Off The Beaten Path

Old Friends

A couple of posts ago, I referred to myself as "old, gray and broken", a comment which elicited some strong feedback from one of my oldest and dearest friends.

"Broken?", she said, going on to add "The Ass that I knew would never say he is broken". Well, two things are true.

First, the Ass she was referring to, was me.

Second,  I would never refer to myself as broken. Things can get tough but, they beat you and break you, only if you let them do so.

However, this is not so much about the spirit of the heart. This is more about friendship.

I am not going to go on and on about my views on friendship, because I don't think that I have too much new to add anyway.

Yet, it is true that if you can count a few true friends in your life, you are truly blessed indeed.

Over the course of my life, I have managed to make a few friends. And, I would count myself lucky.

Old friendships never fade. They mellow, they morph, they become richer with shared memories of battles fought together, of the good times and the bad. They become stronger, and make you stronger as well.

These guys I photographed in 1983 were friends then. I have never seen them since. If t hey are still friend, they may look back upon those days, with some joy. They may even remember, if I am lucky, the long haired bloke who took their picture all those many years ago.

Where Do They Bathe?

  The second last post from  Chandni Chowk is now at hand!

I still marvel at the amount of stuff that I have been able to put up just on account of one morning's walk in that area.

So, the question really is, 'where do the poor people bathe?'.

On the street, since the places, or hovels, where they live definitely do not have any place where they can bathe. So, they live, eat and die in crowded places.

Bathing in the public eye is something that they can afford. It costs, theoretically, nothing.

Economically, the only cost that they have, is that of the soap that they use. And the towels.

The only cost that they have, is the loss of their sense of privacy, and possibly dignity. For the poor are often without the commonly heald notions of privacy and dignity. They simply cannot afford these luxuries.

So, the old man, and the young boys share the same public tap of water to have a bath, wash their clothes, and their utensils; while amateur photographers like myself stand by the roadside, take their photographs and write blogs about them as thought this is some new and marvellous discovery.

A Friendly Cup Of Tea

I really must move beyond that morning walk in Chandni Chowk, and I will. I really will. Just two more posts,after this one and, I will then be done. I promise myself this.

Since I am blogging with a little more frequency these days, possibly this should be done by Tuesday.

I like these two gentlemen. They exemplify the social, gossipy nature of us Indians. Most people are social and gossipy in their own way. I would assume that the social ceremonies around gossip vary between people from different cultures, and ours is unique to us.

Gossiping around a friendly cup of tea is endemic to us Indians.  I don't drink much of the Indian stuff nowadays. I have gone off the taste of it. But, I still enjoy the gossip.

Tea, as is commonly drunk in India, is brewed with water, milk and sugar. It is cooked and cooked and cooked until it becomes a thick,  light brown brew. Typically, you order tea from the nearby tea stall. The owner sends you the tea in an aluminium tea pot and the young fellow who brings the tea to you, also brings along the cracked, china cups, or glasses to pour the tea.

In other parts of India, the rural parts, you get it in an earthen container called a "Kullar". Sorry, the English spelling does not give you a good guide to the pronunciation. After drinking the tean, you simply throw the vessel away, to allow it to become one with the earth again. And, yet again, in places like Bombay, the cup is often shared. One half is poured into a saucer, and you can choose to drink from the cup or the saucer!!

In office, it comes around at tea time. The tea fellow brings it around in a big container, with the cups of tea in the trolley and, the trundling sound of the tea trolley signals that glorious time of the day - "Gossip Time"!!! Who is having an affair with whom, which fellow is brown nosing the boss, is our company about to be sold etc etc etc. Anything is fair game.

When I was in college, we'd sit around a pot of tea, under the glorious starlit night, and talk. We'd start by bitching about class, and the topic would veer to the state of the economy, Carlos Castaneda, on whether God does exist, and why God has an influnce on our lives.

Those glorious days around that humble cup of tea.  And, approaching middle age, we simply take a break during the day, to talk about days gone by, over a friendly cup of tea.

Boredom

  I definitely do not want to live on the roadside in India. I am far too spoiled for that! However, the street in India provides enough fodder for any budding street photographer, and for any one who wants to blog on street life in India.

This last series of blogs have all been based on one morning's walk in Chandni Chowk in New Delhi. Absolutely brilliant, I think.

Boredom. It's something that afflicts us all.

I got these three gentlemen pretty early in my shoot. I would have taken this picture at around 11 am or so. The markets open at around that time anyway, so it was a bit early in the morning. Well, too early to look and feel so bored anyway.

I am not too sure why the fellow on the scooter was so bored. And, I cannot figure out why the guy in the middle was so bored.  The rickshaw fellow was probably waiting for a passenger and got bored by waiting. The guy in the middle probably had nothing to do, so he probably stopped by for a chat. Conversation must have run out, leading to boredom!

The gent on the scooter remains a mystery. But, what does it matter. Evidently, they had enough time on their hands, and without any other intellectual pursuit worth the name, they would simply have let their minds run blank. And, that would then lead to a glazed look, somewhat akin to that of a lizard that is basking in the afternoon sun. There would be the occassional pause, when they would stretch, and look around lazily, scratch an unmentionable part of their body and, return to their original position of absolute boredom. Occassionally, they would clear their throat, gather the spit in their mouths and, with a whoosh, send it out onto the street. More food for the flies!!

I once heard a cassette by Osho Rajneesh on Boredom. He opined that the real role of, mechanism, of a Mantra in helping a person reach enlightenment, was by creating a sense of utter boredom. You keep repeating the mantra again and again and again until your mind is so thoroughly bored and fed up, that it finally breaks through and you gain enlightenment. Never tried it, so I cannot really comment on whether it works or it.

So, these guys would be close to enlightenment.  On the stairway to heaven.

Bassein Village. Bombay, 1984

Bassein Village was the next stop after the Fort. I don't recall if we were looking for it, or if we stumbled upon it. I really can't remember. Anyhow, we did. If I remember well, one of the first shots that I took in the village was of these fishing boats. I liked the angles and patterns made by the prows of the boats and, for me the composition fell into place.

We walked around a bit, taking pictures of the people, what they were doing and generally behaving like city slickers or, city bums. I don't believe for a moment that we stopped to pause and think of what these peoples' lives were about.

Looking back, I think most of them have been stuck in time, as it were. Fishing and drying fish the way that their forefathers did for generations. I am sure that they even carried on the same prejudices that their forefathers had, and believed the same beliefs. Things in old India tend to get passed down from father to son according to the strict ritualistic teachings of " my grand father did it this way, my father did it this way, I do it this way. And, so will you, my son". It's changing now. It's changing faster in the big cities, and more slowly in the small towns and villages. But, it is changing.

Commerce changes it. I've travelled a lot in the villages of India, and as more and more companies push into the villages to sell their products, and expose the villagers to advertising, and as they expose them to new mediums like the Internet, things change. For India, this is crucial, to unleash the power of innovation.