Image: Israfel's Trumpet I am just outside New Delhi right now, working in one of India’s “Silicon Valleys.” It doesn ’t take traveling to the other side of the world to make you meditate on the human condition, but it does help. I often see in snapshots and here is my picture of the day: A well-dressed Indian man standing on the curb, gracefully smoking his cigarette while jibber -jabber-yakking into his cell phone. He is set aglow by the slanting morning light careening off the cement dust and motor-scooter exhaust swirling around him. He stands, confident and strong, like a God surveying his creation. Two women in saris, banana yellow and radiant teal, waft by him, angelic faces the color of dusk-lit earth. Just beyond the glowing man, on the other side of the street, a long strip of temporary houses line the road; houses made of thick branches and plastic sheeting – a tent town of 100 parents and children, the workers building a brick wall along the road. The women squat by ma