Above is the huge dome of the Gol Gumbaz in Bijapur, 44 meters in external diameter, completed in 1656. And that's not even considered 'really old' in India. Even today, it would be an incredible engineering feat. I sketched this amazing sight while sitting under a dilapidated arch, the remains of another ancient but unmarked monument.
Also in Bijapur, this carriage waits to take tourists around the city. That's a mule standing in the hot sun waiting for the next passengers.
An old home in Goa, with intricate wooden carving on the balconies(above). And terracotta tiled roofs in the village of Caranzalem,Goa (below). When the average annual rainfall is 120 inches, you need sloping roofs! I love the sounds of the rain on these roofs.
And this little roadside shrine could be anywhere in India, sitting under a tree, in the middle of nowhere. You'd never imagine someone comes by, prays here, takes care of the tens of thousands of these that dot the country, and yet they are always beautifully whitewashed and freshly decorated with flowers and offerings.
And markets. I love markets. Everywhere I go, I try to visit the local market. The sketch below is made while I sat at a bench at a sugarcane stall in the tiny village of Padel, Maharastra. The lady opposite me waited for a glass of freshly squeezed sugarcane juice, with a bit of lime and ginger added. And while she sat there, the guy next to her bought most of the bag of drumsticks she carried from her. No, not chicken drumsticks, but drumsticks the vegetable.
These colorful stars are sold at a market shop in Panjim, Goa. They're put up on every Goan home at Christmas time, and then they stay up there until they're faded effigies of themselves. The sight of big colorful stars all over town makes me inexplicably happy.
And the people are always a joy to observe, to draw, and to interact with.
This old lady stopped by a roadside cross to say a little prayer, then she kept going.
And this loud little brass band appeared out of nowhere at a church in Caranzalem, Goa, played a few short tunes, and then left.
And below, people walking past beautiful old monuments in Bijapur. Sights they pass everyday. The little red automobile is a 3 wheeler called a tempo. Here, it delivers cooking gas, distributed in metal containers commonly called cylinders.
The title of this piece, From India, With Love, I stole from a documentary film about six Americans, whose life are touched by violence, and who decide to travel to India and bring back with them nonviolent activism to unite and heal their communities. The idea of the movie and the sentiment behind it speaks to me today.
