Varanasi Vignette

Photographers, there are millions! And while a handful are aiming to make an image that puts mediocrity to flight, the rest of the shutterbugs wielding their ubiquitous dig-cams, are content with recording births, marriages or that lovely vacation by the sea. But be it the elite or the dregs, with every click, both attempt to fossilise their experience and the past for posterity. All those who gaze upon that photograph, inherit a part of that past. In essence, every picture tells a story, has a story.

My story began one balmy autumn afternoon when I was idly chatting with a fellow photographer. Amidst the purple haze of cigarette smoke and between endless cups of tea we decided to embark on our first photography odyssey. Little did I know the quantum of truth in the statement- He that travels far, knows much. Thus began our enlightening enterprise to the land of life, lights and after-life: Varanasi.

Is the photographer a documenter or a story teller? Is the photograph a slice of life, detached from time or is it a moment within the continuum? Question like these suck us deep into the cryptic vortex of the visual language. It was a question I was compelled to ask myself. Should I behave as a documenter recording what I saw, or should I tell the story of my journey? I was confused.

The challenges did not just stop there. While exploring the ghats of Varanasi, I realised that besides capturing the ever-present human drama, there are also certain truths to be told. Unlike a poet or a painter, a photographer has a stricter task- responding to the moment, not dwelling in it. From my textbook knowledge I knew, while freezing the right moment in time on film, there is no ‘frame’ for bias. Easier said than done! In an ideal scenario the faces of Sadhus and sinners should all be examined without piety or prejudice. But ideals I discovered are like horizon. The nearer you get the further it seems.

I never thought I would attach words to my photographs. But I realised- every picture not only tells a story but hides one behind it. You open the shutter, and the interesting stories come. Sometimes there is a story but the picture is missing. I can vividly recall all photographs that I did not take on this trip.

(The procrastinator I am, I finally wrote this after almost 4 months of the trip. Thanks to much coaxing from a few friends. I am planning to publish an e-book of the pics and experiences of Varanasi as a tribute to the successive generations of people who travel, live and make Varanasi the place it is today. Lets see when it's finally done....)

Photographed by fellow traveller and photographer per excellence- Soumik Bag

Catharsis.....

Truth is a bully we all pretend to like. And some pretend to preach a lie about the truth itself.

Experience they say teaches. Maybe…. but only for those who wish to learn from it. There is a truth that is deeper than experience. It’s an order of truth that separates the profound from the merely clever…the reality from the perception; the dark from the darker. The cost of knowing it is at times greater than what any heart would willingly pay.

Knowing it doesn’t always help us to love the world, but it does prevent us from hating it. And the only way to know the truth is to share it, from heart to heart- not like I got to know, but like I am telling it to you now.

Strange or shameful as it is to admit it, I was glad that some things, someone, some experiences had flinted my heart. That hardened lump within my chest is what protects me from the curiosity that ultimately leads to the cat being killed.

The world is not black and white. It’s varying shades of grey through which the monochrome blues unfold. It’s like the exciting search for the cipher in a black and white photograph- without the distraction of colour. Adversity brings out the true shades. And the colour of truth is grey. Not absolute and extreme but somewhere in the middle.

Power changes, loyalties change and along with it everything changes. I wonder which is more toxic, the power of politics or the politics of power! Everyone wants to master both and ends up being their slaves.

There is only one constant in life… that is change. I remember discussing with a friend about the “expiry date” of a relationship. But what if that “date” itself is an illusion. A concept we cook up to give validation to our need for solace. Or perhaps to buy some temporary truce in the continuum of time.

I could play the part of a Bollywood character with poignant silence…screaming for so called “justice”.

Or I could be the clichéd character journo, hell bent on an expose of the great lie. But I am none.

Nature enlightens us that deception is elemental to survival.

Never let anyone know what you are thinking..... That may be difficult.

But the other option of always knowing what the other thinks of you….is a pretty achievable one. You can control what the other thinks of you!

What is the best thing in life?

Is it power? The Power to know beyond the smokescreen, the power to influence and ultimately control someone other than ourselves?

Or is it love- the opposite of power? Love is dangerous! It overpowers, and makes you blind. We love simple things in life and yet love to flirt with the complex shades. We use, abuse, beg, lie, borrow steal, coax, coerce and deceive to get to the top. Is it worth it? That is subjective. Truth is that truth is relative to the liar. For a loner like me, the loneliness that zenith offers is a tempting prospect. And that my friend is the truth of the lie.

I am stunned and stoned! So, I bid adieu.

(Pic courtesy :: ckythomyorke from www.deviantart.com)