They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I would disagree.
My pictures are worth no words. Words desecrate it. A photo is, or suggests something, visually profound. Writing is grammatically and intellectually insightful. Speaking is aurally forceful and animated.
What can I say about this piece that will enhance it? I do not know the significance of it myself. I do not know how the piece would be altered if the man’s arm was left out, if there was Pashupati temple tourist mayhem behind, if there were burning bodies on the right, and street vendors with a colourful array of flowers some 500 metres back in the square.
I remember that I heard the flap of wings, remembered my error in delaying a few days before, brought my camera up, and pressed the button on instinct. The result is no perfect, but it is a testament to that moment. I know that the most critical element was that the birds took flight. If the rest of the composition was perfect, if the boy was a bit further along, the head out of the way, the arm out of the way, and if I had a wider angle to catch the steps leading into the river, what difference would that make to the birds?