aesthetics, Rose, Marigold, Forgive] Do not repost without my permission! For more such content, follow @kriti.mathur99 Shot on @samsung @samsungindia #flowers #flowerphotography #flowergram #aesthetic #aesthetics #jaipur #viral #trending #forgive #forgiveness #flowerlover #ａｅｓｔｈｅｔｉｃ #aestheticindie #indiaclicks #traveling #travel #rose #roses #gulab #marigold #marigoldflower #samsung #samsungphotography #incredibleindia #phool #photo #videography #video #jaipurblogger

just in case you missed yesterday’s announcement ✨due to a growing waiting list, i’ve decided to host another Ladakh expedition - in May 2026. after running 5 sold-out editions over the past 2,5 years, i had planned to take a break to focus entirely on shaping my next two books, but i couldn’t resist. so therefore i’m opening up bookings for May ’26 today! just a heads-up - there are only a few spots left for this May ’26 edition, as several were already snapped up during an early-bird release for those on the waiting list. you find the link in my bio! I hope to see you in the Land of the High Passes in May 2026!

I m always in this waiting for my lover zone wearing nice clothes so you don’t really have to brief me for this .. 😅 For @fabbat__ 💗 Styling @amrit.k.sidhu Concept - @inavpreetgill

the hands are the first to speak, long before the mouth learns its shape— they whisper in the womb, fluttering like moths against the soft red walls of silence. small, blind prophets, they reach out into the amniotic dusk, groping for god, for mother, for the pulse of becoming. before the tongue is ribboned with language, the hands are already fluent in want, in wonder, in the slow architecture of need. they curl not with fear, but with the memory of clay— as though they’ve held the spine of the world once before and now, in this body, ache only to shape it again. there is something ancient in the way they clench, unclench, as if spelling the names of losses no one yet remembers. as if mourning is inherited at the fingertips. as if the soul seeps first into the palm, the heart blooming not in the chest, but in the tender web between thumb and forefinger. how foolish the mouth, that noisy, late-blooming beast— all teeth and stutter— when the hands have already built a language out of gesture, pressure, absence, and said everything without ever needing to be heard.