Often the most memorable part of a trip has nothing to do with some famous annual event, or an iconic location in the country you’re visiting. I’m writing this entry having just returned from the Pushkar Fair in Rajasthan. The Pushkar fair is the centerpiece of the photo tour I do in India, so don’t get me wrong, I love the Pushkar fair, I’ve shot it eight times, it’s an amazing event, but often some seemingly insignifcant stop along the way provides an opportuinty to capture the image or images that define one’s trip and stick in one’s mind. This year was no exception.
I’m a believer that the camera and the process of photography helps us discover, or perhaps clarify something we already know, or a lesson that needs to be learned or reinforced in our minds. This is something I try to instill in the minds of those who come on my trips. In fact it’s part of my “orientation meeting” , given at the start of each tour. I tell folks to try to forget about schedules, deadlines and what lies ahead, and to instead, “live in the moment”, and that our most important lessons and our favorite photos will come when we least expect it.
This year’s most memorable images from the India tour are not necessarily my best images, but the story behind them is what I will remember most about the 2010 Pushkar Fair Photo trip.
We were staying in our normal location, a settlement of permanent tents in the village of Manvar, midway between Jaisalmer and Luni. In the late afternoon we took a jeep safari to a local home to see and photograph what life is like for folks living out in the desert. The families in this particular area are very welcoming and curious when visitors arrive, so it makes for a wonderful cultural exchange. In fact, we had visited this same home last year and so I decided that we should return again this year to see if anything had changed. It had; although only a year had passed the young woman I had photographed the prior year seemed much older. Life is hard in India. (see last year’s photo above).
The home we visited is that of a family of “untouchables”. They are from India’s lowest social class. They do subsistence farming; own a single cow and several goats. They live their life on a day to day basis, on the ragged edge, relying mostly upon nature’s bounty, or lack thereof.
There’s a young woman there…she is, in her own way, and in the simplest of terms, beautiful. I had taken her picture last year, I remembered her face. As we arrived at her family compound, she was out picking up cow manure with her bare hands. She saw us arriving and quickly stowed the cow manure in a drying area near the kitchen.
By the time I approached her, she had then started washing dishes, including two tea cups,and several metal plates, using a tiny bit of soapy water and some sand from the ground.
As she squatted, cleaning the dishes, she continuously pulled the veil over her face as most Rajasthani women do in the presence of men.
Every time she looked up, I smiled, motioning with my camera as if to say “may I take your photograph”? eventually, she nodded in agreement. Now that she had agreed to be photographed, what went through my head was that I wanted to create images that showed the strength and confidence with which she carried herself. I wanted to show how beautiful she was, and how; despite the fact that she was considered “an untouchable”, that she was worthy of respect.
It was quite obvious that she had come from a very different background than me or any of the members of our tour group. She had never attended an ivy league school, the opera, the ballet or anything close to it. She had probably never seen, even from a distance, a five star hotel. She’s never had the luxury of clean, running water, a squat toilet or electricity. The tents we were staying in were far cleaner and more luxurious than her humble home. She’d likely never tasted caviar, fine wine, or even a Starbuck’s coffee. She ate lentils, rice and occasionally, mutton.
We handled our expensive camera gear, with lily white, clean fingers, while she handled cow droppings and goat’s utters with her rough, calloused hands. We all had nice watches, high tech travel clothes, jewelry, gold, diamonds, iPads, Gucci purses and Prada bags. She adorned herself with not even a single semi precious stone. On her thin arms were plastic bangles and on her ankles, steel bracelets. She carried her belongings in a torn canvas bag, yet there was something amazing and wonderful about her and the way she carried herself; a sense of confidence and pride. I continued photographing her, long after most of the group had moved along to photograph other subjects. At one point myself and another photographer followed her as she went to the well to fetch water. By now she was shyly interacting with us…giggling, laughing and having fun.
After fetching water, she went back into her kitchen, where a small baby could be heard crying. I followed. She rummaged around in the kitchen momentarily and then went back outside and began milking a goat.
After collecting about 12 oz of milk, she returned to the kitchen and squatted in front of a fire of smoldering embers. With a few dried shards of wood, she stoked the fire and began to boil the milk. I could tell that she was preparing tea for me. When the milk had boiled, she added tea and spice, then filtered it through what looked like an old sock into one of the cups that she had just washed out with sand and offered it to me.
What to do? …oh, what the hell, I thought to myself; how can I refuse her, then I drank the tea. It was delicious; spicy, and sweet. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she was watching intently to see my reaction. I sipped again and smiled to let her know that I approved. A proud smile washed across her face.
It was in many ways just a simple exchange, a sharing of some photos and a cup of tea, but it’s probably the experience on this year’s tour, that I remember most. It serves as a reminder to me that folks everywhere are for the most part friendly, open and hospitable.
I wondered what she thought of me, this “rich”, educated, white person from a far away land. Did she think of me as being above her because of our “caste” differences? I hoped that she wasn’t thinking that. I wanted her to know that even though we came from very different worlds, that she deserved my respect, not because of economic achievement or social status but simply because she was my fellow human being.
Then I thought to myself; if the roles were reversed, would I allow her to come into my home and take my picture? Would I make tea for her? I would like to think so. Perhaps I’ll use this story in the future, as a way of reminding myself, and encouraging my photo tour clients, to be sensitive and respectful to others.
Thanks for reading,
Karl
Karl, after having you introduce us to this lovely woman just a couple weeks ago, re-reading this story (through tears) of how you met her gives me a deeper appreciation of just how graciously she welcomed us into her life and her home.
What a beautiful well written story. I remember her from 2012. Another reminder that everyone on this earth deserves respect and that material things and other “achievements” don’t make us better than people who have less than we do.
Thanks Bob Ludwig, for your comment !