This is not just a story of capturing moments—it's a testament to the human spirit, a chronicle of unlikely relationships formed on dusty streets and narrow alleys, and a soul’s transformation through the simple act of noticing. What began as a casual stroll evolved into a profound connection between an individual searching for solace and a vibrant community resilient in the face of adversity.
An Accidental Beginning: The Morning That Changed Everything
In a city like Kolkata—where chaos and poetry share the same air—life brims with countless untold stories. Hidden beneath the din of honking rickshaws, the scent of boiling chai, and the murmur of crowded streets, are moments so profound they slip by unnoticed to the unseeing eye. On one such morning, the skies wore their usual haze, the air heavy with anticipation of another day, and amidst it all, a woman set out on a quiet walk—her feet moving without urgency, her mind cloaked in a fog of personal unrest.
She carried no map, no agenda, only a vague yearning to feel less disconnected. Her camera—never an accessory, always an extension—hung by her side, more out of habit than intention. It was a day like any other, until it wasn’t. Rounding a familiar bend in the road, she encountered a scene that arrested her mid-step—a cluster of women, radiant in saris sunlit and vivid, laughing as they went about the simple task of drying laundry.
The ground beneath them was damp from rinsing, their hands rhythmically flipping bedsheets over fences and tree branches. Yet it wasn’t the activity that caught her—it was their uncontained joy. Their laughter was unselfconscious, ringing through the alley like birdsong, slicing through the din of a typically bustling Kolkata morning. It was a moment suspended in time, where routine labor transformed into something strangely luminous.
A Scene Etched in Light and Memory
There was something sacred about that ordinary moment. The juxtaposition between their surroundings—makeshift brick walls, fraying garments, uneven pathways—and the electric happiness in their faces created a striking dissonance. These women, though clearly acquainted with struggle, held themselves with unmistakable lightness. It wasn’t denial. It wasn't a performance. It was something deeper: the resilience to find celebration in the everyday.
And in the woman watching—lost herself in a fog of private challenges—something stirred. She felt compelled to witness, to hold that moment still. With an almost involuntary movement, she raised her camera and clicked. It wasn’t staged or curated. The impulse came not from artistry, but from an emotional reflex. That single frame would become the genesis of an experience far larger than she could have foreseen—a connection that would grow beyond borders, languages, or social constructs.
She didn't speak to them that day. The interaction was fleeting. But the image stayed with her long after she returned home, lodged like a seed. It wasn’t just the aesthetics of the scene that moved her—it was the energy, the authenticity, and the stark realization that joy could still erupt like a monsoon in the middle of scarcity.
The Ripple Effect of an Unplanned Encounter
Days passed, then weeks, and she kept thinking of the women. It wasn’t guilt or pity that pulled her back—it was curiosity, and a kind of magnetic gratitude. That morning had offered her something she hadn’t felt in months: vitality. The city she thought she had outgrown suddenly felt fertile again, full of unspoken promise.
So she returned. At first cautiously, unsure if they would remember her. But they did, not by name or background, but by presence. Over time, visits became regular. Conversations bloomed—halting at first, stitched together with gestures and smiles. Trust took root in the little things: staying back to sip tea from chipped clay cups, listening without a notepad, remembering names. There were no declarations, no dramatic overtures. The connection grew in the same way moss claims stone—softly, persistently, and with quiet purpose.
What she had encountered that day was not an image waiting to be captured, but a living portrait of dignity. These women were not waiting to be saved or elevated. They were simply being. And in a world so eager to categorize and narrate others, their unfiltered way of existing offered something incredibly rare: perspective. The spontaneous encounter became a threshold—ushering in not only a new way of seeing the city, but a deeper understanding of kinship without condition.
Moments that Redefine Meaning
As the relationship matured, she began to understand the layers beneath that laughter—the hardships endured, the families supported through tireless work, the traditions preserved through generations. But what remained extraordinary was how joy still thrived amidst these complexities. The original image she had taken was no longer just a beautiful picture—it became a symbol of endurance, of spirit that doesn’t shrink even in difficult soil.
This experience began to reshape her own life. Long battling illness, drained by the weight of expectations she could no longer meet, she had been searching for something intangible. Writing—once her creative anchor—had become an uphill battle, its demands too steep in her current state. But these encounters gave her something different: not the pressure to produce, but the permission to simply feel. The ability to witness and respond emotionally, without having to intellectualize it, became a healing balm.
What that morning walk gifted her was not just inspiration—it was human contact in its most sincere form. It was the rediscovery that meaning doesn’t have to be manufactured through effort. Sometimes, it arrives unannounced in the most mundane corners, asking only that we pause long enough to receive it.
And so, the moment that began as a quiet click of the shutter grew into a calling. Over time, she captured countless vignettes of this community—celebrations, daily chores, rites of passage—all treated with the same reverence as that first image. Not because they were picturesque, but because they mattered. Because they were real.
From Observation to Relationship: Witnessing with Purpose
What began as a simple act of noticing gradually transformed into a tapestry of meaningful connection. The initial draw was subtle—a flicker of emotion stirred by an unguarded moment of joy. There was no overarching objective, no preconceived mission. It was instinctual, like being quietly summoned by something familiar yet unknown. The women she encountered were not spectacles of hardship or symbols of socio-economic imbalance; they were human anchors in an otherwise drifting emotional landscape. Their laughter didn’t just echo in her ears—it reverberated deep within, awakening a longing that had remained buried beneath the weight of personal trials and urban detachment.
In Kolkata, a city of striking contrasts and relentless motion, moments of sincerity are both precious and elusive. And so, she returned—not for material or documentation, but for something far more elusive: presence. Her approach was not intrusive. There were no questions asked through glass, no hurried clicks from a distance. She moved slowly, allowing herself to become part of the environment, learning the cadence of their routines, the humor in their banter, and the gravity in their silence.
With time, the initial spark of curiosity evolved into an unspoken bond. No titles, roles, or labels defined their interaction. She was neither outsider nor insider, yet accepted without reservation. Invitations came not with formality, but with warmth: "Come, Didi, there’s a wedding." Or, "There’s a puja tomorrow morning." These requests were less about the desire to be photographed and more about including her in the rhythm of life—a subtle acknowledgment that she had become part of the extended family of the street.
Moments Grown Over Time
True relationships cannot be rushed. They unfold with deliberate slowness, like the steeping of strong tea—time-bound yet timeless. In this case, the transformation occurred not over days or weeks, but across seasons. Every return visit brought new layers of understanding. Names were not just memorized—they were felt. Stories were not only told—they were lived alongside her.
Conversations meandered from the mundane to the deeply personal. Births were announced with excitement; deaths mourned with communal grief. During festive occasions, she was offered the first spoonful of halwa, the front-row view of dance rehearsals, the inner circle of preparation. Children would pull her by the hand to show off schoolwork or new sandals. Elders would speak to her with affection, their stories heavy with history and weathered with time. And always, there was the chai—milky, sweet, and ever-flowing—a symbol of welcome that transcended language.
But it wasn’t just about her integration. It was about learning to observe differently. Each gesture became a narrative; each face, a chapter. Over time, the superficial gave way to the profound. The women who first appeared simply joyful were revealed to be pillars of resilience—managing families, facing bureaucratic neglect, surviving illness, nurturing dreams. Their lives, often reduced to statistics in civic records, now stood as full-bodied narratives of strength, pride, and perseverance.
Beyond the Frame: A Dialogue Without Words
There’s a certain sacredness in being trusted to witness someone’s life. That trust cannot be taken for granted or wielded carelessly. What emerged from this experience was not just a portfolio of visuals—it was a living, breathing archive of shared moments, glances, rituals, and spontaneous intimacies.
She learned quickly that the lens was not a barrier; it was a bridge. It allowed her to listen when words failed, to honor without intrusion, to preserve without manipulation. The power of these visual encounters lay not in aesthetics, but in authenticity. The images were not curated stories but reflections of genuine life—messy, joyful, sorrowful, and whole.
What stood out the most wasn’t what could be seen, but what was felt. A mother smoothing her daughter’s braid before school. A grandmother swatting flies away from rising dough. A child’s cheek pressed to her shoulder as she listened to elders speak. These weren’t monumental events; they were fragments of life that, when stitched together, told stories larger than any single frame.
In these moments, she was not crafting narratives—she was participating in them. Her presence, once hesitant, became a familiar silhouette in the daily landscape. The community began to recognize her not just as someone who came with a lens, but as someone who cared. That quiet loyalty created space for the rarest thing of all: unfiltered truth.
The Language of Trust and Shared Humanity
The more she returned, the more she realized that what she was witnessing was not exclusive to one community or geography—it was universally human. It was the desire to be seen, not for how one appears, but for who one is. In these alleys of weathered brick and clotheslines fluttering like flags, she found a community that offered that recognition freely, without reservation or performance.
Even in the most difficult conversations—those surrounding illness, injustice, or despair—there was always an undercurrent of courage. The stories were never delivered with self-pity. They were recounted with acceptance, humor, and often, quiet pride. And in receiving those stories, she herself began to heal.
The city she had once felt estranged from began to feel like home again. The community she had met by chance became a constellation of emotional anchors. And the process of returning again and again became a rhythm of its own—a kind of spiritual routine, grounded in mutual respect and quiet joy.
This was not a study in contrast or commentary. It was a dialogue between hearts—one that needed no translation. It was about capturing life not as an observer perched on the outside, but as a participant immersed in its fullness. And through that immersion, she discovered that purpose doesn’t always arrive wrapped in clarity. Sometimes, it whispers through the alleyways of a forgotten city, asking only that we stop long enough to listen.
A Gift Returned: Sharing the Joy Through Prints
In a world dominated by the flicker of screens and the ephemerality of digital feeds, something extraordinary happens when a moment captured is handed back in tangible form. A printed photograph—once a commonplace artifact—has, in today’s hyper-digital era, become a relic of intimacy. When she returned to the community carrying small envelopes filled with these prints, she wasn't just offering images—she was giving back moments, frozen in time, wrapped in paper and sealed with quiet affection.
The reaction was immediate and overwhelming. Eyes widened, hands trembled, and mouths broke into spontaneous laughter and tears. For many, this was the first time they were holding a physical image of themselves or their loved ones. These weren’t professional headshots or posed family portraits—they were honest glimpses of everyday life: women laughing in the sun, children at play, elders engaged in prayer or conversation. The essence of their lives, once fleeting and undocumented, had been captured and returned.
What unfolded was not just a reunion between subject and image, but a ritual of connection. The prints were passed from hand to hand like sacred objects, admired, examined, cherished. Mothers tucked them into the folds of their saris, beaming as they showed neighbors. Children squealed with delight, racing each other down narrow lanes to find the people in the photographs. Elderly women pressed the images to their foreheads, murmuring quiet blessings. Each print, modest as it was, became a powerful symbol of recognition.
Reclaiming Identity Through Tangible Memory
For people often marginalized or dismissed in wider narratives, these printed photographs became more than keepsakes—they became validation. In these communities, where documentation is typically bureaucratic and impersonal—ration cards, voter IDs, utility bills—a photograph taken with empathy and returned with care carries profound emotional weight. It says, “You were seen. You mattered. This moment was yours, and now it belongs to you.”
This experience shifted the dynamic entirely. No longer was the lens a tool of observation—it had become a conduit for exchange. The photographer was not simply capturing; she was participating in the cycle of memory. And through the act of gifting these moments back, an organic reciprocity bloomed.
Many recipients placed their prints in sacred spaces—on altars beside deities, within glass cabinets among family heirlooms, or behind plastic sheets in old albums they had kept for years but never filled. Others carefully wrapped them in cloth, storing them in metal trunks passed down through generations. In homes made of modest materials, these images became treasures of permanence—a defiant reminder that their stories were worth preserving.
A Bridge Built with Gratitude and Grace
The gesture was never designed to be grand. There were no speeches, no announcements, no formal ceremonies. She arrived with humble packets, handed them out quietly, and sat beside those who wished to talk about them. Yet the impact was seismic. The gesture transformed not just how the community saw her, but how they saw themselves. In those small 4x6 prints, they found affirmation.
This bond, formed not through charity but through shared human experience, deepened with every return. The prints became conversation starters and, sometimes, closure bringers. One woman wept while holding the last picture ever taken of her mother. A child proudly introduced his father through an image, declaring, “This is him before he went away for work.” People who had never owned a photograph of themselves now had a fragment of their own narrative to hold on to, to show their children, to keep as legacy.
It is easy to forget the emotional power of a printed photograph in an age when images vanish as quickly as they appear. But for this community, prints did what no screen ever could—they endured. And in their durability, they restored dignity and sparked joy that couldn’t be swiped away.
The Intimacy of Return: Memory as Gift, Not Transaction
One of the most striking aspects of this unfolding story was how the act of return changed the relationship between the observer and the observed. No longer defined by socio-economic boundaries, the connection became one of mutual appreciation. The community, who once stood in front of the lens, now looked the photographer in the eye with affection, trust, and familiarity. They invited her into their celebrations, asked her to witness their milestones, and even sent word when someone in the neighborhood fell ill or got married.
The physical return of photographs had unshackled the narrative from the photographer’s hands. The images no longer lived only in hard drives or galleries—they now breathed within the walls of homes, woven into the community’s daily rituals. They were stuck to refrigerator doors, placed under glass tabletops, pinned to wooden cupboards. The act of returning prints became a collective ceremony of memory-sharing, each instance reinforcing the belief that lives, no matter how seemingly ordinary, are deserving of remembrance.
This wasn’t about nostalgia. It was about rebalancing. About returning a story to the person it belonged to. And in doing so, it brought something back to the photographer as well—a renewed sense of purpose, a grounding, and a clearer understanding that documentation without dialogue is hollow.
Silent Strength: Capturing Humanity with Compassion
Some of the most resonant stories are those never intended to be told. They emerge organically—rooted not in intention but in presence. As time unfolded within the close-knit lanes of a resilient Kolkata community, the real themes of this evolving journey began to crystallize. There was no plan to articulate perseverance, no checklist to document resilience or communal grace. And yet, there they were, forming naturally in the contours of each shared moment, each spontaneous interaction.
These individuals—women balancing water containers on their heads, boys racing barefoot through alleyways, elders chatting in the mellow warmth of late afternoons—carried histories shaped by hardship, yet rarely spoken with bitterness. Their lives weren’t marked by grand proclamations or monumental shifts but by quiet, persistent acts of endurance. It became evident that strength here wasn’t loud. It didn’t announce itself. It moved softly, like steam rising from chai on an early morning stove.
The smiles weren’t curated for visitors, and the warmth wasn’t offered for applause. Hospitality wasn’t a gesture—it was a cultural instinct. And this realization, subtle yet profound, began to shift everything.
Learning to See Beyond the Surface
For the woman behind the lens, what began as an accidental encounter grew into a subtle but transformative realignment of how she engaged with the world. Initially caught in a difficult season—marked by illness, creative drought, and emotional isolation—her inner landscape mirrored disconnection. But as she returned again and again, drawn less by project and more by instinct, she began to see beyond the surface. What she found wasn’t despair—it was grace wrapped in everyday living.
There were no dramatic stories waiting to be captured. No performances for attention. Instead, there were meals cooked over open fires with neighbors leaning in for conversation. There were clothes washed and dried in communal spaces where song and laughter accompanied the labor. There were shared rituals, old jokes, secret dreams, and, above all, a reverence for the small joys in life.
This way of being—rooted in interdependence, rhythm, and quiet resilience—offered her a mirror. In watching them, she found space to breathe again. Her struggles, though still real, seemed less insurmountable. The clarity she had been seeking through solitude arrived, instead, through empathy. By simply observing others carry their lives with grace, she slowly rediscovered her own footing.
Surrendering Control to the Flow of Life
One of the most significant shifts was learning to relinquish the need for structure. There were no storyboards, no preconceived notions, no lists of visual goals. Each visit unfolded on its own terms. If there were themes, they emerged not from strategy but from stillness—from being open to whatever each day brought.
In a world saturated with narratives bent on framing others within convenient categories, she embraced unknowing. She didn’t seek to define what she was seeing. Instead, she allowed herself to dwell in the ambiguity. And from that ambiguity arose clarity—the kind that cannot be orchestrated but must be experienced.
Whether she was watching a widow teaching her granddaughter how to fold a dupatta, or standing silently beside a grieving family during evening prayers, she let life lead. Her only commitment was to be present, to feel deeply, and to reflect that emotional honesty in every image she made. Over time, this surrender to process became a spiritual act. One that invited humility and recalibrated her sense of what truly matters.
When Humanity Speaks Louder Than Circumstance
What echoed most through this prolonged interaction was how effortlessly dignity held its ground amid adversity. The families she spent time with had endured evictions, systemic neglect, personal loss, and economic fragility. And yet, none of them wore victimhood. Instead, they radiated a grounded strength born from community, routine, ritual, and generational wisdom.
Their lives were not embellished with luxuries, yet they overflowed with richness—of memory, belonging, humor, and hope. A woman sweeping the courtyard at dawn sang a song her grandmother used to sing. A young boy recited verses from school with unmatched pride. An old man, nearly blind, still carved toys from wood scraps for his grandchildren. These acts, though small, spoke volumes. They were declarations of identity and joy that required no language to be understood.
It was here that the concept of “silent strength” took on its truest form. This strength was not forged through defiance but through softness, continuity, and the quiet rituals that give meaning to even the most uncertain days. The more time she spent immersed in this way of life, the more she found herself releasing the narratives of her own suffering. She realized that healing often does not announce itself in grand gestures. Instead, it drips in slowly, like light through a lattice window—accumulating with every genuine moment shared.
Crossing Boundaries: Unlikely Friendships and Quiet Moments
In a country as intricate and paradoxical as India, where social identity is often predestined by birth, and interaction is heavily colored by class, caste, and privilege, friendships across these invisible boundaries are rarely straightforward. They are often shaded by history, hierarchy, and deeply rooted cultural assumptions. Yet, sometimes, amid the rhythm of routine and the honesty of presence, a gentle unraveling begins—dissolving not the boundaries entirely, but softening them enough to allow something rare to grow: connection.
When she first stepped into that Kolkata neighborhood—a dense maze of uneven pavements, corrugated tin roofs, and sari-draped verandas—she was clearly an outsider. Her clothes, her manner of speech, her silence, all marked her as someone from “the other side.” And yet, she returned—not with spectacle or agenda, but with regularity and sincerity. Over time, the unfamiliar edges of her presence began to smooth into something more familiar. The women stopped glancing; they started waving. The children no longer stared; they giggled and beckoned. And just like that, an unexpected community began to form around her.
The initial hesitations faded slowly. She didn’t ask too many questions, nor did she try to insert herself into stories. She simply showed up. She drank tea when offered, listened when spoken to, stood back when needed, and laughed when laughter floated in the air. It was this consistency, this refusal to either withdraw or dominate, that made space for a bond to take root. And in that space, the rigid roles of ‘observer’ and ‘observed’ began to dissolve.
The Language of Everyday Belonging
These friendships were not the kind shaped by similar life paths or shared worldviews. They were forged in small, daily rituals—the rituals of proximity, of kindness, of noticing. Children would dash out with hands smeared in ink, eager to share what they'd drawn. Vendors saved her the best bananas, tucking them into her bag without a word. Women gestured for her to sit with them in the late afternoon sun, no explanation needed. These weren’t acts of performance. They were authentic extensions of inclusion—intimate without being invasive, warm without being overwhelming.
Her phone began buzzing with invitations. “Come today, it’s Laxmi Puja.” “Didi, bring your camera—my sister is getting married.” “We have made samosas, come taste.” These weren’t ceremonial requests made for politeness. They were offerings of genuine companionship. While the social hierarchies remained—they always do—the human relationships that developed within them created their own equilibrium.
She was not “one of them” in the traditional sense, but she became something perhaps more significant: a part of their fabric. The children nicknamed her Photowalli Didi—not just because she carried a camera, but because she listened with her eyes, and gave back the gift of presence without asking for anything in return. That name followed her down alleys, across rooftops, even in her absence.
A Tapestry of Ongoing Connection
Though time passed and life shifted, the bond never unraveled. She eventually returned to her home abroad, but the messages never stopped. A new baby’s name was shared before it appeared on a birth certificate. Losses were conveyed with trembling voice notes. Exam results, illnesses, dreams, disappointments—all were transmitted across oceans with the ease of emotion unburdened by distance.
The girls she once photographed carrying buckets of water are now entering adulthood. Some are learning skills. Others are teaching their younger siblings how to read. Many still remember the days she stood quietly in the background, camera lowered, eyes attentive. The images she gave them now sit in drawers, frames, books—memories preserved with pride. And she, though no longer physically there, continues to be a part of their growing-up story.
The digital bridge between them—WhatsApp messages, forwarded selfies, blurry videos of community events—sustains a connection that never truly frays. In a way, the distance made the bond stronger. It transformed from the physical into the spiritual, proving that proximity isn’t always measured in footsteps. Sometimes, it’s felt in the heart’s constant tug.
Friendship Without Labels, Kinship Without Conditions
What makes these relationships so poignant is their refusal to conform to easy definitions. They were never equal in the way textbooks might suggest equality. She had resources they didn’t. They had resilience she didn’t. But what neither side did was weaponize that imbalance. There was no condescension, no performance of gratitude, no obligatory exchange. Only kindness, freely given and gratefully received.
In a social landscape that often divides people based on accent, address, or ancestry, what she shared with this community was something much rarer: kinship that bloomed outside conventional boundaries. A friendship not forged in shared identity, but in shared dignity. And that, in itself, was revolutionary.
These moments reminded her of the essence of belonging. Not the kind dictated by legal documents or property lines, but the kind you find when someone saves you a seat, hands you a bowl of food, or sends a message just to ask how your day was. The kind of belonging that is unspoken, deeply felt, and never taken for granted.
Healing in Focus: The Personal Power of the Lens
For someone facing health challenges, creativity can become both a lifeline and a battleground. Writing, once her primary form of expression, felt impossible—too demanding, too silent. But the camera required something different. It asked only for presence, attention, and heart. It rewarded immediacy. It bypassed intellectual hurdles and accessed emotion directly.
Each image taken became a small act of recovery—a step away from internal chaos toward outward engagement. There was solace in the click, in the framing, in the stillness between moments. The process wasn’t about perfection. It was about continuity. Creation replaced contemplation. Observation eclipsed anxiety. Her lens didn’t just capture life—it reintroduced her to it.
This journey wasn’t about artistic acclaim. It was deeply personal—a quiet rebellion against despair. Through documenting others, she was gently rewriting her own narrative.
Looking Forward: A Chapter Closed, A Story That Lives On
Every story has an arc. And while this particular project has reached its natural conclusion, its resonance continues. There will always be returns to Kolkata, spontaneous reunions, more cups of tea on doorsteps, and of course, requests for pictures. But the core body of work feels complete—like a chapter that ended not with fanfare, but with quiet fulfillment.
Yet, creativity does not retire. It evolves. New stories may find her, just as this one did—uninvited but deeply welcome. She is not seeking the next project. She is simply staying open. Open to joy, to sorrow, to humanity, to light.
The photographs remain—stitched into an ever-growing visual memoir, a testament to shared lives and moments that might have otherwise gone unremembered. They whisper stories of belonging, resilience, spontaneity, and grace. And through them, the memory of that morning walk—when joy cracked through the heaviness—will always endure.
Final Thoughts:
As this visual odyssey draws to a natural close, what lingers is not just a collection of photographs, but a tapestry of lived experience—woven from gestures, glances, shared silences, and spontaneous laughter that echoed through crowded alleyways and humble homes. What started as a personal act of escape unfolded into a deeper revelation: that the act of truly seeing another human being, without expectation or agenda, is itself a kind of healing.
In those vibrant lanes of Kolkata, surrounded by the scent of soap, the chatter of children, and the rhythm of daily labor, something ancient and human was rekindled—a sense of mutual recognition. Through these interactions, through the deliberate slowness of returning, engaging, and giving back, a relationship was built not on documentation, but on shared presence.
The individuals captured in those images are not anonymous subjects of socio-economic contrast. They are sisters, mothers, laborers, caretakers, and storytellers in their own right. Their dignity shines not despite their conditions, but in how they navigate them—with fortitude, tenderness, and unmistakable pride. Each photograph reflects that strength, becoming not just an artistic expression, but a mirror of the interconnectedness that binds us all.
For the photographer, this journey was never about completion. It was about connection. And while the series of images may be considered finished in the traditional sense, the essence of the work is alive—echoing in continued relationships, in heartfelt digital messages, in memories that resurface during quiet moments. Even now, across oceans and time zones, the bond remains intact.
What this experience reveals is simple yet powerful: empathy does not require common backgrounds, and healing does not always come from solitude. Sometimes, it arrives in the unlikeliest of places—on a street where clothes are drying, where children are playing, where lives unfold in plain view, without apology or disguise.
This was never just a photo project. It was, and remains, a tribute—to resilience, to kinship, and to the gentle reminder that in seeing others, we often find ourselves. And perhaps that’s the most enduring frame of all.
