Every morning on my way to the studio I stop by the same East Village bodega to pick up my sundries for the day and exchange a few words of Hindi with the polite Gujarati brothers who run the place. Sometimes, when I'm using the ATM at the back of the store, I can catch a glimpse of the Krishna shrine set up in the janitor's closet if the door is ajar. I could say I go there for the cheap coffee, because it's on my commute, or because they execute transactions at the register with the deftness and speed of a stockbroker at closing bell, but it's really for the rare peeks of that little Krishna.
My friend Nicole promised me before P. and I moved to India that the place would seep into my bones whether I liked it or not; that it would toy with my psyche, punish my body, crush my spirits, and yet keep me coming back for more.
Nic, you were right.
Pictures above from our adventures up the Assi Ganga River, Uttarakhand, India, October 2010. Part I; Part II. More India posts here.