Love doesn't speak any language: Neither Spanish nor Gujarati

Amiruddin in a playful mood with his grandpa.
Amiruddin speaks only Spanish where as his grandpa, Mr Mohammad Yousuf speaks Gujarati at home. But it ain't no barrier when it comes to the bond they share. Perhaps 'Nanapaaji' is the only Indian word Amiruddin and his younger brother Ahmed knew when i met them..... 'Naanapaaji' is what they call their grandpa as.

Am I cold, numb and heartless

That's a question, which at times is thrown at me by the silent face of onlookers when I am in middle of my work.....

Life of a photojournalist is an interesting and a privileged one. You get to visit certain places, meet people and frame them in a photograph which you otherwise would never have got the opportunity to do so. But, it ain't a bed of roses all the way.

The truth is, that at the end of the day you need a photograph which is to be seen in the papers the next morning. And the process in getting it requires that you go through a roller coaster ride of emotions. You get to experience the life of people around you, be part of few moments of their lives, share their happiness and grief, and then let the world experience it through the story which your photograph is able to communicate to viewers. It is a tough job mate!

The post mortem section at Victoria hospital is a busy place. The increasing crime rate in the silicon city ensures that it always remains so, with the activity and crowded with grieving loved ones, the police, doctors and the news hungry media. Doctors who perform the autopsy, day in and day out and yet retain sanity in their minds, I hold them in high esteem.

As a news photographer one of the difficult jobs is to get the images of relatives of victims of homicide and suicide. And it gets more difficult when you are covering the story of gang wars and the person in front of you is the wailing wife of the victim, with whom she was riding back home from a temple four hours prior to you being there. In four hours her life has completely changed. She is traumatized while you intrude into her private emotion.

The lady here is a widow of a slain small time gangster. He was killed in a revenge attack which was part of the ugly 'Arrack wars' of Bangalore city. The arrack or illicit liquor is an illegal business with huge money involved in it. A month prior to this attack, a man from the rival camp was murdered in a similar brutal fashion in front of Urvashi Theatre.

She was in a room at the post mortem section where the cops were filing a report. I along with a reporter from our newspaper walked in. There were few close associates of her late husband who were consoling her. We began to ask questions regarding the incident and she tried her best in answering them as our reporter jotted down her answers in a notepad. Just as I switched on my camera and started clicking her photographs a window was forced open and one of her relatives was standing there and calling out to her. This sent her in a hysteria and she lost control and began wailing. With goosebumps all over me I framed this shot at that moment.

Have I become cold, numb and heartless? Has it become easy for me to shoot these images in presence of people who keep judging me? The fact is that even if there is no one there to judge me I would still be judging myself.

I respect the people who have permitted me to be there in middle of their personal tragedies with an intrusive device like a still camera( the love of my life) . It amazes me that even in their hard times they were able to understand what my duty is and let me perform my work. I truly empathise with them. I also understand the sentiments of the people who are not that welcome to the idea of me breaching their privacy.

Crime photography at the end of the day leaves you emotionally drained. But the impact your photograph can have in pressurizing the law enforcement agencies to take actions to make the city a tad bit safer than what it was yesterday is rewarding.

Protest in a different hue

One man's art is another man's porn; We've heard this statement quite often and there definitely is lot of truth in it. In the state of Gujarat, which has witnessed enormous violation of fundamental constitutional rights where people's freedom of expression has been denied, an artist being arrested for displaying his art is definitely not a surprise. But what came as surprise to the 'moral police' and conservatives in Gujarat is the nationwide protest it spurred up demanding the release of Chandramohan, the student of Fine Arts in question.

Chandramohan was arrested on the charges of alleged obscene display of Hindu deities at an exhibition at Maharaja Sayyaji Rao University in Vadodra. He was finally released on bail. But the events leading to his release consisted of demonstrations at every major city or town which nurtures art-form of some kind. This meant that photojournalists across the nation had to go cover another protest in a nation where every other day one gets to see group of people walking down the street carrying banners and shouting slogans.

Monday the 14th May, time to visit MG(Mahatma Gandhi) statue located at beginning of MG road. MG statue has become the symbol of protest marches and dharna in Bangalore. When I was on trial for reportage I had to ride down to this place everyday to cover a protest. But now the publication I work for has turned into a tabloid and hence protests somehow are considered to be a routine event which only broadsheets are to cover. It meant that the sight of footpath opposite MG statue had turned into a rarity for me. So this was revisiting the place where it all began.

There I was, standing amidst sea of cameras consisting of both still and video. It seemed like this group of artists in Bangalore were destined to get a lot of footage for the outcry. Reporters and TV models (oops, I mean the pretty little things who are hired to be TV journalists ;-) , Just kidding) were busy getting interviews with the 'Arty' crowd of the city. Quite a few people whose faces were regularly seen in page 3 supplements were surprisingly there holding banners. It looks like some people were keen on attempting a jump from Page 3 to Page 1. God bless them in their endeavors.

Too many cameras, and visual repetition of images of people holding banners. What satisfaction does it give to make a similar image? Pretty mundane, I must admit. At this point let me confess something, every assignment I am sent to (however absurd the story maybe) I seriously look for the angle and perspective which has eluded every other lens. And I am sure lot of other photographers hunt for it. So there is this treasure hunt or a silent battle of finding that frame which has deceived every one's sight. Not everyday I end up successful in this attempt but I sure give it my best shot.

Banners, banners, banners! I am so bored of it. I was desperately experimenting to get something different out of this. Neither were there expressive faces to get some compelling portraits nor any power-packed clash between authorities and the protesters. I moved to one corner of the protest and viewed through the lens to see how the line of protesters look like from there. There was nothing impressive except for the angle. Wait a minute, what do we see here. These chaps were wearing black arm bands. Well, something was cooking in my head. Few minutes later I had my frame with the focus being on the black arm bands rather than banners and faces of people.

The picture told me a story and I hoped it could tell the world a story. That is what I, a photojournalist looks for at the end of the day. But, question at that moment in my mind was: Will such experiments with new ideas work in Indian print media? Will they accept this picture or will they ask me for a photograph with "More people! Famous people!Page 3 Celebs! And banners! And action shot of people trying to scream!". It wasn't a logistical problem as I had framed these conventional shots too. But, the fact is that it hurts a lot when your substandard works are given the limelight when your hard-thought favorite works are forgotten. Your approach and your way of thinking is never known to the world. Your identity is relegated to a newspaper byline like 'Photo by xyz', and that's all.

Back in the office, I gave prints and location of the digital images to the news-editors and hoped for the best. Next day morning when I came back to office I was thrilled not only to see this photograph being selected from the lot I had given, but also at the fact that it made it to the front page. It may not be an excellent work but surely it feels good to have your hard work rewarded with something called as 'job satisfaction'.

When the sound lets you see the truth.

Vaseem, a 22 year old aspiring journalist who is also visually impaired, uses JAWS(a software which aids the visually imapaired by translating text to sound) for his studies and browsing on the computer. Vaseem along with many of his visualy impaired friends stay in Samarthanam, an NGO dedicated to improving lives of the disabled.

It was a great moment for me when Vaseem sent me an email while I was making this photograph. The first thing I did when I got back to my office, was I replied to him. We have now decided to be friends.
VTPhoto: Nishant Ratnakar

No Indians allowed. Only foreigners

I and couple of my friends undertook a trip to Pondicherry to spend our Ugadi weekend in this coastal holiday destination. It was a road trip which was decided on the spur of the moment with the intention to break free from the rush of the stressful life we lead in Bangalore city. Hence, our accommodation at 'Pondi' (the slang used by the young city crowd to refer to this holiday destination which was a former French colony) was not reserved in advance. After a long road trip and a frustrating, futile search for a suitable sea facing hotel in the main town of Pondi we decided to take our chance and find a beach cottage or shack along the East Coast Road (ECR) which connects Pondicherry to Mahabalipuram.

After twenty minutes on ECR we reached a stretch of highway running adjacent to the sea shore lined with shacks and cottages. We stopped our car and walked down to sandy beach to book our stay at the popular Aurovile Waves resort. Also, it had been nine long hours since our last meal and we were very hungry. We were told that the cottages at the Waves were fully occupied and maybe we could try our luck at Muthu's resort which was adjacent to it. With hungry stomachs, we prodded our way under the afternoon sun towards Muthu's in the direction given to us by the lady who was at the Waves.

In front of us was a stretch of beach filled mainly with foreigners. And there was a rope running from the road towards the waters separating that part of the beach from the stretch of the coast opposite the Aurovile Waves. It seemed like some sort of demarcation and there was a board with a message written in Tamil. None of us knew Tamil and we walked towards the other side of the rope. At that moment we heard whistles from a nearby shack. There were two men in Security uniform and a hefty man who resembled like some of the bouncers in Bangalore Pubs. All the three men were Indians. They made signs which indicated us to keep away from this stretch of Beach. Confused, we decided to walk up to them and find out what was the issue.

"What is the problem?"

"You can't come to this part of the beach"

"Why?(Still confused)"

"No Indians allowed here. Only Foreigners".

"What!(Shocked)." "But we want to look for accommodation here."

"No accommodation."

"(Still recovering from the shock)Okay. But we are very hungry and have traveled a long way from Bangalore. We will have lunch here."

"No lunch served here. Only Snack Bar."

"Okay, fine. We will have snacks then."

"Don't enter from here. Come from the back entrance facing towards the road."

"Why? we'll enter from here"

"No, you can't! Enter from the other side."

At this point, we felt humiliated and walked out of that place. It was shocking to receive such a treatment in India for the simple reason of being an Indian. It is high time we stopped pointing fingers at the West for racial discrimination we are subjected to in foreign countries. We ourselves are discriminating our own people based on race.

This definitely was the worst, but not the first time I had experienced racial discrimination. In the past, I had faced a similar issue in Goa, which coincidentally is also another beach holiday destination drawing lot of foreign tourists and is also a former European colony. And incidents of such racial discrimination are experienced by other Indian domestic travelers too. Ryan Lobo, a documentary photographer writes in his blog( http://www.ryanlobo.blogspot.com/ ) about such a local racial discrimination he was subjected to in his place of birth, Goa. In a restaurant, when he questioned the waiter for overpricing a meal, the waiter shot back at his taxi driver telling him not to bring Indians as they only want to serve foreigners.

It is hurting to know that such incidents are happening in some of the most famous holiday destinations of our country. It is understandable that foreign tourists constitute a Major income for the people involved in hospitality business in these places. But should that translate to contempt for your countrymen?

I only hope that the sign board with a message written in Tamil on that sandy beach off the ECR did not translate to "Indians and dogs not allowed". Such a sign are memories from the pre-Indian independence era and let it remain so. Touch wood!