I had, on earlier occasions, noticed this growing slum in passing, but never really put much thought to it. Perchance, it was a cancelled meeting at a factory very nearby and the fact that I was carrying my Camera Kit that gave me the opportunity and the temptation to explore. I parked the car .. and roamed about the putrid, muddy, (I wouldnt even call it a) shanty town. The so called houses are just mud and stones slapped together.
This place is mostly inhabited by Pukhtoons who fled their homes and farms and villages, when the Taliban took over. They are mainly from what is now called KPK Province and the Swat Valley. They have bee
With every passing day, as I walked the streets of Vietnam, it became more and more clear to me, that there was a greater commonality to these portraits of the elder women of Vietnam, than simply their stoic countenance, their quiet pride and the “something missing” in their eyes. Eyes are the mirror of the soul and the reflection shows something vital has been wrenched from the very essence of their life, something has been lost forever
These women are survivors, and what they have lost has come at the price of survival. They are survivors of a war that decimated Vietnam's infrastructure and economy. A war in which an estimated
JUNO AND THE PEACOCK
The peacock came to see Juno, because he could not accept with equanimity the fact that the goddess had not given him the song of the nightingale. The peacock complained that the nightingale's song was wondrously beautiful to every ear, while he was laughed at by everyone as soon as he made the slightest sound. Juno then consoled the peacock and said, 'You are superior in beauty and superior in size; there is an emerald splendour that shines about your neck, and your tail is a fan filled with jewels and painted feathers.' The peacock protested, 'What is the point of this silent beauty, if I am defeated by the sound of my