I’ve been living in Shantiniketan for six months now, a decision sped up in light of the pandemic. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who fled the city where access to food and even drinking water were concerns during the first two weeks of lockdown.

Nobel-laureate Rabindranath Tagore shaped Shantiniketan into a place of legends (translated literally as abode of peace). Located a short train ride from Kolkata in West Bengal, India; this university town prides itself in art and culture and borders tribal village land which, even today, is only available to lease (for a maximum of 999 years).

When I first arrived, this new home, along a quiet lane and just moments from an expanse of rice paddies, truly captured that idyllic sense of paradise. Train service from the city was still stalled through lockdown measures, and many tourist-driven businesses remained shuttered. It felt like I’d moved into heaven compared to the urban box I’d been trapped inside of since March of 2020. Here, I could peck around in the garden, watch monkeys and parrots in my backyard, and go on evening bike rides without ever disrupting social distance.

But, quite rapidly, it all began to change. The speed of development in this area has been moving at a shocking rate. Now, tractors filled with construction materials roar by this house one or two dozen times a day. The adjoining park which was a bird watcher’s paradise is now filled with picnickers who turn their bluetooth speakers up to full blast. The iconic red dirt roads that I would ride nearly every afternoon have been expanded, flattened, and black gravel laid down in preparation of paving. A lane behind my home is turning into a development project with vacation homes and hotels popping up by the handful.

In such a short window of time, I can see how my plans to create a peaceful artist retreat/residency must be carefully orchestrated to avoid the crushing pressure of over-development. Recently, after viewing properties to consider for such a space, I was shocked at the price of land, which was far more expensive than what I would expect to pay back in the United States. Making it worse, I later realized that I was in such a state of disbelief, that I mentally removed a zero from the actual price. Even before realizing that mistake, another problem cropped up when the sellers could not produce documents with proof of ownership. I’ve heard of the presence of a land mafia from a few different people now; as well as cheaters trying to sell vacant land that they aren’t the proper owners of; and also tribal lands getting sold when they are only supposed to be available to lease.

All the while, people are buying up land at an alarming rate, shooting its value through the roof and destroying the very essence that this region is celebrated for. A friend was sharing his conversation with some environmentalists who were concerned that the natural water supply here could be depleted within a decade if development continues at such a rapid rate.

This is all very new to me, but I’m jotting these notes down in my journal in case this turns out to be a long-term project. There’s a lot to unwind: growing population, inequitable access to resources, fractured tribal lands, destructive presence of tourists, litter, noise pollution, development, skyrocketing prices, stressed natural resources…not to mention, what it means for me to be a new resident here, a Westerner with access to foreign funds, interested in purchasing land, and therefore a part of the problem (which has me questioning if it is ethical for me to buy into this trend…perhaps it’s time to pack up my dream and consider other locations).

If you have any thoughts or resources on the matter, I’d love to hear about it. While looking at land, I asked the local guide if the sale would be exploitative in any way. He huffed. They want to sell, he insisted. Still, lessons in history tell me these ancestral landowners may profit in the short-term, but stir deep concerns on what it may mean twenty, fifty, one hundred years into the future.

On one of my last days in Ohio, I got to make a final pass down the roads that wind behind my childhood home. Through his husband’s social media, I realized that one of my dearest childhood friends was back in town from NYC, as well as his sister who I’d grown up with since kindergarten. I reached out with the excitement of our schedules overlapping, only to find that the reason for this chance timing to be that their father was nearing the end of his battle with cancer.

Just like the fatherly figure I’d known since kindergarten, Chuck was in high spirits on the day I paid a visit. I didn’t enter his room, but talked through an open window from the back porch. It was only after I left that I realized I had only said ‘hello’ and didn’t actually make any formal goodbye. But then, that ending seemed to be one matching his own optimism.

I didn’t have my good camera with me, but took this snap of his mailbox with my cellphone as I pulled out of his driveway. It was the sole Biden/Harris support I’d seen in all of my time driving around these roads; outnumbered by Trump flags and the occasional foul-language banners.

It made me think of some of the backlash recently launched after the release of Hillbilly Elegy. One of my own fears with documenting these country roads is that I’ll unintentionally fall into the same traps of simplifying a narrative and showing a one-sided perspective of rural Appalachia that reinforces negative stereotypes. And, while I have numerous personal experiences that align with such stereotypes; one should acknowledge that isn’t the only story, and also shouldn’t ignore the deeper, systemic issues that play a role in the heightened presence of poverty and addiction in this region.

As I sat outside of Chuck’s room, catching up with two of my oldest friends, we touched upon what it meant to be raised by these rolling hills where there were often cultural and ideological clashes. For me, it was the presence of this family that helped shape me into the unique form of who I am today. By way of example, I learned about tolerance, equality, and power of authenticity.

Thank you, Chuck, for being a light in this world.

In an unexpected turn of events, my travel documents were rushed through approval by the Indian government and clients from America supported me for a short-notice, short-term portrait season. Nearly half of my time in the US was spent in self-isolation, though I did manage to photograph the backroads surrounding my childhood home.

Below are some of the pictures I made in 2019. I plan to continue adding to this collection every year that I’m able to make a visit back home.