"Why are you always in the girl's room?", they ask. Amidst the perfumed clutter that is so unique to the species, she has just woken up. She wants a cup of coffee. I want her. We strike a deal.
Nicotine runs scarce. The long fingers scurry to the pockets for a quick fix. The spot boys run to make tea. A long satisfied silence ensues. Shared with the photographer.
Sunday Morning 7.00 am. At the gates of the Pink City. As the last crease is ironed out, the kodachrome handler yawns. And makes a note with the lens. The iPod shuffles to Nick Drake, as if on cue.
The first day. The last shot. A sudden gust of cool wind interrupts the proceedings. From where I stand, I can be anywhere. But a few miles outside of Jaipur.
