In the fading light of a Kolkata evening, a street vendor stands quietly with a bouquet of handmade toy parrots in his hands — bright, weightless, suspended in mid-flight. Above him, a flock of real birds, mostly crows, return to their nests in the orange-pink sky. For a brief, poetic instant, it feels as if the man is reaching for the sky — catching the birds or perhaps setting them free.
But behind this gentle moment lies a powerful story of endurance.
This photograph was taken just after one of the strictest and longest lockdowns in the year 2021 during the pandemic, the city had seen. For months, Kolkata’s vibrant street life fell silent. The very soul of the city — its small traders, performers, food vendors, and craftspeople — was pushed into the shadows. Many like this man lost their only source of livelihood overnight. They waited indoors not just for the disease to pass, but for life itself to return.
When he stepped out again with his handcrafted toys, it wasn’t just a return to work — it was an act of quiet defiance, of reclaiming dignity and rhythm. In his eyes, there was a mixture of hesitation and gratitude — the joy of being present again, of making something with his hands, of engaging with the world that had once turned still.
The juxtaposition of real birds soaring above and the artificial birds in his hands became, for me, a metaphor for hope itself: fragile, crafted, and yet capable of flight. The image speaks to the silent strength of those who rebuild not with grand declarations, but with persistence. Who choose to begin again, even when they’re unsure of the outcome.
Wings of Hope is a tribute to the invisible pillars of our cities — the ones who hold us up in times of stillness, and who rise with grace when the world begins to turn again. It is a reminder that hope isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it perches lightly in our palms, waiting patiently for us to believe in its wings once more.
