India, Mumbai or Bombay as some of the locals still refer to it, a place of noise and colour. I think photographing in black and white, stopped everything...just in that moment.

A short walk away from the great Gate of India, near the harbour that my father left for England.

We looked at the people and boats, listening to the chattering laughter and the hawkers passing by.

The pier was secured for a wedding, celebrations for Holi would be in the next few days. The debris in the water bobbed afloat to their own music and glistened with their own coloured lights.

A stray dog rested in the shade of the harbour wall. It was too hot to be out but we carried on walking. The sun glared down, as the beads of swear trickled under clothing.

We took a taxi to somewhere quieter, the window down streaming past the bazars. The only order from the traffic stopped on an unspoken gesture. One hand out and maintaining eye contact people flittered through the traffic. The soundscape of Mumbai, seemed to be horns piercing the blanket of street noise, past the bazars and the once regal houses.

Were we near Chowpatty beach? The flags fluttered in the wind, and the birds flew. Their bodies bold against the sky, spotted ink drops upon a page. 

Fishing boats on the pebbled beach, abandoned by the sea. They looked lost and forlorn waiting for the tide to return. 

The sun shone bright and high, the heat broken by the coolness of the sea. 

I waited and watched.