Other lives, other worlds and other creatures

What do you do when your friends speak a language which you don’t understand? Play along ? Keep asking the obvious repeatedly and irritating them? Yes I did, and shamelessly,but what are friends for if they don’t tell you which one is a nuthatch or what is a Verditer?

White Tailed Nuthatch – Joydev

Five days spent with friends who are passionate birders taught me a lot.  It was a journey into a territory of which I had an idea but knew little about. I love animals, perhaps more than  humans but the trip revealed how much more an involvement is required to truly call yourself even a hobbyist in this field. I also experienced the challenges of bird photography. This genre has a language and grammar which cannot be compared with other forms of documentary photography. The equipment is heavier and costlier too.

Both the friends are not professional photographers. Ishmeet is from Pune. He is an engineer and an industrialist. Joydev is from Delhi and works in the treasury department of GE Capital and when they get together, it is mostly about bird photography that they talk. Not that they don’t have other interests, but somehow their souls respond eagerly to the sight and call of birds. I must admit that I was taken by surprise with the commitment and passion which they have for their craft. One good example I can give you is that Ishmeet came armed with an i-pod full of bird calls. He uses these sounds to draw the bird out into open so he can take their pictures. Often the two of them would travel to far reaches of the country for a picture of an elusive specie. Time, temperature, altitude and comfort has little meaning in their quest. Honestly before this experience, I had an impression that part time photographers like them were like sahibs brandishing exotic cameras and lenses to pursue an expensive hobby. Far from it, these guys are crazy to the bone. Caring little about their backs or limbs, they carry the very heavy equipment to the very edge of a calamity for a picture of a little brown bird which you and I would not even notice in the first place.

Ishmeet handed me his Canon 40D straddled with a 400mm f5.6 lens to take some bird pictures of my own. This was the first time I had an experience with this focal length. Everything, including the immovable is extremely nervous and fidgety in the frame at 400mm.To make matters worse  you try to see a little bird which moves around as if it is powered with short sharp jabs of electricity.

oops!

One of my efforts

Meanwhile these guys were happily firing away with a 500mm extended to 700mm with a 1.4x tele-convertor. Agreed! a lot has to do with equipment but to make it useful is still an art which requires a lot of practice and patience.

Birding goes beyond photography too. Here it merges with other forms of documentary work. Knowing one’s subject is an important part of the process. These guys can tell the difference between a small Niltava and the Rufous Bellied one in a glance.I believe their spare time is spent studying species. In less than an hour spent with them, I found how woeful my memory is. Time and again I asked for the obvious. Out of the forty odd species spotted, I could retain perhaps three by the end of the trip. This despite making a conscious effort to keep up with them.

We started at 3.30am from Delhi. Joy had some lovely music recorded for us on CDs. There were some hard to find old numbers from the ‘Scaffolds’.  We had a happy journey due to the music. The roads are not bad and  we made it to our destination in good time, well before the arrival of the open Gypsy hired by Joy for birding.

Pangot is a small village, fifteen kilometers from Nainital. It has a population of about seven hundred. A thick forest of Oak and Rhododendron overlooks the village. At 6000ft above sea level, the place is fairly chilly even in May. The first thing which strikes when you descend from your car is the silence. Lack of sound, rather the noise is the biggest indicator of your space-time shift. Suddenly thoughts are louder and you wish them away. Call of a bird, deep from the jungle is heard effortlessly. Bark of a dog or the grind of an occasional vehicle jolt you from the soporific effects of peace. Then slowly, the vast valley and the undulating mountains in front creep up closer while  the sky rushes forth to ensconce you with its clarity.Later the quality of  sunlight finally reminds you that you are far away from your city.

View from Pangot.

We checked into the Jungle lore Birding lodge. A well built, comfortable place to stay. The dining area is cosy and has many prints of miniature bird paintings done by Mughal master painters . Instead of rooms there are cottages, which are large and well equipped. We settled quickly. Ishmeet and Joy wasted no time in assembling their equipment and acquainted themselves with the appointed guide, Mr Llama Singh.

That it was not a holiday sojourn for my two friends became immediately clear by the urgency with which we had breakfast. No loitering around or soaking the morning sun.Camera, lens,tripod all was out in a matter of minutes and soon I found myself in a group peering in the local bushes for a specie or two. The gypsy had not arrived but we decided to walk on towards the jungle for the shoot. Llama Singh would occasionally point toward the trees, asking us to navigate between the thicker and thinner branches or to their left or right, beneath the clump of leaves or some knot in the wood to locate a little bird.

Soon our relationships were more precisely defined. The following is the most common conversation which I would start in a typical manner,

“Where, where?”

“There, in that branch over there”

“Where? which branch.”

“That one over there. Can you see that crooked stem. Come down from it and then to that tree behind it, there the big branch, go to its left. See that little blue bird.”

I strain my eyes, try to negotiate the branches and still ask the question

“Where?”

By this time I notice that the two of them are already deep into their cameras firing away at 10 frames a second. I  align my sight with their lenses to finally see a little blue bird minding its business far in the foliage.

“What is it?”

“Asian Verditer Flycatcher”

I get the reply from somewhere within the mass of metal and shutter snap. So to get a better glimpse of that blue speck, I raise the 400mm lens only to discover that I am more lost than ever. The picture in the frame is moving fast and nowhere near a semblance of a bird. All I manage to see is a blur of leaves and stalk. After a few tries, I give up. There are other things to see , let the experts handle the birds and I will  look at the broader picture. The forest was buzzing with the cacophony of cicadas, bird calls and you might find it strange, the fast sketch of light and shadows. Yes I can hear the music of light. Soon I found myself training that long lens on the ground and elsewhere. I saw dancers, watchmen, bloodstains, jesters and funny bairds in a friendly melee.Scattered clouds in the sky were repeatedly plunging everything in darkness adding to the drama of this sylvan stage.

The Eyelid

Sacrifice

Curtain Rises

Impressions

Then some commotion.A Himalayan woodpecker graced the stage. The lovely bird  repeatedly disappeared behind a bough and then showed itself  briefly to provoke  firing of overexcited camera shutters. It was also my first experience watching cameras being used like a high speed sewing machine.

Himalayan Woodpecker- Joydev

The gypsy finally appeared. It was summoned from the Corbett National Park. It is an open vehicle suitably modified for viewing wildlife.I sat at the front while my friends adjusted themselves with their equipment at the back. The engine of the jeep was in the last throes of its life. Piston rings especially the oil control ones must have thrown the towel six months ago so she ran with a cough and sputter. Fortunately its gearbox was in a good condition, for most of the time in it was spent in the first and reverse . The communication with its driver Pramod went like this..

“Slow…slow…slow…stop”

“Move a little back.”

“More?”

“Stop..move a little forward.” The jeep will move a couple of paces, then..

“Stop.. go back a little…stop…what is that?”

Pramod is a patient man. No questions asked, just kept moving his battered beast back and forth. The moment it stopped a mass of  emanated fuel and oil vapor would catch up with us. I offended the driver more once by asking whether the jeep can make up the next climb. It hurt me to see a creature so badly treated. But for the fuel gauge nothing in the dashboard was functional. The plastics resembled the skin of a man who decided to end his life by overdosing on gunpowder.

The usual suspects with our guide.

It was a fruitful morning for my friends. A surprise was in store for me when we stopped by at the local grocer to buy fifteen kilos of rice grain. It was bought with a buy back agreement from the shopkeeper. The rice was to fill four odd U shaped bags. The bags then were slung over at appropriate places of the gypsy for the long lenses to rest. Quite ingenious! The bags were designed by Ishmeet and were pretty well crafted.

Evening in Pangot had some of the most lovely warm orange light. Rims of leaves were lit in bright gold, while the rest illumined like a bright idea. The contrast and the shadows filled my cup of joy. I did take a few pictures of birds but soon got distracted with the play of light.

Wild Flowers

Fairy

Conversations at the dinner table revolved around what was achieved and what remained. Ishmeet was totally focused on birds while Joydev had many questions for me. He was intrigued by what I was interested in. Frankly I was in many minds. Watching avid bird photographers at work was fascinating but was coming to some conclusions about this kind of photography on my own. My day was spent trying to create narratives, looking for metaphors and allegories. Some were successful, some fell flat.

The Plunge

The next day I decided to use my camera and completely alienate myself from bird photography.

Our guide was using a small flute like instrument to make a bird call. It would invariably agitate the birds above. On inquiry, I was told that the particular call was of a Collared Owlet. Birds sensing danger will stick together and not fly here and there. It becomes easier to take their pictures this way.

 Collared Owlet

The real bird is not much bigger than what you see in this picture!

My photography centered around textures, crests, crevices and shadows. The one thing which frustrates me is the wide gap between feelings and expression. Somethings are exciting, call to me optimistically but later,were lost completely in the frame. The expression just could not stand up to what I had felt at that time. I guess it is a personal struggle. I am becoming better at the process of elimination right at the stage of shutter release but have a long way to go yet.

Ballerina

March

Weather played truant right through. Clouds threatened the day but later cleared to let us take pictures. We had started early and saw the sun peep through cloud cover in a magnificent display of God Rays.

Boon

We sighted Himalayan Griffins basking on a precipice. They are big vultures, so need a thermal up draft to climb and soar. The cloud cover had them incapacitated as far as flight was concerned.

Himalayan Griffin-Ishmeet

Eurasian Jays evaded picture taking by mischievous hide and seek, I think they got pictures of Blue Rock Thrush, a White Throated Laughing Thrush , a Rufous Sibia, a Blue winged Minla and a Grey Bushchat amongst others. The amazing thing is that I’ve been to the mountains so often and never noticed these birds. To see them one simply has to stop….and look. They are there, happily living in the trees by the roadside.  A wealth of beauty for anyone who cares to slow down.

Grey Bushchat

Ultramarine flycatcher- Joydev

Rufous Bellied Woodpecker-Joydev

It was the end of trip for Joy, for he and his wife had to reach Delhi by next morning. The two days which he spent with us, he made full use of, by shooting from dawn to dusk. Only an hour of lunch break was the luxury availed, other than that all the time was spent in the pursuit of birds large and small. Ishmeet was no different, right up with Joy in intent and enthusiasm.

It rained quite a bit at night. Cleared for a while then rained again. Ishmeet was hoping that we will have a clear day the next morning as it was time to capture the Koklass pheasant. It is a shy and a regal bird. Normally is seen by the roadside early in the morning. Much of these sightings are a matter of chance. The bird might simply decide not to make the appearance or might have no business to cross the road. One of Ishmeet’s friend had come from Goa with his family. A bird photographer of good repute, Sandesh Dhareshwar had run into some great luck with the Koklass. This made Ishmeet even more enthusiastic ( and anxious ) to make some good pictures.

Clouds, wind and an oppressive eight degree temperature made the morning quite a handful for photography. Ishmeet was undaunted. He was not going back without the Koklass. The gypsy had gone back, so we were in our car. Slowly we made into the forest. Then all of a sudden I hear Mr Llama Singh cry..

“Sir! Stop”

I’m with the usual “Where?”

“There by the road”

“Where?”

Again my second question was ignored, Ishmeet was already pointing his lens towards some bushes. I drew the imaginary line from the lens to the ground to catch a glimpse of the bird. The bird is well camouflaged, just its head is a deep violet which makes it identifiable.

Koklass Pheasant- Ishmeet

The bird vanished soon enough. The guide called it from his mobile phone. I am not joking. He has these bird calls on his mobile  and simply puts them on the speaker. So the Koklass was called, it replied but remained discreetly hidden from the view for the rest of the morning. Ishmeet got a few shots at crazy ISOs and even after chasing its call for the better part of the day, it remained elusive.But later we were blessed with the lovely flight of the spot winged tit. A little black bird which had made a nest in a wall by the roadside. The couple would survey the landscape from atop a neighboring tree then one of them would dive with its wings plastered on its side and  at the nick of time, control the fall with a brief flap, rise for a while to repeat the dive again. The whole pattern of the flight resembled a hem of an arched crochet table cover.Light was good by this time and I believe Ishmeet got a few good shots of this lovely bird.

We headed towards Sat-tal after the morning session. Sat-tal stands for seven lakes. It is a place vehemently protected from the hustle bustle and rampant commercialization. One simply doesn’t expect a place so sylvan and serene barely three kilometers from a scene full of hoardings and vehicles caught in a traffic jam.

Bird’s eye view of Garud Tal

We checked into the Sat-tal birding lodge and soon after lunch were ready for a shoot. Weather was playing hide and seek again. The afternoon had some thunder threatening clouds, but we were undaunted. I busied myself with taking pictures of the lakes, tourists, tea and food stalls and later joined Ishmeet at the jungle to take pictures of leaves, water and other foliage.

Things to do besides birding

At Sat-tal the first major pursuit was for a crested Kingfisher by the banks of the Cha-fee river ( it is pronounced like this, I am not sure of the spelling). The guide spotted the first one sitting far away on a high tension wire. As usual it took me quite a while to locate it. It was too far even for a 700mm focal length.We negotiated the river bank, water and some rocks to reach a spot where we could see a bird basking in sunshine. It seemed oblivious to our presence but Ishmeet was very careful not to disturb it with sudden movements. So like a foot soldier  he moved on his elbows and knees, stealthily to reach a vantage point for a good shot.I think he was happy with the results. The Kingfisher meanwhile yawned, spread its wings and continued with its siesta. A couple of elegant Red-billed Blue magpies descended to investigate us. These are some of the most languid and graceful creatures I’ve seen. With an attitude of an over affected opera singer, their flight and demeanor is unhurried. The way they sat and the way they took off seemed as if they have perfected the art of existence itself. I was very glad to meet them and want to be like a Red-billed blue magpie in this life.

For a little White capped Water Red-start, we negotiated steep descent, boulders, human feaces and flies to reach a brook where one expects to see the tiny brown fuzzball. Finally we managed to spot two children and their mother. Father was reclusive and I was promised a grander sight if we managed to spot him.  Llama Singh wondered whether he has been eaten by something bigger. Looking at the size of the bird, a common crow could swallow a couple of them like vitamins to start his day . However to our delight we managed to see him a little distance away. He is just a little larger and has a spot of red on his tail . Then a very similar bird appeared and it was pointed that this one was a Plumbeus Water Red Start. Frankly it was Greek & Latin to me. I hope for all the effort Ishmeet  got some good pictures. We searched for a Spotted Forktail high and low, but to no avail but got a glimpse of a Brown Dipper. This innocuous bird had Ishmeet all excited. I wondered how nature has created creatures which look like nothing and then some which are so beautiful that you can’t take your eyes off of them. The Dipper looked like nothing, just a face in the crowd, but my friend was very eager to get its picture. The Dipper dipped behind all sorts of rocks to elude us as if it were the most regal sight in the world.

Plumbeous Water Red Start- Ishmeet

I did not accompany Ishmeet for the afternoon session but explored the nearby landscape. A large part of Sat-tal belongs to a Christian Ashram. One of the reasons the area is protected from commercial marauders. I walked to the ashram from our camp to experience the beautiful evening . Light was exquisite. Mountains were at peace and leaves happy. The jungle whispered stories and memories which a mild breeze carried  from near and far. Sitting on a cement bench, facing the sunset and hearing everything the jungle had to say, I missed my wife and son, I missed my parents and I remembered Juhi, my long gone dachshund. The atmosphere was that of a longing and a reminder that each instant we can be alone, but it is our relationships which define us. I meditated at the grave of E. Stanley Jones, founder of the ashram and felt the love of his spirit and the gratitude which the woods have for him.

Theater

Destinations

Song

I took some pictures, found some symbols, some directions, captured a sentence or two and walked back to the lodge with my mind in waves.

Way

Revelation

The next morning was spent in the pursuit of Spotted Forktail. We pulled up next to the Kainchi Dham temple. Apparently its layout resembles a pair of scissors. The forktail is a lovely black and white bird with a rotund white belly. It was early morning and we were in the shadows so the atmosphere had a blue hang to it. The bird was spotted in the brook which ran next to the temple. Ishmeet wasted no time to descend into the rocky littoral. He got some good pictures.

Spotted Forktail- Ishmeet

Above the bank, from where I had watched the proceedings, I saw children coming from within the forest to go to school. Most were accompanied by their fathers. I was happy for my country. As long as education is considered important, there is hope. Sometimes when I see filth and squalor I get terribly pessimistic, but watching many a child go past in neat and well ironed school uniforms made my morning. I was optimistic and blessed those children and their families with good wishes. The morning turned out well for all of us. Ishmeet got some great pictures of the Small Niltava. Now these birders value eye level shots.Pictures of  birds above on the branches are considered poor. The little bird graced the ground on which we stood and benevolently gave good pictures for some time before it found some other matters to attend to.

Small Niltava- Ishmeet

Sat-tal gave me a glimpse of the most beautiful bird I’ve seen so far. The Long Tailed Minivet. By a glimpse, I mean just a glimpse. It didn’t stay at the tree perch for long. Like a little flame flickering, it came to sight and disappeared in a flash. The colors of the adult are deep scarlet and black. Juveniles are a flaming orange . As they grow older, their feathers change colors. Amazing how creatures are ‘programmed’ to appear. Is genetic code like a program? I wonder if the ‘Matrix’ has revealed some of the most compelling philosophy of modern time.

long tailed Minivet Male-Ishmeet

There is a stream at Sat-tal, actually stream is being very kind to its size and flow, more like a trickle of water leaking from a small water source but it creates a wealth of pictures for birders. Enterprising guides have planted a few twigs on the bank of the stream. A wide variety of birds come to drink water and invariably end up sitting on the twigs, giving a great view of the proceedings to the photographers. Its a funny sight. On one end you see the photographer sitting on the ground quietly taking pictures and on the other his guide is rolling on grass listening to songs on his mobile. It is when the guide has to take rest, he brings the photographer to this picture heaven and is relieved of his duty. Birds of all kinds keep the photographer busy for hours on end.

Whiskered Yuhina- Ishmeet

A bird which I could not see but hear too well intrigued me. It was  the Wedge-tailed Green Pigeon which went on and on with its complex long note. Its flute like contralto filled space like a sad song does in an inebriated mind. Believe me, I’ve seen many a drunk get sentimental over sad Hindi songs and this pigeon’s call creates exactly the same atmosphere. Time and again it appeared as if saying,”I’ll wait for you forever and ever.”

This show I won’t forget for a long time. I’ve been to Sat-tal many times but have been ignorant of its avian wealth . I love the place for its serenity but now I’ll have another reason to visit it again and again.

I would love to own a long lens and do some bird photography ( It is very expensive) even though I enjoy what I’m doing at the moment . Birding and wildlife photography has a language of its own. It will take me many years to learn it and then create a personal narrative. But even if I don’t get to take pictures of these lovely creatures, it will be fun to savor the company of my crazy friends whose commitment I admire. So don’t forget to invite me for your next outing folks.

The Gul and the Jac

Whether Solar flares will end the world in 2012, I know not, but this has been the best year I’ve experienced so far, in the last five.

Over four years ago I noticed the little violet flowers from outside my studio window. I pointed it out to my Labrador Newton who always accompanied me during my painting sessions. He replied with ,”what is the big deal? “, and then looked outside with enthusiasm, may be for a crow or a squirrel scurrying on the many wires outside, but ignored the flowers completely. At that time I did not know what tree it was. For me it was the sad tree with little violet flowers which looked like trumpets. The sight prompted  me to pull out a bottle of strong beer and put Pink Fllyod’s ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ on the stereo to complete the atmosphere. I don’t remember whether the sad tree, music and beer made me happy, but the moment like the furrows on Newton’s forehead remain deeply etched in my memory. My studio is now at a larger place. It has more light and a grand Peepul now overlooks the windows instead of the sad tree which I now know is the Jacaranda.

In our colony all trees lose their sheen and color on dry days. There is so much dust that their leaves look like badly powdered performer of a cheap drama. Come a shower and every sentinel of the colony is caparisoned in its natural glory. A friend had commented that Delhi does not have enough variety of trees. Just outside my home at GK 2 are Saptparnis, Gulmohar, Jacaranda and a  Silver oak.A royal Semal  is just down the road. Another end has numerous white Firangipanis besides, the Amaltas . Neem is so ubiquitous that it is hardly worth mentioning. There is another sapling making its presence and it has found a home in the bosom of the Jacaranda.

A Peepul is growing right out from the stem of the big tree.

The Jacaranda is sad. It has been hacked quite a bit to ensure a regular supply of electricity to my air-conditioners. I think in pain and protest, it refused to flower in the last four years. I missed those lovely flowers and felt bad for the tree and this world. Strangely even the Gulmohar which has nothing to do with the wires has been quite too. I don’t remember its fiery display in the last four years. The only trees which have been innocently oblivious to this changing world are the Saptparnis. Without fail, each year they’ve treated us  benevolently with their flowers and heady aroma.

This year is different. The Jacaranda has bloomed.

Beethoven kept himself busy watching the tree sprinkle  gifts for all.

A ferocious sandstorm and a thundershower ended the solo concert of the Jac. It was time for the Gul take over.

It has lit the space outside with magnificent erubescence.

Its not just me who is happy. I can hear a cacophony outside every morning for we have a family of Bulbuls which has moved in. I believe the local squirrels and crows have accepted them and so have the bees.

The problem is that whenever I experience beauty , I am reminded of the sacred hymns I heard at the Hemkunt Sahib Gurdwara. The lyrics elucidated the ephemeral nature of all relationships. That none remain with you forever other than God.

I know, He played His music four years ago in this grand fashion and has decided to do so again this year. Maybe it happens only once in four years. Who am I to complain? Whatever I see and whatever I experience, is a gift from Him anyways.

I hope the music lasts a little longer. The heat of summer on its own is pretty unbearable for me, but there are fond memories of the Jacaranda and there is joy of  watching the Gulmohar shine from my bedroom window everyday. The Amaltas has erupted too and soon in a month, my favorite mangoes would carry the flavour of Indian summer to ameliorate my journey through this heat.

Life is great!

Rediscovery

Like a turtle I went inside my shell. One after the other I saw a photographer present work which was socially relevant or carried some great artistic story. What was I doing? I was just going out of the house and taking pictures.

The Delhi Photo Festival was an eye opener. “The world is too far ahead”, I thought. Young photographers are being encouraged and engaged by big organizations while some have grants to cover Kashmir and other conflicts. I don’t know anyone nor do I know how, but the pertinent question facing me was what did I achieve in my four year long photographic journey? I felt guilty picking up the camera and was crestfallen like Calvino’s Antonino without his Bice.

So I decided to roll  my mind into a tube to  see something  centered on an issue and then make a story relevant to those who see it. My concept made me go out into the world again but with a flagged mind.

The journey started with rough, tentative sweeps over the city, much like an artist’s first impression on a canvas. The more I went out pursuing the concept ,the more I disliked the idea. Perhaps I was venturing out of my comfort zone. Previously I believed that an image, if it reaches a state of visual climax ,is a story in itself . This approach was different and I was uncomfortable.

The airing took me back to the reading of great essays written on photography by Shore, Sontag, Barthes and Szarkowski. I wanted to improve. I wanted to do things differently.

But there was still something fundamental to photography which agitated me. A question which remained largely unanswered was the photographer’s urge and his need to take pictures. If that answer is buried between the lines in these essays, I either did not fathom or have completely missed it.

A photograph is heterotelic. In my opinion the DNA of its pixels carries the entelechy of the image taker . Seems like an obvious statement, but the image’s soul breathes with the decision to have it in the first place ! Many of these decisions can be explained but what if the purpose of the image is not known to the photographer himself ( the kind of work I do)? What if the need to photograph is like the need to reproduce ( fortunately that desire warmed me just once)?

What if photography was like kleptomania, picking up moments from existence out of compulsion ?

Take for example a recent photograph I took.

On a Sunday morning I just sat down at a place and took pictures of people crossing the street . Ostensibly to see ‘life’ unfold. I do that often and ‘find ‘ interesting moments. For all the effort to get up on a Sunday morning out of a cosy bed, I get pictures like this. And it is not just about me.

What about him? We don’t know each other. He came in my frame and posed, did not move till he heard the shutter click and then quietly left the scene.

But I am digressing from the point here.

After Delhi Photo Festival I concluded that I was wasting my time doing such random things. It requires discipline, foresight and a conviction in some social or an environmental cause to create a body of work and that is how I should take pictures. Then I put some silica gel in a zip-lock and mummified my camera.Every night I stared at the ceiling for some inspiration till I fell asleep.

The inspiration came in the form of a  book launch.

It was Dayanita Singh’s  ‘House Of Love’. Since I bought it, it has become perhaps my second most read and seen book. The other is not really a book, it is a Tintin comic, ‘The Calculus Affair’.

The images from ‘House Of Love’ moved me immensely. It is a book of metaphors and many images ( for me) are allegorical . I greatly recommend this book to all interested in photography and/or writing. Aveek Sen’s words ( A nocturnal Vacation) at the end are beautiful and deeply personal, but some how remain incomplete in describing the urge to photograph.

But the larger issue for me is that the ‘House Of Love’  brought me back to my own self. I regained my ‘innocence’. I unwrapped my camera and went out to shoot just for the sake of achieving a visual climax. I don’t care two hoots whether it ends up in a body of work or not.

To explain my silly behavior, I’ll describe two pictures from her book. The first one is of two beehives ( Continuous Cities, page 20). A red light renders them like viscid drops of blood, tense yet victorious against the force of gravity. The other image is of a bare tree, again painted by a red light ( Being of Darkness, page 136). The background is darkness of a night, so it appears as if  its twigs, like throbbing arteries are feeding the earth with its blood.  For me it brought a sense of re affirmation. This is where the heterotelic nature of an image argues for itself. The color red may have different allegorical inference for Dayanita, but I see blood. Even  two roses ( Portrait of a Marriage, page 76) look like blood stains on a wall. I doubt that was the intention of those pictures, but they are lasting impressions on my mind due to reasons of my understanding. However, the point is that according to Dayanita, she took most of the images well before the concept of the book was conceived.So an  image is like an individual before it loses itself to a civilization or a community or to a story in a book. Much like a human being, its destiny is  unknown till its consummation and justification by time.

Whether I’ll ever work on a story, I do not know ( though I get intermittent urges to go back on my ‘project’). Whether the present pictures will somehow like little iron shavings get arranged in a  larger picture, I know not. But I cannot stop taking pictures.

Thank you Dayanita and Aveek for giving us this wonderful book. Even my father who is just a casual admirer of photographic work loved it.

Till I find a reason, I’ll take pictures without one…

Who knows the future? Maybe my pictures will also make a book as beautiful as the ‘House Of Love’…

Tombu – Paintings & their story

Six years ago if I could tell  how my life would unfold by the way I lived it, I couldn’t be more wrong.

The Universe mostly tells you things in subtle ways. But more often than not it gives you warnings strongly about an impending danger in a clearer manner than telling you about good fortune.

It was after my first exhibition of paintings at the Lalit Kala Academy, New Delhi, a blank canvas summoned me. The image was of a delicate girl lying peacefully on a bed of wild flowers. It was unusual considering I had almost decided upon using a little dog as the narrator of  stories for my paintings. The exhibited paintings were of a little dog called Juhi.

The exhibition was held in May 2005 and the image which I am talking about appeared  in the beginning of July 2005.  But I struggled to make it. The more I tried rendering the delicate face of that girl the more it looked like a man’s. I called up my girlfriend Sudipta ( now my wife) and told her  I was not a good artist. I can’t even make a face of a girl correctly and so I should give up painting altogether. She told me to let it come as it wants . I have heeded to that advice since. So the outcome was a painting  of a delicate man lying peacefully on a bed of white wild flowers. It is just a face, eyes shut as if dreaming, and enjoying a state of bliss. The painting took about a week to finish and agitated me. There was no reason for it’s existence, but there it was in my house.

It wasn’t till the morning of 15th of August 2005 that I realized what that picture was trying to tell. I found Sudipta’s brother lying at the bottom of a deep gorge, eyes closed, peacefully in a different lifetime amidst those white wild flowers. His car had gone over a cliff between Mussourie and Dhanaulti. It was a day of death and bright little wild  flowers lit by shafts of most beautiful sunlight I have ever seen in my life.

Tombu is a character from a story that my dear friend Gaurav has written. Tombu is a little boy who gets his way in school by lying, but has to face the truth of his abilities while facing that last ball which if he had hit for a four could have won his team the cricket match.Tombu was clean bowled.

It took me a lot of time to recover from the violence of that loss.  Every experience of the world appeared as an illusion. Relationships, laughter, love, lights, circus, cars, desire, submarines…anything and almost everything seemed like that last ball which Tombu had to face.

Then one evening in a state of kef, after three whiskeys Tombu visited me. His sudden appearance and the fact that he had no viscera but just a face which looked like a large ink stain did not surprisingly surprise. The sudden change of life that day had turned me numb . Yet he was there and silently watched me see the sky turn from orange to black sipping  whiskey. I ignored him for a while and then tried to have a conversation . Like a conversation one has with a real person, a friend, just a natural conversation. My attempts were met with a cold cynical look. Little did I realize, Tombu was not there to listen. He cannot listen for he has no ears. One can only look at him to see and understand how he feels about things. Believe me, he does not approve of any joy.

These paintings are depictions of my one sided conversations with Tombu. There are arguments and counter arguments about why things happen  and why or how you need to deal with them. Its about the numbness of the everyday and the importance of the dramatic.Many have the dancer in them. Dancer is my hope and belief. He saves the day with an opposite emotion.

There is no philosophy or logic behind these images. Though a certain amount of dialectic is a part of the narrative, which was and still is to a certain extent a part of my existence but there is nothing more to the image than what is visible. I think they are a result of a lot of drinking, watching Lords Of The Rings trilogy and the summon of that urge which called me to paint.

The last of these pictures is the ‘Midnight Surprise’. It has no Tombu. It was painted after I got married to Sudipta . I guess Tombu realized that there was no space left for him after Sudipta’s arrival.

I don’t consider these images to be either epiphany or some other mantic visitation though that image of a man in a bed of flowers surely was.

I hope the elegiac is way behind me now, for I am sniffing a misty, feminine , aromatic breath of color and movement which is whispering words urging me to paint again.

Rock Riders II

Some affections and afflictions are beyond explanation. I think they are best left as fey influences in one’s life. Sociologists, psychologists and anthropologists might question our need to desire certain experiences.To them I  simply say, ” come, participate, and if you do not , you will not understand.” This goes out to those who haven’t done biking and haven’t experienced rock music.

This time I was there when the whole paraphernalia was being set up.

When the speaker array was going up and when the wires were getting joined .

The ultimate in industrial beauty. This is when the machines look so good.

How elaborate and complex  is it to make a show like the Harley Rock Riders happen. For the organizers this must be just a part of the job.  Harley’s tireless team was there at the venue till 2 am the night before, making sure everything was in place.Same for the guys at Rolling Stones and  for the bands. Who would know the blisters their fingers have had while learning the guitar or any other instrument for that matter. Then there is hours and hours of practice to create a flawless performance. So this blog is a tribute to everyone who work hard behind the scenes and make people happy.

Notice the spelling of soul.

The allegory works beautifully here.

It is also a tribute to the rock band Circus. Their lyrics twisted something within me. Two years of my own musical negligence has ended.I feel enthusiastic and inspired to make music an important part of my life again. My musical journey begins with visual stimulation( perhaps that’s the reason why I am a photographer). The album cover is a very compelling connection . Its design and presentation pulls me into the music locked in its folds. iPod is useful, but its not for me. It is too convenient, easy and impersonal for my liking. Taking to downloaded music gradually made me insensitive  and today I find myself standing so far away, but I have just pulled out that Megadeth CD and  find myself staring at a hairless Siamese cat in an ochre’ background. For me music is incomplete without an album cover.

Coming back to Rock Riders, I was there to photograph the event with the usual nervous anxiety. Honestly music was far from the list of important things tapping the inner walls of my mind. The issue of light was disturbing. Venue lights were directly above the artists and behind them, so their faces and eyes would be in deep shadow. My own plan of putting a studio strobe at forty five degrees on right and above became unfeasible due to crowd control and other compulsions. At best I could fire it through a reflected umbrella at ninety degrees from the left of the artists. For fill, my assistant held an SB800 in front of the stage to light the singers and occasionally the crowd.Both were synced remotely through an elinchrome skyport. This time the show was held at the Talkatora indoor stadium. It was bigger,grander and had more for the benefit of the fans. It is fast evolving into a serious rock music festival. The show began with ‘The circus’ who woke me  to the reality that the event was about music.

If their work were indifferent, who knows I would have  simply concentrated on getting good pictures. But in a minute, I was involved in its various other dimensions..

Their style is similar to Nirvana. lyrics are wrapped deep in layers of rifle like guitar chords. The kind of music which is internalized, mysterious, revealing little like a passing high speed train. You want to know more, hop aboard or just be an awestruck spectator.

Abhishek Bhatia of  ‘ The Circus’.

Honestly I couldn’t understand a word being sung though the crowd was enjoying every bit of it.

The influence of ‘ Feels like Teen Spirit ‘ was not just confined to their music, but also on their attire.

Later at home when I read the lyrics , that the abstraction of their world struck me further. This is a sample of their ‘Japanese Rebellion’..

Feelings inside

Outside shut.

Open my eyes, and you know its sleazy.

Damn you Samurai

Damn you Samurai.

This is it. This is the nature of their music. Hard, tunneling through the very structure of your comfort.It is not easy to access.But I love it. I love its brutality and honesty. If you wish to listen to them, keep the lyrics at hand . I’m sure as the band matures, their music will transform, but hopefully they will keep their style intact.

Next on the stage was what I was looking forward to. A performance by the band from Mumbai  ‘Split’.

Last year they had inundated the genteel from Delhi with the hard as brass music at the Rock Riders Finale. This year the crowd was waiting in anticipation. Split did not disappoint. In stark contrast to The Circus, Split reached out to their fans. Their music was interactive and emotional.

If Garreth was intense , Aviv was riding his guitar like a ‘Nimbus 2000′ into ecstasy.

Last year, beside their music Split also gave us some memorable pictures. This year was no different.

But their performance was different . Different atmosphere and circumstances. I enjoyed picture taking and their music .

Then what followed was a unique experience at a rock show. It was Half Step Down on the stage. For how their lead  vocalist Dhaval  jumped on the stage, the group can be safely  re-named ‘ Two Feet Up’. I just loved his ebullience and relationship to  music. The group has a  pleasant style . A mix of  rock ,reggae, Cindy Lauper and jazz ( to my novice ears). It has a serious feel good factor. After the very first song the crowd was chanting ‘ You are awesome’.

One of the instances where my rear curtain sync worked very well. I cannot say whether Dhaval here is going up or coming down.

He has a sweet voice and he sings from deep within his self.

How perfectly placed that right hand is in the blue light. Does that ring a bell ? Remember Michelangelo’s painting and that hand of god?

The pleasant music is deftly fused with serious metal guitar riffs and notes of a trumpet.

Alvaro Lopez is on the guitar.

Carl Abraham

Half step down is polite rock, fusion rock, a group which is very sensitive to sounds and appreciative of good work done by a lot of people in music. It creates a pleasant world of harmony, melody and beat. In one of the numbers Dhaval went into Bhangra mode and then what to me sounded like a heart warming  musical gibberish. Something which I often concoct when I sing to my son. For me it is true music. Innocent, pure and simply possessing  the grammar of love.

I call this edition of Rock Riders ‘Evolution’ for the simple reason, that everyone involved in making the show worked to make it better. Right from the venue, the signage, crowd comfort, lights, sound and most importantly the choice of music being played .It was eclectic. In style, rendering and intent every group was different, yet kept to the general theme of the show. The stage was bigger. Two bikes behind at an angle of almost thirty degrees lent to a much interesting background for the photographs. The roof of the stadium was used interestingly as a screen for the sponsors and other display. It was an artistic, industrial atmosphere.

To top it all there was Parikrama.

This was the first time I heard them live or otherwise. Let me tell you, I was blown away.

When Nitin Malik began singing, it was like he was possessed by  Brian Johnson of AC/DC . There was superb control in his voice. I always thought no one else has voice control of Brian Johnson and Rob Halford ( Judas Priest ). To my benefit  Nitin has shattered this illusion.

Sourabh Chowdhary  and Sonam Sherpa accompanied awesome vocals with some serious guitar riffs.

Parikrama uses a wide gamut of instruments in rendering their music. Besides drums, guitar and keyboard there was tabla and violin. Everything played seamlessly together.

As a photographer, the shoot was not merely about technique. It was to capture an experience. Often I turned off my two flashes to get available light purely. Sometimes it worked.

Subir Malik on the keyboard. Imran Khan with a uniquely shaped violin and Saurabh .

I really like this panorama. It is eight vertical frames stitched in Photoshop. Now a tribute to the software geeks at Adobe for their lovely program.

Subir at the keyboard was headbanging throughout their performance. I was amazed at his ability to remain in that zone. Marvelous neck muscles and his cerebral fluid to re collect.

Only at the time of jugal bandi with Imran did Subir’s head remain still.

It was one crazy performance that Parikrama dished. All of us wanted more.

One thing to mention here is a comment by my friend who is musically much mature than I am and is also a fashion designer. He lamented the fact the groups didn’t pay much attention to their clothes. What makes rock music so special is its texture. In texture each corner of its dimension is important. Imagine Ozzy without his glasses or Brian Johnson without his beret and shorts. If our artists paid some attention to their clothes, I believe they’ll be taken more seriously  internationally. Guys please please don’t wear striped T shirts. That’s bad taste and let’s have some more attitude. A bob Marley hair style is not enough.

Oh! I almost forgot to mention the great Jose’. Master of ceremony and master of temper. Boy can he hold a crowd, take jibes, taunts and bad language in a stride and respond in the most admirable repartee. I think the congress party will be well advised to have him as their official spokesperson if they want to win the next election.

I missed Jose’s diamante pistol belt buckle this time.

The horn symbol is a mystery.  I think it is called the Malacchio. Now I believe it is used in appreciation at rock shows.

Finally my heartfelt gratitude to Sanjay and his team ( from left Milind, Kunal, Sanjay and Pallavi) for their tireless work, enthusiasm and spirit to make this show happen. It not only gives exposure to the bands but also is setting standards in presentation and execution of Rock Shows in India. Well done guys!

Easy Buddy

The dust seems to have settled. Now, I think I can get up ,take a deep breath, clear my head and look within to find some answers. So this blog is certainly not  riding that wave.

Firstly, after two feeble attempts, I could not make anything of the Jan lokpal curry. Its gravy is too thick for me to swallow. Secondly, I don’t like most of team Anna besides Kiran Bedi and Anna Hazare.The rest are there to purloin and hog the limelight through rhetoric and hyperbole. And what did we expect from the government? Roll over on its back and expose its belly when confronted? According to  experts, the government’s draft was rubbish( I cannot say, for I don’t understand anything) and despite that, they  believed in only self promotion.To me, it appeared an extremely foolish thing to do and  made me  wonder whether people inside were in a mood to destroy their own image. Not surprisingly and for good, came a classic tussle for power. In the whole drama and for a  denouement of Anna’s breakfast  everybody overlooked the most basic aspect of human nature. The need for control.

I challenge  you to ask your father for a blank cheque. Better still, give one to your diamond obsessed wife ( I can do this, for I know mine can only splurge on books, movies and my little son’s clothes. but  there isn’t much money in my account ). The need to control is in all of us and expression of power is also an expression of one’s existence. It is the foundation of one’s entity. You are asking  those who have risen to a seat in the Parliament to share power with you? Are you nuts? They have sacrificed a lot, including shame to reach where they are  and they are not going  to give in without a fight. Well! Anna dared and they have, seemingly, relented ( for now). Don’t expect miracles and don’t be surprised if the issue is lost in the creative cobwebs of  legal spiders.

Its like asking your dad for a joint account and a signed cheque book.

Then it has taken a long time for me to understand corruption. You see I have a lot of cracked programs on my computer. I can justify their presence with some clever argument. Everything can be justified.One can cheat on one’s wife or  husband, wage wars, kill female fetuses, clear out  a rain forest, shoot a black buck to celebrate new year’s eve, marry one’s  twelve year old daughter and much more.One can do all this, but he who has stolen thousands of crores is a bigger cheat because cheating must be only measured in money.  My thousands of rupees worth of illegal programs is much less than thousands of crores of his graft, so I have the right to raise slogans, swing national flag vigorously and participate in an anti corruption rally .We reserve the right to mundify the corrupt politician but refuse to see a reflection.

We should cheat equally.

When I reached Ramlila ground, I knew I would meet the rascal, the patriot,and the hypocrite.

I met thousands, but  didn’t expect to see a party happening there. People served free water, kachauris, biscuits and information on how the rich and the powerful have looted the poor.

Then there were those in an illusion that the movement will solve some issue in their village.

Poor fellows came from afar, heard some eloquent speeches and then settled on the ground with their hookas. Some just moved away, still disillusioned but with a steady hand holding the national flag, making plans to draw the attention of organizers on some more important matters at hand.

Children and grown ups colored their faces in the tri- color.

Posters were a plenty and generally the mood was abuzz with controlled aggression  towards the powers above.

Agreed! But first look within I say. Gandhiji said very aptly,” be the change that you wish for.” So now my ultimate conclusion is that corruption is merely another name for weakness. Rather corruption is weakness manifested in action to benefit the self. Wow! your weakness working for you. Must be easy to be corrupt. It is! ask Ravana. His last words to Rama and Laxmana were,” I’ve learned a lot of things in life, but now at this time I wish to tell you this. Of all the things which were bad for me, came very easily ,and all the things which were  good, I had to work hard for “

I swear, as soon as I have enough money I’m going to pay for all those stolen programs on my computer. Till then I’ll use them with a little guilt.

Cars!

I love cars. .I like cars which perform. Cars either have to be fast or  look good.Preferably both. I detest fuel efficient vasectomised cockroaches running on city roads. But then they are a necessity of modern living. For most performance is merely traveling  from point A to B. I don’t belong to that category. The experience of driving is essential to my life.

But this Sunday, I came across a group of people who are passionate about their cars. Old cars. Vintage cars. Cars exuding style and many a pall of engine oil smoke from their exhaust. To my pleasant surprise half of them were women. I have special admiration for them. A couple of them in a hot rodded baby Hindustan looked very cool.

It is said that there are no accidents in life. The email application on my Nokia X6 is usually turned off. It is temperamental. It is off right now and with repeated prodding would refuse to activate. So ‘accidentally’, this Saturday afternoon, it miraculously began syncing with my hot mail account.  And Lo! I see an e-mail from Dinesh Khanna on behalf of Delhi Photographers that organizers of a vintage car rally were looking for photographers to cover their event which they were hosting this Sunday. And they were willing to pay for the services as well. I simply jumped for joy. The last time I had shot vintage cars was two years ago at the Khan Market. I was determined to get a different perspective this time. So I promptly called Rajeev Joseph, he was the one to contact for the job. We spoke and he wanted to see the kind of work I did. I led him to my homepage at 1x.com ( which incidentally, I had up and running less than a week ago ). Apparently Dinesh was to select the photographer, so I wrote to him too. After looking at my work they approved my participation.

I wasn’t doing it for the money. Frankly, if there were no money involved, it wouldn’t have made any difference to my intent or enthusiasm. Though I must say since there was a bit of money involved, I took care to include the perspective of the organizers. This was good since I discovered many other things in return. Rajeev told me categorically that they weren’t looking at cliched pictures of vintage cars . He told me to include real life in Delhi .  I tell you, a photographer must be receptive to every idea there is. It helps in his work. And what a wonderful idea it was. So many stories came tumbling down from all corners of my mind. I’ll shoot the car against this, I’ll shoot the car against that. Well! Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans ( John Lennon). But whatever happened worked out well for me. The perspective was fresh and challenging and I was looking forward to this.

So off I went, with many a preconceived notion to shoot vintage cars. I carried my trusted Nikon D700. My lenses were 24-70 f2.8 ( the workhorse lens), Nikon 14-24 f2.8 and my favorite 85mm f1.8. I ended up using the zooms. Then I carried an SB 900 flash which I intended to use off camera, triggered with an elinchrome skyport   unit. D700′s on camera flash works as commander on most occasions, but in bright light it becomes a bit temperamental .I also carried a reflective umbrella, a light stand, a Justin clamp and a tripod.

Sunday morning was as beautiful as most Delhi mornings have been this winter. Tall Jamuns, Pilkhans, Peepal bristled on their edges with orange light. A few trees on the way  frustrated me as I recognized them but could not remember their names ( after referring to my book of trees, it was a khirk that I saw). The air was on the chillier side, yet I enjoyed it very much right to my bones. A very translucent haze, almost nacreous hung to diffuse light. The blue sky above made shadows blue, while the angular sun at 9.00 am sent shafts of yellow orange light, cutting through leaves and buildings, blessing everything with warm life in its path.

As I said earlier, I went there with preconceived notions. These cars are about form, grace, attitude. An expression of their designer’s understanding of life. So the first thing to capture was the idea behind the design. Frankly, the age of the car had no real novelty for me. It was how she looked and what she said. The second most important thing to capture was how she interacted with her surroundings. By surroundings, I meant shadows, walls, other cars, buildings and most importantly the sky. Now I have this quirk, if anything cannot speak to the sky, it is not worth looking at.  I don’t remember house numbers in Delhi because I don’t care. I don’t care because I don’t like the houses in Delhi.Almost all of them have been designed by shitty architects who hang ugly plastic water tanks on their roofs. I tell you the city looks so much better at night when you can’t see them.Coming back to the point of preconceived notions, I had also decided to use a wide aperture in most circumstances for shallow depth of field. Normally I like texture in my work, but of late, I’ve been in this phase of blurred backgrounds. But contradictorily,  I also wanted to show the juxtaposition of modern structures with the older ones. So it was a flexible approach depending on the circumstance.

Vintage cars are also about glamor and high life. Without  appropriate inclusion of such an atmosphere, the pictures would be incomplete. My off camera light and umbrella was supposed to capture portraits of  collectors and other people at the scene. For reasons of logistics it didn’t turn out that way.

The Le Meridian hotel has its driveway lined with rows of lovely white Frangipanis . Must be beautiful in bloom, but I wondered , while driving down, how many of their shed flowers would get crushed under wheels of cars going to park. Well! the morbid thought soon gave way to a spectacle of an open courtyard where I could see a white Chevrolet Impala standing in a corner. Vying for attention with a row of sparkling domes keeping the breakfast of participants warm in this lovely Delhi winter ( I can’t get over it). Then I was guided into the dark confines of the hotel parking area. I descended two stories down before I could park my car. Carrying the umbrella, stand and what nots  soon became a no go. I straddled my camera with the 24-70. The wide angle hung on the right and my flash along with the 85mm in small denim bag on the left. So like a  loaded Sherpa I strode into the arena to celebrate life with these beautiful cars.

On my left was the breakfast buffet, adjacent to a sparkling clean white textured wall of the hotel. Sunlight was falling on it directly and thus creating a bright light reflector of sorts. It had to be used and taken care of while taking exposures. I was straight away drawn to the Impala. The Impala, to the best of my knowledge is a deer. I couldn’t find a connect in shape, but wondered how beautiful she was. Lovely light aqua tinted glass. Silver beading running along her length. The finely crafted logo. Shades on her headlamps ,and the exquisite grill. Everything spoke class. Here is the picture of her that I took.

Behind her is an iron mesh screen and a light pole. I thought they are an important part of the narrative. Giving a mechanistic edge to the atmosphere. Whether it is contrasty or a collaborative , take your pick. No. It is not an HDR. The D700 is an exceptional camera. If you expose properly with a keen eye on the histogram, you can get a very wide dynamic range even in harsh light conditions. Believe me, a white subject at 9.30 am is not exactly a photographer’s friend.

Next to her was the Rolls Royce Phantom. A glorious composition of wood, mesh, brass, spoke and that little flying angel. Her rear end was shaped like a boat. She is huge and I went around her enough to have married her, but just could not get a decent angle to capture her full body in a single frame. The same angle as the Chevy’s, was not cutting it for me. So I concentrated on the details. The obvious one was that signature angel .

I think it speaks of the romance of driving a Rolls Royce. The mechanic caring for her showed me her engine. It is straight six fed by a single side draft carburetor. I realized how things have come a long way with variable geometry intake manifolds of cars today. Her  intake manifold has no regard for gas momentum, nor is anything evenly balanced. The carburetor is bang ( is it a Weber ?) , hanging in the center , piggy backing the no3. and 5 cylinders with stub of a plenum, whilst the 1 and 6 nos intake ports enjoy the luxury of generous length tracts. However, it is what is over the hood which mattered here. A classic design!. Mixing elements of architecture and technology ( for that era) in what makes Rolls Royce so unique for students of design and anthropology.

I was soon woken up from my drooling stupor by a little red machine, which roared very briskly into the arena. It is a Morgan. Beautifully crafted in its lines and planes. Headlamps sparkling like diamonds. Her owner looked proud, regal and passionate in her open cockpit. His salt and pepper hair and a pony tail under a wide brimmed cow boy hat ( I forget its technical name) going very well with her metameric crimson red paint. I say metameric because in shade it has a subtle blue tone, while in sunlight it appears more scarlet. I was drawn towards her large front grille. Have a look at her. Isn’t she lovely?

Notice the ‘bumper’. The design is clearly inspired by horns of a prized bull. Unfortunately, downsizing of the image has robbed details from the inside of the grill. Original image has all the details. Vertical rows of chrome, backed by parallelograms of a mesh and later the tightly stacked horizontal lines of the radiator. The whole form is so dynamic, aggressive and  beautifully balanced in weight and luminosity.The driver’s and co-passenger’s seat is covered with a tan leather shroud. Luxurious as hell! And that exhaust note is to die for. I thought the green pipes in the background add an effective movement to the whole photograph.

I must acknowledge the warmth and generosity which Rajeev showered upon me. I didn’t recognize him but overheard someone calling his name. So I went over to introduce myself, he shook my hand with a gusto that made me immediately trust him. I usually withdraw from people who extend me a limp hand. A good solid handshake is sign of a trusting and an enthusiastic nature. Which was evident to me right through our conversations and later interaction with each other during the day. I had said over our telephonic conversation that it was alright if I wasn’t paid. But he insisted that I get paid for my effort. Then later, even without looking at the result, he handed me the money when I was about to leave. Little things like this make you feel good and make you do good. I shot with a happy heart…

This Big Bertha looks like a powerful locomotive.  She is a Pontiac Silver streak. There is very little silver in her, but she shone like one despite her deep plum color. Ah! the grace of metal. She reminded me of a story which I read in class eight. It was called locomotive 59. Locomotive 59 was the name of a rich red Indian. Her nose is graced by a lovely little head of an In jun.

That’s her profile picture. The front suspension seems to be extra stiff. The engine must be quite heavy. Wheel arches and fenders look like pumped muscles. She is quite an imposing figure.

That’s how polished her personality is. I particularly liked the aggressive form of her windows.

One of my favorite cars is the Chevrolet Bel-Air. Like the Impala, it has a sense of history. Here she was dressed in yellow. Her photos at the parking lot aren’t that great. The camera angle and standing next to big Bertha were not going in her favor. I got a sweeping form from her. Sitting low and taking a wide angle.

But later on the road, her cheerful nature took over everything. You’ll see for yourself.

I simply could not get enough of her. So I took  pictures in all possible situations I could. I must tell you the situation I was in at this time. Head, camera and upper torso jutting out from the front window of an Innova like an over excited Labrador. Eyes streaming with tears from the incoming air and quizzical looks of motorcyclists whizzing past between us and the car made shooting a bit more challenging. My preconceptions were turning into  concepts of adaptability.

Some more..

Its a nice shot of the old having got left behind in function, but the form is miles ahead of the contemporary.

This along with some other pictures was my take on how passion is ebbing out from our blood. The need to accommodate so many has led us to live in matchboxes. The Bel Air represents the good time of yore. Looking at the front wheel, I wonder whether McPherson’s struts had made an entry in the 1960′s!?

The parking lot at the central Mall at DLF Phase V Gurgaon gave me a different opportunity of juxtaposing elements in an interesting manner. It was late afternoon. These pictures were shot around 2pm. So the sky was turning blue. On one side was the mall with its neo-abstract-meaningless-boxy design. On the other was a hedge, bright green as it comes. Then a wall, fortunately hidden by the hedge itself was followed by the main access road and then, a long gallery of lovely elephant grass. You can see it in this photo. Gold, soft and delightfully articulate in response to breeze.

I was pretty much occupied with the grass behind that I forgot to imbibe the essentials of the car in front. The logo says TD. If the owner reads this blog, please leave a comment and tell us about this car. In fact I request any of the owners reading the blog to share some history of their beloved vehicle here in the comments section.

Besides the buildings under construction there were high voltage transmission towers. These I thought lent nicely to the narrative. Strong, standing tall much like the robotic leviathans of the ‘Transformers’ movie, overlooking the happenings below. Meanwhile the cars in their splendor feeling at home under their gaze. See if it makes sense..

As I said earlier, it was important to understand how the cars interacted with their environment.  I used the sky as a major player to create the old underexposed fujichrome Velvia look.  The contrast of the white with the blue of the sky stood out here.

There are many such pictures. I was happy to receive the benevolence of the blue sky and then greedily worked on it to create some drama in the pictures. I believe making an image is much like cooking. You need to add spices, textures, colors to make a great dish. Processing of an image is spicing it up. Isn’t it?

But I made no attempt to clone out the wire on top. I thought it is an important part of the picture. Though in some,  I have cloned out offending pieces of trash strewn by heartless in the landscape.

The red baby was a dream to photograph. Deep, saturated, proud it stood almost all backgrounds with elan.

At the hotel.

At the Rashtrapati Bhawan.

At the parking lot of the mall in Gurgaon. I salute the graphic/ airbrush artist who made the flame motif  on its door. I know its not easy as I’ve drawn plenty of those, but on saris when I was an assistant designer for Suneet Varma. The difference was that I just had to draw freehand with chalk, but these guys have to stencil out the mask, paste it on the surface and then carefully clean up the edges. Needs a lot of patience.

Another thing of note is that she hosts a small racing style steering wheel. I wonder if the putter in the bonnet is original,  for it surely would not have power steering. With those fat wheels she’ll need strong forearms, triceps and wrists to maneuver. To go with those looks  she should have a turbocharged Gypsy King engine ( for its North South orientation ), Koni shocks and various other performance upgrades to smoke everything on the road. The rusty mild steel exhaust hanging uncouthly is a bit of a let down.

Lets go back to the spirit of the event.  Enthusiastic owners/ collectors, chatty mechanics and earth shattering exhaust notes of the super-bikes. Super-bikes? What were they doing here. They were the item numbers of the scene. Orange Hayabusa, R-1, Harley Davidsons , a Triumph which looked like a tractor and the piece-the-resistance ( for me) a Yamaha V-Max. Epitome of pulling power. It has killed many with its brute force but there are crazy bikers who have turbocharged her as well! God keep them safe ( and others too).

Amongst the crowd of machines and mechanical mutterings there were children who were enjoying themselves with their parents. Teen aged girls would occasionally tear themselves off their mobile phones to pay attention to their parents shout. It was a festive atmosphere. Men wore cowboy hats ( some women too), denims and jackets were de- riguer. Breakfast was nice but more importantly the hosts looked after everyone. I heard one collector telling his mechanic to dig into the breakfast buffet.” Don’t be shy” he insisted. Many were dressed to go well with their cars. The diminutive sunbeam carried lovely ladies with a great sense of style.

The name is so apt. Here is another picture of it with the beautiful lady…

Later at the Mall everybody rounded off the great day with wonderful food and dance at the Hao Shi Nian Nian Chinese restaurant. The place has been done very tastefully and for the time fortunately did not play any Chinese music ( That sangeet is beyond me ). I enjoyed taking pictures of participants and their children having a good time ( I love it when people are having fun). It was pretty dark in there and my camera was having difficulty to focus. But it did quite well in the circumstances.

Believe me, it was very dark. This was shot at 1600 ISO . I don’t grudge modern technology here. With film, it is unthinkable. But soon I decided to pull out my flash as the dance floor was hotting up.

Predictably ‘ Munni Badnam Hui’ and ‘Sheila ki Jawani’ have a profound effect on body and soul. The idea is to have a good time.

That’s my gracious host Rajeev Joseph.

Before I round up with the group photograph, I must mention the russet colored Ford Mustang.  She can make her fat tires squeal and  looked beautiful on the road as well as against the backdrop of the Mall. Here are some pictures.

It was almost an after thought as I just could not miss mentioning her. Now for the group photograph. It reflected the mood of the event perfectly.

So this was it. My next blog will be about a Rock concert I covered for Harley Davidson.

Cheers, Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to all of you.

Prateek Dubey