Himmat wants me to write him a poem on ‘child abuse’ but I was reluctant. There are some of the issues that I am not comfortable to speak about; (I wish) some dark memories of my childhood that I could erase or omit. Anyhow, Himmat wasn’t ready to give up and one night, before I could call upon sleep I finished the task. [I am not going to post the poem here, though] but, the next day I recall the photograph.
In one of the caves of Ajanta, at Aurangabad I found the girl sitting with her grim face over the knees. I don’t know who she was, or what saddened her that day but she made a good photograph for me. She remains seated with her auburn hair over the face—grim, stern jaw, pale, and saddened with her back to the luminous, sunshine wall and the stairs.
Note: Initially, when I looked at the photograph it didn’t make an appeal until Himmat forced me, to ‘write’. Few abandoned past gets revived, few get a facelift.