Where Prayer Flags Meet the Lens: India, Bhutan, and What Happens When a Photographer Stops Looking Through the Viewfinder
Our very own photographer- Ximena Zermeño was recently on a photographers' transformative journey through South Asia and here's what she told BajaTraveler® about her experience.
by Mayté Rodríguez Cedillo and Fernando Favela · Travel & Culture · BajaTraveler.com
You trained as a criminal defense lawyer and litigated for eight years before you became a photographer. When did you know that the law was a language you could speak fluently
but wasn’t actually yours?
I knew it when I realized the paradox I was living in: I spent my days using the law to fight for other people’s freedom, but the moment I closed my own front door, I stepped into my own
labyrinth of silence. I spoke the language of the courts fluently, but the law operates under rigid structures and codes written by third parties. My true voice wanted to understand the human condition, not judge it based on a rulebook. Photography and therapeutic coaching were born
when I understood that true freedom isn’t handed down by a judge; it’s reclaimed from within.”
You describe your work as ‘seeking stories rather than images.’ What does that mean in practice and how did that philosophy hold up when you arrived in a country like India,
where the stories are written in a language you cannot read?
It means letting go of the need to just find a pretty picture and focusing entirely on what the person in front of you is experiencing.
In India, not understanding the local language turned out to be a blessing: it forced me to listen differently and look without any filters.I learned that the deepest stories don’t need translation; you see them in a glance at a market, Also, during my personal trips, photography is my hobby, not my job, so I made a conscious choice: I don’t bring my professional camera. If I carry it with me, it’s inevitable that my ‘photographer brain’ kicks in, wanting to create 20 different books about a place like India, and I end up working instead of enjoying myself. That’s why I don’t carry heavy equipment; everything I capture on these trips is done with my phone. It keeps me grounded and allows me to stay fully present in the story.
One of your photographs from this trip shows you kneeling in prayer inside what appears to be the Jama Masjid in Delhi – immersed in the space, not observing it from the edges. Is that a posture you adopt deliberately when you travel, or did that mosque do something to you?
It wasn’t planned at all. To me, technology, even a phone, can’t become a barrier that distances me from reality. The Jama Masjid imposes a scale of devotion and history that completely disarms you. Being down there, feeling the immensity of the space and hearing the echo of so many people’s faith, just made me sit down and connect naturally.
I didn’t go there to watch the prayer from a corner like a tourist; I simply joined the energy of the place because it was the only way to truly experience it.”
monuments look like in photographs?
Delhi is a constant assault on the senses. There is a brutal contrast between the eternal stillness of the stone inside Humayun’s Tomb and the frantic roar of traffic pulsing just outside its walls.
On the ground, the city feels like overlapping time: you are walking through centuries of history while dodging the rush of the present day. What an image can’t capture is that heavy air, the scent of spices mixed with dust, and the feeling of a world that never sleeps.
When you stop chasing that ‘perfect catalog shot’ and just stand there, the Taj Mahal stops being an architectural monument and becomes a deeply personal experience. Watching it shift with the light—from a soft rosy dawn to a moody, overcast afternoon—makes you realize its beauty
changes just like our emotions do. By putting my phone away and stopping the need to document everything, it became a meditative space where I could appreciate the value of staying still and just listening to my surroundings.
Jaipur and Jodhpur are sister cities in Rajasthan – one pink, one blue – and yet they feel like different emotional registers entirely. You photographed inside a village home in what
appears to be the Rajasthani countryside and shared a meal with a local family. What did Rajasthan teach you about hospitality?
It taught me that hospitality has nothing to do with material wealth. In that mud house in the Rajasthani countryside, where resources were clearly very limited, they opened their doors and offered me a plate of food with immense dignity and warmth. Jaipur is vibrant and warm;
Jodhpur is calmer and more introspective; but the countryside shows you the pure heart of the people. They proved to me that the most valuable thing you can offer someone who comes from far away is a genuine space at your table and in your day.
decided its culture is worth rationing. How did that policy shape your experience on the ground?
That policy completely shifts your mindset as a traveler: you stop being a consumer of tourism and become a conscious guest. Knowing that access is a regulated privilege makes you walk through Bhutan with a much deeper sense of respect.
You feel the quiet of the streets, the cleanliness of the forests, and the authenticity of their traditions as something truly alive that they actively protect. It forces you to slow down your own pace and understand that true luxury today
is having access to an environment that is intentionally shielded from mass consumption.
The Tiger’s Nest Monastery in Paro clings to a cliff at 3,120 meters. The hike takes three hours up and two hours down. What were you thinking about on the descent?
On the way up, you are completely focused on the physical effort and just getting there. But the descent is where everything sinks in. As I walked down, I thought about balance in life; how that monastery defies gravity simply by being firmly anchored to the solid rock.
I realized that my own journey over the last few years has been exactly that: a steep hike toward my own center.
On the way down, I wasn’t thinking about the photos saved on my phone, but about the peace of knowing I have the strength to stand by my own decisions and always return to my own solid ground.
You photographed Buddhist monks in debate, in ceremony, and in private conversation. One of your images shows you sitting on a temple floor, speaking directly with a young
monk in front of a thangka. What did you talk about?
We had a very light yet meaningful conversation. I asked him what freedom meant to him while living within a monastic structure of such strict discipline. He smiled and told me something very simple but incredibly powerful:
“Freedom isn’t about doing whatever you want on the outside; it’s about not being a slave to what happens inside your own mind.”
It resonated with me deeply because the search for freedom and the ‘Marry Yourself’ journey I share with women today isn’t about running away from the world; it’s about learning to be sovereign over our own minds.
You have spent your career making sure that other people’s most important moments are not forgotten. After India and Bhutan, what are you afraid of forgetting?
I’m not afraid of forgetting the visuals, because that’s why I took videos and photos with my phone. What I don’t want to forget is the feeling of lightness I experienced.
Returning to the daily routine in Los Cabos, it’s easy for the everyday noise and external expectations to try to rebuild
those invisible walls I talk about in my courses.
I don’t want to forget the silence of Bhutan or the clean perspective you gain when you step away from work and just allow yourself to live the journey. That’s why I write and share the ‘Marry Yourself’ path: to keep that reminder of freedom
wide awake within me.