And when the storm whirls around, you be the dervish that is there.
When the clouds burst through the light, you be the darkness all around
December 13, 2017
Before my father retired and our association with coal came to a silent pause, a time that began with my grandfather in 1946 to my father's elder brother and more relatives (people who had left Punjab in North India to come and work in the rather difficult climate of Eastern India), me and a friend of mine went to all our childhood mines and took as many photos as possible. That childhood was unique wherein though the pollution literally killed many of our kind and this is when we led privileged lives in forested colonies, unlike field workers who lived in more difficult conditions, it still was a childhood lived in eternal wilderness, a wilderness of the dangerous type, where dead bodies were common and strikes prevalent. The small reforested patches were loved by us kids and preferred by small time criminals. So, an exciting time it was.