When we were children, the world was measured not in miles or hours, but in the height of the green paddy stalks against our knees. To stand in a wide field under the vast northern sky and look straight up into the clouds was to know yourself completely safe. The earth was soft beneath bare toes, the wind tasted of green shoots and approaching rain, and life stretched out ahead like an unpainted ceiling. We spend our grown lives looking for complicated purpose, forgetting that the highest state of human being is simply to look up and wonder.

Javed Miandad’s ‘In Search of Life’ captures the timeless grace of childhood simplicity in Bogra. It reminds us of a time when the sky was our only ceiling. What forgotten afternoon does this field bring back to you?

When we were children, the world was measured not in miles or hours, but in the height of the green paddy stalks against our knees. To stand in a wide field under the vast northern sky and look straight up into the clouds was to know yourself completely safe. The earth was soft beneath bare toes, the wind tasted of green shoots and approaching rain, and life stretched out ahead like an unpainted ceiling. We spend our grown lives looking for complicated purpose, forgetting that the highest state of human being is simply to look up and wonder.

Javed Miandad’s ‘In Search of Life’ captures the timeless grace of childhood simplicity in Bogra. It reminds us of a time when the sky was our only ceiling. What forgotten afternoon does this field bring back to you?