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Hotel room, Chandi Chowk, Delhi
In India I was swept along by flooding crowds and gangs of people challenged me to intense and demanding conversations on street corners and railway platforms. Glimpses of marble palaces and men squatting to shit on the roadside stuffed my mind with images.
I needed solitude. My brain had to sort and reassemble the fragments. Whenever I had a room to myself I sat and thought. Or sometimes just sat. Or scribbled notes and doodled sketches in my notebook — it was my log and my chart; it kept a reckoning of where I had been.
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