nbhattacharjya nbhattacharjya

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Nilanjana  In Arizona most of the time. I write on music and film and teach at ASU. I take pictures on the sly.

Brombach. I forget the rest of the world for a moment when I stand here.

Brombach, Baden-Wurttenberg. At dusk I watched these flowers unfurl, summoned one by one by an invisible agent.

Brombach, Baden-Wurttemberg.

Brombach, Baden-Wurttemberg. As a child I was annoyed by friends who adored books about horses named Misty. I liked dogs. I like dogs. Today I asked to accompany our friend while he fed the neighbors' horses, who have grown quite fond of him over the last ten days. The moment we walked to the fence, Fritz and Karl bounded toward us with such affection and excitement, as if they were dogs. 33-year-old Annie the pony took her time joining us, as an old pony will.

When we took the boat tour a few weeks ago through the canals, I noticed how the boat's dimensions corresponded to the width and height of the passageways under each bridge. Our boat's ceilings were made of glass, and because we had boarded late, we could not sit near an open window. Amsterdam looked like this through the glass.

Berlin. Last evening, as we were walking home.

Mandarmoni. The painted letters once spelled Hotel Dreamland. At times my head is too crowded to dream, but it's something else entirely to forget that dreams exist at all.

Shankarpur, West Bengal. The wooden stakes had been arranged in a single line to break the waves. Only later had the water and wind added their own handiwork.

Line by line, day by day. I work on one line at a time with the metronome. I start at an agonizingly slow tempo where all goes as it should and only raise the tempo a notch or two after I can play that line as I'd like. Only after I've learned to play that line well at the final tempo do I move on to the next line. When I was young I never had the patience to practice like this. Now I do, though I pity the neighbors. It takes hours. I lose track of time, and it is wonderful. The idea is that if I can play well on the 15 Euro a month rental violin, that returning to my own instrument in a few weeks will be that much easier. Or so I hope.

Dahlem, Berlin. It was a memorial. Somebody had died there at some point, I'm sure.

Berlin. With each day rushing toward summer's end, the miles between where I've been and where I'm going seem to grow heavier.

Shankarpur, West Bengal

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