The faces change. Sometimes nature takes care of the tattered posters, and sometimes a man with a ladder. Old ones resurface printed afresh. New becomes old. Does the city change? Paradigms shift, but does the narrative? The photographs of the billboards essay the live Maharashtra politics.
The smiling faces and the complex science behind the launch of a rocket to the throne in the sky.
As above, so below - Between the sky and the road passes the flyover. A green signal says it is safe to change your course, turn right? Do we drive sober? The man himself, the former chief minister in all white, is almost on top of everything again, but not quite.
The holy trinity stood firm on the same plane in dissent. Now as the crows fly, one leads ahead, and thousands follow upholding their strong fists, and the blessings of the past precedes.
The overpass leans against the sky. The honorable CM ushers the roadies with a smile. Did you know the path? Saw the turn ahead?
The city belongs to the busy roads. The city is of new constructions. Billboards must be changed often to keep up with the pace.
Walkers stride ahead. Gods have many heads, and eyes on everyone. The smile is always youthful.
The former heads are left aside, behind the side road, at the back of the yellow line. Do the eyes turn to see the past? Does the past become invisible in this trade, or sit before a hidden board of chess?
The dish captures the reruns of old news. Little business opens and closes, closes and opens. Faces change. Somewhere one or two old billboards remain. Does the time change beneath the blue sky?