“Why can’t you come and live with me?”, my daughter asks. “Frankly, I cannot see the charm of being forced to huddle indoors six months of the year, with nothing but the sound of wind rattling the windows for company.” She cannot understand why someone would choose to spend winters in a place with frozen water-pipes, smoky wood fires and frost-bitten cheeks.I am happy that my daughter has escaped to the plains- free forever from the harsh winters of Ladakh. I am happy for her, but I can never join her. This is my Home. Nobody willingly chooses Exile.______When I train my lens on someone, it is not the face that I attempt to capture- it is the story that lies behind the face. Stories of hope and courage. Stories of loss and betrayal. Stories Stories of passion; stories of emptiness. Stories of the commonplace; stories of the exceptional.
Yes, Every Face has a Story to Tell.
