munity at the station. Beggars scooting on boards, rats running between peoples legs: they live there. The vividly turbaned family having tea on the far quai, the young entrepreneur refilling â€œbottled waterâ€? from a tap on the far platform, presumably for resale. I had earlier refused a bottle that had the security cap broken. Young boys hound me for money. Suddenly an american woman scurries up to me and asks if I will have a conversation with her. She is concerned about some young men following her around. She travels solo and films, this time recording a documentar y on India with her handheld camera. She saw a white male and sought refuge in my company. Who am I? Can I really offer
her protection? Why trust me more than any other person? The color of my skin? I had no understanding of the meaning of minority until 15 years ago when I was the only white skinned person alone in a city in China and now, one of two whites on a train platform in India I was getting a refresher. Two completely different anonymities O'Hare and Agra. One, I am alone in a sea of white disappearing in the crowd. The other, alone in a sea of brown, but standing out like a strobe light drawing attention to a pawn shop. Not even the woman throwing her blind trust at me knows my name.
Family time by Jim
Below: Charles Thomas, Lassie, Natasha & Pam Thomas on their ranch in September 2007 living the country life.
Above: Richard Sienko, Morgan, Donna Sienko, Susan. Our families spent the last week of summer wandering the beautiful neighborhoods of Vancouver, BC, doing what we like best, dining, reading, shopping and drinking coffee in various cafes.
Published on Jan 12, 2008