What’s In A Photo?

My daughter Sarah, the doctor, warned me about “Dehli Belly”. What to eat and what not, at what temperature and from where. I took her seriously, but apparently not seriously enough. Suffice it to say it was a difficult twelve hours and a lesson learned.

Somehow I made it to the train station and was safely on board the Vande Bharat Express, Coach E1, Seat 37, bound for Varanasi.

I fell asleep shortly after we departed, waking just in time for the sun’s rising,

and it’s rapid ascent.

A young man was seated to my right, headphones on and playing a video game. I hoped to have a conversation with him when the time was right.

Surprisingly, the ride was pleasant, the gentle rocking back and forth like a child’s cradle. The plain black tea soothing as well.

When breakfast arrived, somewhat late by American standards, I declined, but my young seat mate indulged. His phone set aside, I asked where he was going.

Introducing himself as “Aditya”, he shared that he was traveling to Kanpur, his hometown, where he would visit his grandmother, perhaps for the last time.

As the train swayed on, I learned more.

Aditya was a farm boy, born and raised on the same family farm going back as far as anyone knew. He was studying business in Dehli with a plan to return home and start a commercial nursery.

He’d noticed that I’d taken some photos and asked if he might see them. I obliged, somewhat embarrassed that they weren’t particularly noteworthy.

That’s a shisham, he told me, an Indian rosewood. He explained that the shisham is a common agricultural tree in Uttar Pradesh and often stands alone as a boundary marker or a shade tree.

I showed him another, asking if I could take notes.

He said the yellow in front is sarson - mustard - an important winter crop of North India, grown in low dense field, and behind was winter wheat yet to flower.

Though I didn’t say it, I thought how fortunate I was to have met another wonderful guide, and at no charge.

And another.

Those are raised plots with irrigated water between, usually fed by a small canal or pumped groundwater, typical of the imGangetic plain. He went on to explain that the buildings behind were village housing and the flat roofs are used for drying grain, household work, and sleeping in the summer.

He continued.

The saffron flags in the distance are important, indicating a Hanuman shrine or a small family temple, and the large tree nearby is probably a neem or peepal where the villagers gather to socialize or for sacred events.

Shortly after, we passed a palm tree,

which I thought was odd given how north we are.

Aditya said it’s a khajur, an Indian wild date palm which tolerates cool winters and is common in the Gangetic plain. He added that a lone palm often marks a field edge, a water source, or a lineage holding

Next was a brick kiln, or so I assumed,

but Aditya gently corrected me, explaining that it’s likely an abandoned jute or cotton mill typical of late 19th century industrial plants. He added that Kanpur was once called the “Manchester of the East” for its textile mills and leather factories.

I stopped with that, not wanting to impose any longer on Aditya, and because I needed to nap.

Two hours later we slowed,

approaching Kanpur station where I would soon loose the company of my young friend.

Later we passed what I was certain was a brick kiln, sad that I couldn’t learn more about it from Aditya.

In another hour we stopped for the last time, having arrived at Varanasi,

where there is much to learn.