The Innate Voyeur

A gentle touch. A knowing smile. A moment so simple yet so intimate. Human emotion in its purest, most unadulterated form is found on the streets, just around the corner, sometimes on a park bench, sometimes at the most ordinary window looking on to the street. Nothing gives me more joy than just sneaking out of the hotel, when I am travelling, with my camera and walking endlessly along alien streets and alleyways, capturing these fleeting moments, when people are unguarded with their emotions. When I am travelling (except when I am asked to click cheesy ‘touristy’ pictures, complete with victory signs and jaw-hurting smiles), I try to click images that define the people more than they define the place itself. Photography brings out the innate voyeur in me. I love this art form because it helps me prove one of my firm beliefs, that ‘There are no ordinary moments.’ There is something happening at every instance. This something may not be significant to you, but it is to the people who are involved in it. I attempt to capture these ordinary-extraordinary moments.
This photograph was clicked at the Nathula Pass Sino-Indian border in Sikkim at an altitude of 14,000 ft. The little kid Lamu and her father were standing beside an army vehicle, right in the middle of all the military chaos and truckloads of arms and ammunition. There wasn’t a single civilian or army man, who hadn’t turned around and smiled at Lamu, who seemed to be unperturbed by all the sobriety and seriousness and had eyes just for her father

Children of Heaven

They are so real and honest in their expressions. There’s no pretence, no diplomacy. That is precisely why children are such an intriguing subject for photographers like me. They provide us with an infinite number of photo opportunities.
I travelled to Kashmir in June this year, with a lot of excitement about capturing the essence of childhood in a state like Kashmir. The children in Kashmir are the prettiest children I have ever seen! Their rosy cheeks, brownish hair and innocent eyes form a very poetic image. But Kashmir is cursed, and so are its people. I don’t need to go into how the history of Kashmir has been marred by the violence and bloodshed. It has taken a heavy toll on the lives of the children here. The way the municipality rickshaws make water shortage announcements in Mumbai, governments jeeps in Kashmir during curfews, make announcements which go like this- ‘If you step out, you will be shot. If you survive, you will be shot again.’
It is no surprise then, that the locals, especially the children are extremely hostile to any undue attention from tourists. During my stay in Kashmir, whenever I attempted to click pictures of the children, on seeing the camera, their faces would get clouded with suspicion and fear. As a photographer, the subject’s comfort and ease is one of my top priorities. So, to my disappointment, I got only a few good photos of the children in Kashmir.
The first picture was clicked by me, while on a shikara in the Dal Lake. The second picture, right outside of the gate of the royal Chasm-e-shahi Gardens in Srinagar. These little boys, along with thousands of other children in Srinagar had stepped out of their houses after 15 days of curfew. 15 days of gloom, of fear and of anticipation – a normalcy in the lives of these children of Paradise on Earth.

Solitude is very comforting

I enjoy my own company. I like being with just myself. Some people get that, some don’t. Most of the hours that you spend awake; you are talking, arguing, responding and reacting. Some people like being around people all the time. I don’t. At times, I would rather behave like a recluse, than answer silly questions and say things just for the sake of saying them.
At times, I just plug my ears, put on some music and walk by myself. I think once in while everyone should do that. Believe me, it really helps you think things over, when you have put the outside world on mute and spend time just with yourself and some music.
This picture was clicked on one such ‘solitude walk’, when I visited Darjeeling in May, 2009. The long, winding, unending roads communicated a repeating rhythm that comforted me. I remember having walked for almost an hour without a break, feeling so much at peace, with Yanni’s Nostalgia playing on my iPod and looking at the screen of fog slowing advancing from the skies onto the hills below. Time and again, I would pass some of the locals on the way, who seemed just so happy and content in their little world. These were people who would trek on foot for 2 hours just to get to their schools and workplaces and yet, they didn’t show any signs of complaints. They were so ignorant about the comforts of city life and probably were so happy despite their difficult lives, precisely due to that ignorance. I remember wondering and I still do – What is better? Knowing everything and feeling sad or being blissfully ignorant?

Trying to be different

It is very easy to fall prey to the tendency of clicking in a particular style, or a particular theme. Not just in photography, but in all fields, repetitiveness is not appreciated. True, every artist needs to have a certain style, so that his work is not all over the place. But it is always advisable to stay away from clichés.
Last year, around December, I went on a college trip to Rajasthan. Now, think of Rajasthan and you’ll get flashes of very typical images, the turbaned old man, camels in the desert, the folk dancers, etc. I clicked my own share of these. (couldn’t resist the temptation!) But I tried to do something different.



The above picture was clicked at the Sam desert in northern Rajasthan. There was this herd of camels basking in the sun with their owners and everyone was clicking the camels and their owners giving wide grins. I saw something gleaming in the sun and realised it was this cool bike parked in the middle of the road. And this one camel kept staring, rather glaring at it and after a few moments, just sat down and continued stealing glances at the bike. It was as if the camel, the ancient mode of transport felt inferior to the new motorized form of transport. Somehow the frame seemed to be quite ‘bike print ad material’ and I clicked, what I think is my best picture (in terms of telling a story) till date.




There is a fort at Udaipur, in which thrives an entire small town, even today. There are shops, a school, and hotels inside the fort. The fort has this amazing labyrinth of lanes and by-lanes, in which each house has a different story to tell. The Rajasthani quilts with their weird splashes of colour are laid out on the streets or hung over head to dry. Small children play hide and seek inside the fort walls, while old men sit at the doors, smoking pot. The second picture is of a little girl, who was playing hide and seek with her friends and when I clicked her photo, she actually put her finger to her lips, indicating that I shouldn’t tell anyone where she was hiding!

Curiosity

When you are clicking pictures of children, it is very important that they are completely comfortable with yours and the camera’s presence in their space. I make it a point to click as candid pictures of children as possible, because once they become aware that they are being observed they go into a shell and their expressions and body language become rigid. But sometimes, very rarely though, this reaction can produce good pictures.
At the sacred lake of Kacheopari in Sikkim, where I clicked these pictures, there is a small Buddhist temple, which is taken care of by an old priestess and her grandson, the subject in these photographs. When I entered this temple, I thought to myself, it is probably smaller than bathrooms in my house and yet, when one kneels in prayer inside that small room, lit by many candles, one feels as if the temple grows in size. The physical size of the space didn’t matter anymore, because it served the purpose, it was supposed to – giving the feel of total silence and peace.







This boy was a very inquisitive curious little fellow. All the while I was there, he kept stealing glances at the camera hung around my neck and kept pointing to it and asking questions in Sikkimese to his grandmother, who simply ignored him and went about her sweeping and cleaning, totally ignoring us too. The first picture I got when he tiptoed into the room, a while after his grandmother firmly told him to play outside. (That’s his silhouette in the background). And the second picture I clicked when we were just about to leave and now he was unabashedly staring and pointing at my camera, probably indicating that I leave it for him! That’s when I decided to promptly take a picture of him. Hence, the shy and curious expression and the face hidden behind the arm.

The eyes that speak

I have always loved animals a lot. When I was small, I would pray to God, asking Him to give me the power to talk to animals. I still sometimes wish I could understand what they are trying to say. If only they could get my words, I would apologize to them for all the stupid things that my race has done to so shamelessly destroy the world that they too have an equal right to.
I think some animals have the most beautiful and expressive eyes. Perhaps, it is the lack of words that make their eyes so eloquent. Their eyes are like windows into their thoughts. Just one look at their eyes, and you’ll know if they are angry, sad, happy, excited, anxious, etc.
I have attempted to capture some of these subtle, yet powerful expressions of animals. Apart from liking them because they showcase animals, I like these shots because it is extremely difficult to shoot animals and it takes a lot of patience and skill, especially when you are travelling and pressed for time.



I captured this image at the Darjeeling Zoo in May last year. Humans’ complete lack of respect for animals and their habitat is on full display at zoos. People litter the zoos, children shout at the animals, tease them, fling objects at them and their parents look so pleased with themselves that their children are ‘enjoying’. It’s disgusting. Even at the time of clicking this photograph, there was a kid standing next to me, who kept screaming, “Come, Tiger, come here. Come! Come!” That it was a leopard and not a tiger, is something the parents did not bother to tell the kid and instead they were busy clicking ‘cute pictures’ of their little tyke. The leopard meanwhile seemed to say. “ I am going to eat you, but not right now. I am too lazy!”




This image was clicked two months back in the Betaab Valley in Kashmir.



This photograph was clicked at the Mirik Lake in Darjeeling. This majestic horse, had a nail stuck in its hoofand was standing still, with the bruised leg raised. I thought his eyes communicated the pain and discomfort very stoically.

Na Mu Myo Ho Renge Kyo

I have noticed that at times, many states in India are identified with one certain thing, for example, think of Rajasthan you think of palaces, think of Kerala and you think of lush greenery, think Goa and you think of beaches. Many times, while I travelling I get a feeling of having seen one, having seen all.
Sikkim is generally identified with its ancient Buddhist monasteries and if you were to tour this hilly state, chance is you will end up visiting at least 4-5 monasteries and yet, each monastery has something different to offer. And when I say this, I mean in terms of the whole experience that one has.



The entire monastery compound has 108 dharma-chakras, which the devotees set in motion and they believe that it nullifies their sins. I remember walking around and exploring these compounds and how it would amaze me to see monks, some of them in their preteens, meditating with such peace and tranquillity on their faces, that I felt the need to tiptoe, even if I was far away from them.




‘Na Mu Myo Ho Renge Kyo’ is a Buddhist chant, which talks about the laws and principles of Buddhist life. The monks usually sit in a circle or in two columns facing each other and they endlessly chant this for hours, making the whole building reverberate with their energy. Now I am not a religious person, but I swear when I closed my eyes and chanted with the monks, I actually felt some kind of a tranquil light-headedness.
On a lighter note, at one such monastery, I struck up a conversation with one of the monks, who after asking me my name and age, asked me where I had come from. When I said Bombay, his eyes lit up and he got really excited and said this- “OH! Tum SRK ka dost hai? Movie wala SRK? Usko mere bare mein bataana!”

One Crazy Adventure!

Last year, we visited Rajasthan for our Industrial Visit. There was nothing ‘industrial’ about the visit, but that’s a different matter altogether. This post is about a little adventure of our own that me and a few friends from class had during this trip.
Now, at Jaisalmer, we stayed at a grand palace hotel right in the middle of the Great Indian Desert. We reached there at 2 in the afternoon and to our dismay, we learnt that the whole day was going to be spent at the hotel and that there would be no sightseeing that day. True, the hotel was amazing but the point of travelling to another place is that you explore it, in and out.
So, we were just randomly sitting and cursing the professors for cancelling the plans for the day, when one of us had the scary but exciting idea of sneaking out and exploring the desert on our own. So after some initial hesitation, we picked up our cameras and boldly went to the receptionist and asked him about places nearby that we can go to. He suggested Kuldhara, a ghost town of sorts, evacuated 200 years ago during a battle. Empty town? Ruins in the middle of the desert? You can imagine how much that must have excited a group of rebellious teenagers.
So at 5:30 in the evening, we set off along the road in the middle of the road in the direction pointed out to us. There was not a soul in sight and the sun was just calling it a day. Then suddenly out of nowhere, comes this 6-seater auto rickshaw, which some of us saw as a boon, other were terrified. ‘What if he’s a psycho killer? What if he’s a rapist?’ And so he was dismissed. Then after walking for 5 minutes, laziness triumphed over caution and we sat in the auto and asked him to take us to Kuldhara. What happened next was hilarious. Someone said, “What if he is taking us to some shaddy place?” To which, the rickshaw driver replied in perfect English, “No, I am taking you on the correct way!” Tourism being one of the backbones of Rajasthan’s economy, these locals have learnt English really well.
When we finally reached our destination Kuldhara, we were spellbound. The ruins were spookily mesmerising. There was an ancient, wrinkled caretaker, who also spoke English and lead us into the ruins, where we clicked many pictures, found a broom, a pot and some twigs, that scared the daylights out of us (We really thought there might be a witch living in those ruins), were attacked by bats (well not really, but there too many of them and I swear one of them flew very close to me!), I and a friend also drove the rickshaw for a while and basically, we had the best adventure ever!

Venice In India

I am sure everyone has a dream travel destination that they always want to visit at least once in their lifetime. For me, it has to be Venice. The idea of boats being the basic mode of transport is just too exciting! Imagine telling your teacher, “Sorry for being late ma’am, no boat was stopping for me.” , and you’ll know what I am talking about.



I visited Kashmir in July, this year and got a taste of it at the serene Dal Lake in the heart of Srinagar. Believe me, you have no idea of what the word ‘relaxing’ means until you have sat in one of the shikaras that move ever so slowly on the still waters of Dal, that you won’t even hear the sound oars of the boatman hitting the water.



The Dal Lake is a thriving floating city, with clinics, chemist shops, schools, groceries, and even massage parlours right in the middle of the lake. Also there are mobile shops on boats, which sell all sorts of things, like jewellery, food, clothes, etc. Pretty Kashmiri children move about in their own personal shikaras, using the oars with startling skill.
There are beautiful boat houses, with vintage furniture and huge crystal chandeliers. Half of the lake’s surface is covered with floating gardens, which are literally portions of floating grass with all sorts of colourful flowers growing on them. The first picture is of the breathtaking sunset at Dal Lake. The second has been clicked from one of the boat houses in which I stayed for a night. We had the luxury of having a shikara at our call at all times. The whole concept of using your own shikara to get things resulted in me purposely forgetting my things at my parents’ boathouse, just so that I can sit in the shikara!

The Monument of Doubt

I have always wondered how much of what we are told, by various people and by various books is actually true? Time and again, it has happened that major facts that the world had blindly accepted to be true, turned out to be myths or figments of someone’s imagination. Or perhaps, the breaking of the myth, ‘the true story’ is someone’s imagination.
I recently visited the Taj Mahal in Agra, around two months back. It is amazing how one architectural structure can signify the same thing to thousands of people all over the globe. Visit the Taj any time of the day, any time of the year and you are sure to find a couple posing cheesily with the Taj in the back ground. Or a favourite among tourists is juxtaposing the Taj in such a way that it looks as if the person is a giant touching the tip of the Taj. Tourists visiting the Taj can almost form a sub culture of sorts!



Coming back to myths and hoaxes, I am sure all of you have heard the story of how after the construction was completed after 22 years of hard labour, Emperor Shah Jahan got the hands of the workers amputated so that a replica of his testament of love could never be remade. Well, according to the our guide, who showed us around Taj Mahal sharing interesting stories (don’t know if all were true) this is nothing but a widespread lie. He also spoke of a replica of the Taj Mahal, which was to be built in black marble right opposite the white one. He claimed that Aurangzeb was opposed to the idea of wasting so much money on monuments. He wanted to utilize it for upgrading the defence forces. It was this difference in opinion that lead to Aurangzeb murdering his siblings and imprisoning his own father. It is strange, then, how Aurangzeb , a few years after the completion of Taj Mahal, built the replica called Bibi-Ka-Maqbara at Aurangabaad. What is the truth and how do we ever check the authenticity of such historical claims?
To add to it, there is a new book selling like hot pancakes, called ‘Taj Mahal: The true story’ which claims that the Taj Mahal is far from being Mumtaz Mahal’s tomb. It is actually an ancient Vedic Shiva temple called the Tejomahalay. The book claims that there is no record of a Taj Mahal ever being built in any Mughal court documents and that there is a record, however, of the capture of a white Shiva temple at the site where the Taj Mahal is located. The book is compilation of evidences, some coincidental, some simply hilarious and others really astonishing.
So what is the truth? What do you want to believe? You decide.