shutterbug-ing

There’s a kind of inhumanity involved in portrait photography: You brandish your camera like a weapon and hold it over the lives of people who’ve done you no wrong.

I held the camera over kajal-ed eyes, pierced noses, suspicious eyes and lascivious grins.

As I walked the slums and villages of Sultanpuri, Jaffarabad, Kutti, Duburi and Mohali, I refrained from smiles and introductions before pointing and shooting. I wanted to catch them off guard; capture their instincts towards a stranger, the “other,” who even with a Fab India kurta and old jeans, didn’t belong.

I got what I wanted.

I snapped up the condescending curiosity in their eyes, expressions of disquiet inquiry, scared-lamb stares, anger, glares. But it was the children who hurt me most. They stared at me, some stopped in their tracks—the camera holding their gaze like a headlight.

Some ran around me; skipping, giggling. Joined hands and trapped me in a circle of soft arms and soft smiles. “Photo, humara bhi lo”

Some were shy. They peeked from behind peeling walls. Hid under hemp-ed cots. Looked on from behind older siblings. “Upar dekho, mujhe dekho, wahin ruko” and I clicked.

Their happy abandon hurt me more than their fear did. I bent down. I went on my knees. I was voyeaur, creator, documenter; my camera, a plagiarist.

This entry is based on a photography assignment for an NGO which took me to Delhi, Jharkhand and Orissa.

Lens

Commentary:

I’ve noticed, in photography and in life, a skewed perspective may sometimes offer a revealing glimpse into something too beautiful, too big to grasp.

Rice Thresher

 

Commentary:

With her clunky gold anklet, her large red bhuttu, her hiked up saree, her glass bangles, and her stiff fingers, she came in to thresh rice and I couldn’t resist. 

I saw her and was immediately reminded of Thota Vaikuntam’s portraits of Telangana women.

Peelings

Commentary:

I look at stairs and wonder where they lead. This set had a particular feel about them, surrounded by a bright green leaves.  I found in their disrepair, a peculiar appeal.  So there in Mumbai — I saw, I stopped, I clicked.

Fall

Commentary:

I made my peace with loneliness after I took this picture in Brooklyn, New York. The sky was blue, the flowers were yellow and the lamppost was brown; but in this black and white version, I see all the color I need.

Constructed

Commentary

I came across her when I was wandering the streets of Hyderabad armed with an HP Photosmart and an attitude. She stopped, stared, and nodded when I pointed at my camera, “Photo, ok?” 

She was the construction lady, the working-class woman, the tanned epitome of the Deccan Plateau. Now, she is mine.