From PHOTOWORKSHOP.COM
     
     The Entropy and Extropy of India
     By Michael Sloyer
     Feb  6, 2012, 11:50
     
     
India, a palette of colors splashed and splattered across a gigantic 
canvas, is abstraction personified. At first glance, the chaos and 
crowds confound. Poverty is ubiquitous. Begging is persistent. 
Everything is for sale. Honking is performed liberally amidst a backdrop
 of repressive traffic. The concept of personal space does not exist; I 
cook, you spit, and we just happen to do it in the same place. My 
kitchen is your bathroom. His cricket field is her temple. Our bathing 
ground is their cremation ground. Without explanation, people stare. 
Public toilets are few and far between. But this chaos is only at first 
glance.
     
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      | (c)Michael Sloyer | 
     
   
On second glance, the chaos becomes organized. The crowds become 
endearing. Personal space doesn't seem all that necessary. And suddenly,
 you find that you have 1.2 billion friends. India is a feast for the 
senses, but for the visually and photographically inclined, this 
dramatic country is especially thrilling.
This past November, my father and I embarked on a two week journey 
across India. We set out with one piece of luggage each, an endless 
supply of trail mix, and an intense desire to see, to learn, and to 
experience. We were fortunate to travel with several basic comforts, but
 this did not stop us from traveling with a backpacker's state of mind. 
And as the eastern religions teach us, it is our state of mind, not our 
physical body that is our ultimate reality.
     
        | 
      | (c)Michael Sloyer | 
     
   
We began the journey in Delhi, the nation's capital and the epicenter of
 all things chaotic. Armed with our Nikon DSLRs, we explored and 
captured the narrow streets of Old Delhi where human foot traffic 
competes with tuk tuks, rickshaws, automobiles, vespas, and the not so 
occasional farm animal. From Delhi, we travelled to Agra, the home of 
the Taj Mahal. Given all the hype about the Taj and its status as one of
 the Seven Wonders of the Modern World, I had prepared myself for 
disappointment. Could one building possibly be worth the near death 
experience of traversing the roads from Delhi to Agra? But this 
architectural gem did not disappoint. In fact, it did just the opposite.
 It exhilarated, it provoked, and it inspired. As I entered through the 
famed gateway, I marveled at the symmetry of the four imposing minarets,
 the change in hue of the white marble against the setting sun, and the 
cypress trees lining the reflection pools. The culmination of both man 
and nature was utterly breathtaking. After this rather emotional 
experience, we travelled on to Jaipur, the "pink city" and the capital 
of the semi desert lands of Rajasthan. In Jaipur, we enjoyed the 
opportunity to ride elephants up to the beautiful Amber Fort, explored 
the palaces of the maharajas, and browsed the colorful gems shops that 
seemed to be as omnipresent as the hawkers and beggars.
     
        | 
      | (c)Michael Sloyer | 
     
   
Our next stop was Varanasi, the spiritual heart of India and for us, the
 most visually charismatic. Life in the city began before sunrise as 
thousands of Hindu pilgrims from all over the world headed down to the 
banks of the Ganges River. As dawn broke over the river and the mist 
lifted, we observed in reverence as the devotees performed ablutions in 
the chilly waters. With their emergence from the water came feelings of 
lightness and freedom as they had symbolically washed away the sins of 
their former selves. Between clicks of the camera, my father and I 
managed our own time for prayers and meditation. After sunrise, the ghats
 along the banks burst into action: young Brahmin boys read aloud from 
the Holy Scriptures, wandering Sadhus lined the narrow alleys with their
 begging, and bowls elderly priests marked the faces of pilgrims with 
colorful paints and holy ash. The cremation ghat embraced its role as 
the last sacred stop of this human life; where bodies leave their 
earthly pasts behind and embark on new journeys in the next cycle of 
life.
     
        | 
      | (c)Michael Sloyer | 
     
   
Night time in Varanasi brought a more festive atmosphere, though no less
 spiritually and visually enchanting. The main event was the Hindu Aarti
 Ceremony at the Ganges River ghats. Thousands of pilgrims and other 
visitors watched in awe as the Brahmin priests swung their Aarti lamps. 
The fire lit up the sky and incense smoke soon formed billowing opaque 
clouds. The singing of the Om Jai Jagdish Hare, a devotional song to 
Hindu deities, and the rhythmic beats of the myriad percussion 
instruments combined to create a surreal atmosphere.
From Varanasi, we flew down south to the state of Kerala, where the 
climate is tropical. We explored European fishing ports that felt like 
journeys back in time and spent a night out on a houseboat drifting in 
the peaceful backwaters. We relished the simple yet endless beauty of 
the agrarian landscapes.
     
        | 
      | (c)Michael Sloyer | 
     
   
The last stop on our trip was the rumbling, bustling city of Mumbai. 
Here, one kilometer taxi rides lasted in excess of an hour as frustrated
 drivers unconvincingly claimed that road rage does not exist. We 
explored the hanging gardens, marveled at the arcing promenade (called 
the "Queen's necklace") overlooking the Arabian Sea, and got a peak into
 everyday life for the 21 million residents of the city. We even managed
 to squeeze in a yoga session as we attempted to shake off the chronic 
entropy in favor of a more centered consciousness. Yoga + India = zen.
     
        | 
      | (c)Michael Sloyer | 
     
   
When all was said and done and we had made our way back to the states, 
we reflected on our photos and our memories. The photos told a colorful 
story of an Indian nation, its people and its history. The memories told
 a slightly different story: one of personal growth as well as a deeper 
understanding and appreciation for the diversity of our world.
India photos 
Michael Sloyer 
text and photos (c)Michael Sloyer
   
   
   
     
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