Tragicocomedia

Golden Temple, Amritsar, Punjab, April 22, 2010

The Golden Temple of Amritsar in Punjab is truly a wonder, and not simply because of the beautiful and elaborate solid gold upper storeys of the Harmandir Sahid, the structure at the centre of the complex seen here in the background. It is a huge site – a square of gleaming white marble colonnades surrounding a central man-made lake, or tank – and is without a doubt one of the cleanest, most stunning places in the world. The perfection of the architecture and the standard to which it is maintained is immediately apparent. Upon entering through one of the four temple gates (symbolic of the openness of the Sikhs to all who wish to visit, irrespective of religion), the blinding white marble is just as striking as the shining gold.

This was without a doubt one of the highlights of my first visit to India. I flew in first thing in the morning, after an overnight stay in Delhi en route from Darjeeling. I had not had anywhere near enough sleep and felt a little overwrought, which actually heightened my experience, intensifying the emotional response to the magnificence of this site. There was so much to be appreciated here – the chanting and music which played throughout (on without a doubt the best P.A in India), creating a peacefully exotic atmosphere; the spear-wielding, turbaned temple guards; the gorgeous, colourful clothes of the Indian visitors, so luminous against the white backdrop; the dreamy reflections in the water of the lake, and the almost cloying niceness of every single person I met.

Apart from the impressive appearance of the place, I was astonished to learn that the temple feeds up to 40,000 people each day, for free, through the efforts of volunteers. This involves using around 12,000kg of flour a day, and the number of people fed can rise as high 100,000 on religious holidays and weekends. This seemed to coincide with how nice everyone was. I had several locals approach me, all wanting to make friends and talk to me. This is not uncommon in India, but the locals around the temple in Amritsar seemed somehow to be the sweetest people I’d ever met and I actually was left feeling terribly guilty when I finally made excuses and walked away from them.

Originally I intended to stay in the town, but ended up just visiting the temple for four hours before taking a bus north to McLeod Ganj. It was a short, but sweet visit and the temple has left indelible images in both my mind and camera.

This photo is taken from just outside one of the gates, looking back into the temple. I chose this one for its various vignettes – the man inquiring of the temple guard, the cleaner, the woman taking the photograph and the man in the striped shirt who may or not be accompanying the man in the white turban. It reminds me fondly of the different people who visit the temple for different purposes and of the people who look after and maintain the place.

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Hampi, India, January 5, 2013

This shot was taken by the river that flows through Hampi in northern Karnataka in India. There is no bridge across the river at this point and the stairs here lead down to the bank along which the tiny ferry – a small, uncovered boat with outboard motor – collects and unloads passengers. The stairs pictured here were also a popular place for resting in the shade.

These school-children may have been locals, or else they may have come to Hampi on an excursion to see the extensive archaeological ruins, which I have written about elsewhere. As is so often the case in India, they wanted their photo taken and called out to me to do so. Unlike so many other children who asked for their photo to be taken, the young chap in the middle didn’t smile, but rather offered a far more serious and quizzical expression.

Aside from the strong contrast of the sunlit boy against the dark shadows on the stairs, it is his expression and body language that I most like about this photo. Every time I look at his face, I detect an intelligent and discerning personality – he strikes me as a real thinker. There is almost a hint of disapprobation in his look – the frown, which forms a neat triangle at the top of his nose, seems to indicate some frustration or impatient curiosity – or perhaps he is just squinting into the sun. Though their faces can barely be seen in the shadow, the other children are also an interesting mix of expressions, with only the one in the middle smiling unreservedly. Something gave me the impression that the main subject was older than the others, or in some way more mature, and that his friends looked up to him. Of course, one can never be certain in these brief, stolen moments.

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London, June 6, 2006

This sequence of shots was taken in London, near Hammersmith if I remember correctly, but I could be wrong. I was visiting a friend of a friend in June 2006 and so the details are a tad sketchy. What I most certainly remember is this curious vista of neatly divided backyards before a railway viaduct and the ladies playing badminton over the fence. The scene was a touching reminder of the cultural diversity of London; the reality of ethnic minorities living directly under a railway seems such a European trope that it has an almost fictional, invented neatness about it.

What I love about this shot is the obvious happiness of the subjects and the clear joy they get from living next door to each other and being able to interact in this way. They’ve clearly put a lot of effort into their new gardens and seem to be living happy, harmonious lives. I especially like the juxtaposition in this scene. The contrasting elements of the new – neatly bushy green grass with the fresh wood of the fences and the red brick – further juxtaposed with the dirty old brick of the railway viaduct under a ubiquitous grey sky seems in some way typical of London. I’ve always found London to be an ugly city with a bland palette, lacking colour and pleasing vistas. It’s certainly an amazing cultural and historical centre and a wonderful city, but it’s rarely pleasing on the eye and feels aesthetically harrowing much of the time. These families seem determined to create an oasis of beauty amongst the dull, industrial brick and uninspired architecture. Hear hear!

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Hanoi, July 4, 2009

On most roads, however busy, the traffic usually stops at some point.. Not so in downtown Hanoi on a Saturday night, where it flows as relentlessly as a torrential river. I stood staring at this constant run of light, colour and noise for just under ten minutes, hoping to make it across to the ATM and ice-cream shop, before finally giving up and trying to find another way across. There was never a break in the traffic, and if there were lights somewhere along the road, nobody was paying them any heed. It seemed such a short distance – three narrow lanes – yet the vehicles simply never stopped coming and despite a rather cavalier attitude to traffic, I wasn’t about to make a foolhardy dash for it.

There is, no doubt, a method to this madness. The flow of traffic in busy Asian cities is astonishing in its intensity and density, yet no one ever seems to crash. Of course, the statistics indicate that many people do indeed crash, often fatally, yet the vast bulk of the time cars, auto-rickshaws, motorbikes, trucks, vans and bicycles weave through and whizz around each other like mosquitoes on speed, without blinking, and, seemingly, without thinking. It is as though they are mathematically repelled by each other and each finds their own crooked path.

When I did finally make it to the ice-cream shop, it felt curiously like Christmas. The pavement on the street corner, off the left-hand side of this image, was so littered with wrappers from ice-blocks that it was like the lounge-room floor after a bumper present-exchange, or some artificial autumn. I watched, amused, refusing to be disappointed by the complete nonchalance with which people simply threw their wrapper on the ground, without even looking for a bin, as though they couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Having bought my ice-cream, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and whereas in Australia I might discard something into a bin with pride, feeling like a good citizen, on this occasion, when I did find a bin in which to put my wrapper, I felt strangely like a fugitive.

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Varanasi, May 9, 2010

By the time I made it to Varanasi in 2010, I had been travelling in India for almost two months and was rather exhausted by it all. Perhaps more pertinently, having just come down from the cool and peaceful heights of McLeod Ganj, where I had found an oasis of awe-inspired equilibrium, Varanasi seemed unpleasantly hot and crowded – something I’ve written about elsewhere. Despite this, however, in the moments when I was refreshed and energetic enough to engage with the place, I came to enjoy wandering the narrow, crowded streets with their close-pressed holes-in-the-wall and contemplating how like an ancient city it seemed to be.

This particular street – on which I had a haircut later that day – contained the entrance to an important local temple (I forget to which god) and a long queue stretched from both sides of the entrance, which is roughly where the loudspeaker can be seen in the background. There was a surprisingly positive atmosphere amongst the crowd and people were smiling and enjoying themselves, which made it all rather fun. I got briefly stuck and stood to the side, from which position I grabbed this shot.

Apart from the general subject matter, I’ve always liked the neat vectors in this image, snaking from the elderly lady in the bottom left corner and running through the generations of the family on up the narrow laneway. There seems to be a neat progression from what I assume to the grandmother in the foreground to her daughters, sons and grandchildren. The angle of the heads, with their beautiful hair, adds dynamism and movement, leading the eye to the turning, smiling boy in the very centre of the image. It is always pleasing when a momentary snapshot pays off like this and randomness conjures not merely an order of sorts, but also a mini-narrative.

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Man and Dog, Parker’s Piece, Cambridge, June 7, 2006

In 2006 I returned to England, eager to get away from a claustrophobic, conservative Australia and indulge myself once again in the cultural circus of Europe. I had returned to Australia at the end of 2003 after four years away and, on doing so, never really felt completely at home. Living in Cambridge had thrown my sense of belonging and I wasn’t sure where I should be any longer. England and Europe were so much more interesting than Australia, yet the latter had a far more appealing lifestyle and climate. Which should I choose? My hatred of John Howard’s government made the decision a lot easier, but ultimately what really drove me back was an intense desire to return to Cambridge and to the life I had had while studying.

It was a chaotic, yet romantic beginning, wherein the first few months I moved around a lot – being accommodated by my old buddy, now college fellow, C, in his spare room, on his floor, and, eventually, in a splendid warren on All Saints Passage above an old-school barber shop. It is impossible to do justice to the many and various episodes – teaching South African literature in Pembroke College, hunching in a tiny garret playing World of Warcraft, meeting Prince Charles again, catching up with old acquaintances, tending the bar at the Anchor Pub once more and making various jaunts across to the continent – suffice to say, it was a splendid time full of rich experiences and intense emotion. And, all the while, I was becoming increasingly snap happy with my new Canon EOS 350D

This shot reminds me of that time especially well – not because it marks any special occasion or incident, but rather I recall being pleased with it then on account of the dynamic human subject. Prior to this, much of my photography was focussed on static objects – architecture, landscape, light and shadows – things which still greatly interest me, but have come to play second fiddle to candid human subjects. Once I realised there was so much gold to be had from shooting people doing their thing, I never looked back. There is, I feel, too much dead space to the right of the image, yet I so dig the harmony and juxtaposition of the two running man and the charging greyhound as to excuse the otherwise uninteresting context. Or perhaps the context is ideal – nothing too fussy and busy to distract from the principals – or so I like to tell myself : )

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