Thick, sweet air like masala tea. The morning light plays on the glass with cookies. The father of the family is busy cooking rice. The layering is strung together at the moment and multiplies itself. Spontaneous and causeless contact. And it's not about stopping the moment, because time here in India goes before you, behind you and instead of you. This is about the point of entry into infinity, into the experience of the world as a gift, in which there is a place for everything that manifests and inevitably goes away and arises again. It (this point) can be any.

It's about an unpredictable feeling of home that can happen at any moment, like a wandering window suddenly opening in and out at the same time. The meaning is in touch, involvement, in the game. It doesn't stop. You don't enclose the world in a pixel box, you take and let go like a breath.

India, Kolkata