The boy leaned his elbows on the motorcycle and looked back

In the old quarter of Aurangabad, a city in western India, countless narrow lanes weave through a maze of whitewashed walls. The afternoon sun struck the plaster and cast sharp, dry shadows. In one of those alleys stood a boy with a large backpack, the hem of his school shirt untucked. He was probably on his way home from class, leaning casually against an old motorcycle as if waiting for someone.

When he noticed me, he turned his face slightly in my direction. His eyes were difficult to read—half wary, half curious. A mischievous smile played faintly at the corner of his mouth. From deeper within the lane, two men dressed in white were walking toward us, laughing. They seemed to be neighbors. In this part of town, no one is surprised to see a foreigner with a camera; instead, they’re more likely to say, “Take a picture of my kid too.”

Aurangabad was once the capital of the Mughal Empire, a city of great historical grandeur. But in these alleys, that glory feels remote. What remains are the dusty air, the scent of rusted metal, and the hum of present life. Yet, in the boy’s swaying water bottle and the laughter that rippled through the sunlit afternoon, there was a faint hint of the future. Still, he didn’t look like someone burdened by thoughts of tomorrow—most likely, he was just hungry and ready to go home.

Aurangabad on Google Map

Comment via

日本語