“We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love.”
“Lizzy, you had better be taking care of Hank up there,” I said looking up at the roof during our extremely bumpy bus ride.
“Shirine, the bikes can’t hear you,” Kevin scolded me teasingly.
With an exaggerated sad face I turned to him and said quite seriously, “Kevin, those bikes can understand us, please don’t hurt their feelings.”
“No, no,” he emended, “I meant they can’t hear you over the noise of the road.”
“When you photograph people in color, you photograph their clothes. But when you photograph people in black and white, you photograph their souls!”
Old Delhi, a small section of town that use to be marked by elegant mosques and gardens when the Persian Mughal Emperor ruled in the 17th century is now crowded, run-down, and one of the most chaotic places I have ever been. There are no words to describe it, and no way to capture it through the lens. There are thousands of people (predominately Muslim), food stands, shops, and bike rickshaws fighting to fit through the narrow street. Though I was wearing my scarf over my head (in a faux-burka), I obviously stood out being the only white girl in a sea of Muslim men. I decided to take a bike rickshaw down the street in order to explore from a bit more of a distance, and here is a bit of what I saw.