In my dreams I see myself lying in a grave
And occasional clouds cross over my head in the sky, sound of the wind blow echoes in my ears and then
When awake, Kuchakali (the cemetery worker) with his wheelbarrow passes across my camera frame.
An incarnation of Death, and each time he goes and comes back the feeling grows, now I should think I certainly know that he is the Death, the Death itself.
Kuchakali is worried about photos.
He says: “if the photos are not spoilt, they will be beautiful for sure!!!”