For weeks this blog of mine, which has a mind of its own had been nagging me to write a piece and take stock of 2011. The question is how do you crunch a year full of events, a stock of photo memories into a single blog but let’s try. …
To be exact, the story of course commenced a tad before the start of 2011, when I turned away from a comfortable life and settled myself in Dhaka to work for Drik and for what I called my “rickshaw” life. I had termed 2011, as embracing the unusual, the innovative – even the disruptive.
2011 will be remembered by me and notched as the year of Laxmi – not only because I had the good fortune to see the advent of a granddaughter named Laxmi Elin but because its been a year full of riches – no, not the monetary kind of wealth and prosperity that Goddess Laxmi is supposed to endow one with – but the more precious riches of family reunions, seeing Tara grow up, strengthened friendships – both the old ones as well as the freshness of new friendships that working for Drik has brought me.
So at the end of this year it’s cheers to Ranil and Aileen for the gift of Laxmi Elin and the thoughtful way of naming her bringing both maternal and paternal grandma’s into the picture.
It is also cheers to Shahidul and my new found friends at Drik and Pathshala for making this year an eventful one. They’ve tolerated my incessant cry of “Chole jabbo Sri Lanka” (am going back to Sri Lanka), nursed me though the drama of losing my brand new laptop, got me the much needed work visa and made room for me introducing me to their rich world of photography.
There was no better way to start the year than to dunk myself into the world of images. There was plenty — more than 400 at the Chobi Mela international festival of photography VI (CM VI) organized by Drik – 29 print exhibitions, 31 digital presentations, evening dialogues and discussions and artists from 30 countries.
I had been working from September 2010 with Reza and Mosafa at the Chobi Mela Secretariat. As the festival day approached it was all hands on deck, and many joined creating and contributing to an amazing spectacular unbelievable gala event that lasted for two weeks. I marveled silently how this comparatively small org could pull off such an international event. See video by Jeremiah Foo.
For me 2011 was a year of learning – no, not that much about photography but about myself and coping with the disruptive. Often I was intimidated to take my camera out amid the abundant wealth of talent. Few instances I did it was mostly street photography.
In Dhaka much happens on the streets. I had thought the rally at Chobi Mela was unique but I soon learned that Bangladeshis didn’t need much persuasion to air their problems on the streets. Hartals still happen here frequently and bring the country to a virtual halt. May day outing was one, where people poured out on to the streets all dressed in red – producing armbands and headbands must be a lucrative business.
Life and energy naturally overflow onto the streets in a city that is bursting at the seams. The traffic is notorious.
Amid the incessant horning, the rickshaw wallas swear and argue as they weave in an out, narrowly missing a car, a bus and even the baton weaving traffic police. I’ve long since learned to balance myself on the ridiculously narrow sloping seat, stopped praying and trust I’ll reach my destination limbs intact. The guard at the apartment block shows off his few English phrases and it is no matter for him that the rickshaw walla will not understand English, he happily hailed a rickshaw for me this morning calling out “Come, come quickly.” Many a morning I have a familiar rickshaw walla waiting outside my apartment building. He too ignores my Bangla and greets me with a quirky smile and says “Good Morning” in English.
The tea kiosks and the surrounding pavements are the common man’s smoking club. Office workers regularly gather outside for “char kabo,” a gossip and a moan with the popular smoke. Streets are the home for many, the poor children’s playground, their work place where they try to eke a living. On my way to classes at Pathshala one morning in April it was fun to see the streets kids, playful without a care in the world, strip naked, climb a tree and jump into the green murky waters of a Dhaka lake making it their own swimming pool.
In a year full of happenings at Drik, I had met several charming, very talented photographers. The most recent meeting with David Burnett the iconic photographer in Dhaka is still the defining event of 2011.
I had seen this exhibition and also read and heard before about his work, but to listen to David himself was a totally different experience. Dressed in a faded blue T-shirt, early in December this year, he held the audience spell bounded bringing the events around images come alive – from his photos in Vietnam, to what he thought was a botched up photo of president John F. Kennedy taken as a young rookie photographer. We travelled with him to Iran to catch Ayatollah Khoumeni drinking tea; to other Presidents in jet planes during election campaigns and heard how he captured the anguish on the face of Mary Decker at the 1984 L.A. Olympics and to describe many more defining moment images. He had spoken about his work photographing the refugees as they streamed into India during the 1971 war at the launching of the book and video of the “Birth pangs of a nation.” As a result of seeing so many children sick and dying among the refugees, David said he himself became a more sensitive father, in a way that his wife and daughter couldn’t understand.
But the best memories I have is how comfortable and at ease he was among the people on the streets celebrating Bangladesh’s national day on the 16 Dec. “ Can I say Jai Bangla now?” he asked seated on a wall smoking a cigar with Bangladeshis .
Out on the streets people recognized him as the VIP and wanted to be photographed with him or photograph him. Often it was even difficult to get close enough to focus. I clicked away as I saw him borrowing a lighter from an astounded rickshaw walla. He not only lit his long cigar but also quite naturally leaned forward and lit the cigarette of the rickshaw walla quite oblivious to the amusement of the others watching him.
So what will 2012 bring – will I still be riding rickshaws? Sit in the same office and dream of my avocado tree and squirrels in the garden? Still wrestle with the same problems? Be up against the same challenges? Hard to say but I’ll certainly be wishing for Goddess Laxmi to be around with all her special charms and superior spiritual feminine energy. And I need to see the baby Laxmi that has entered our family.
Happy New Year — Live your dream, love what you do.