Just beyond the city of Rishikesh there is a river town split in half by two bridges, Ram Jhula to the West and Laxman Jhula to the East. I am living on the third floor of an apartment in Ram Jhula that resemples the color of key lime pie. Between the two parts of town, a footpath winds along the Ganges, or the Ganga as people call it here. In those two kilometers I have come across gangs of boys romping in the Ganga, artists painting quietly, schoolchildren walking home holding hands, women singing and dancing in Puja, and many others that I hope to never forget. These images will be my safeguard for remembrance.