The day I took this photo wasn’t exactly extraordinary. It was a Saturday, and I was covering my college’s sports tournament, taking pictures of the matches. My friend played; they won the semi-finals but eventually lost the final. Still, it was a good match.

I remember my mom called me a few minutes before semi-final match ended. The results of the state election were supposed to come out that day. Just as the timer rang, signaling the end of the match, cheers erupted as my friend’s team celebrated their win. At that same moment, my mom said, “You lost.” The party I voted for had lost.

That single moment is one I will never be able to forget: the sheer contrast of an incredible victory and, at the same time, a great loss. I had voted with so much hope for my state, but alas, that memory which could have been purely joyful was now forever tainted.

Later in the day, I met my mother, and we went to the Yamuna. The sun was setting, and the scene was breathtaking. I carried my camera along to the ghat. Where I should have seen ducks, geese, and swans, I only saw crows. Where there should have been a mirror of the blue sky and the beautiful clouds, I saw only paper floating on the water.

Someone had come to the Yamuna, witnessed the beauty of nature, and decided to “leave their mark” and go. Standing there, I wondered when our land became so careless, so unbothered, so desensitized to what was around us. I wondered while looking at the Yamuna. I wonder when I think of our voters. I wonder when I see starving children in a genocide.

And in that moment, it all felt the same- how every loss, every careless act, every silence leaves a stain that no one bothers to wash away.