The old woman suddenly grew serious, scooped up the child who had been playing, and placed him in front of her

Along the banks of the Godavari River in Nashik, India, a bustling market was in full swing. It stood not far from Ramkund, a sacred Hindu site, where pilgrims and merchants mingled in a scene where religion and daily life blended seamlessly together. The air was rich with the scent of spices, and the shouts of vendors selling fruit and fabric rose and overlapped in a rhythmic cacophony. Amid this lively chaos stood the elderly woman and child captured in the photograph.

The old woman, draped in a sari, held a small boy in her wrinkled arms. The child was naked except for a large beaded necklace hanging around his neck—most likely her grandson. When I pointed my camera toward them, the woman’s expression suddenly changed; she straightened up, lifted the child, and placed him in front of her, as if to say, “If you’re going to be photographed, stand properly.” Though Nashik is a land of strict religious observance, there was an unexpected gentleness in her demeanor, a kind of quiet tolerance that seemed to transcend faith itself.

Nasik on Google Map

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