No matter how religious you may or may not be, there is something undoubtedly holy about the experience of visiting a fire temple (above). Something in the smoke stained earthy tones of the walls, the gentle glow of the eternal fire, the all-pervasive smell of sandalwood, the people lost in quiet reverence, the reassuring baritone of the priests’ devotion, and the hum of countless quieter prayers and dreams, all add to the feeling of being a part of something ancient, something going on since time immemorial.
Minnie Mama, Grandpa and Mowgli strike a pose, Navroze morning, 2017 (above). This is the last Navroz I remember with my grandmother, frozen in time in her agiary sari, as she begrudgingly obliged me whilst itching to rush home after the morning prayers to prepare a feast for the whole family at lunch…She had just dropped off the ravo she had cooked for us for breakfast.
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