Calours!!!

Calcutta, the repeated-to-death City of Joy, is actually beyond just that. It is not within my vocabulary limits to even try and enunciate what I feel for her, what she means to me...So I resorted to capturing the visuals of the city through my camera, a humble mobile-phone camera, neither professional, nor fancy. But am happy, it was this meager instrument that I had with me, all the time, that helped me capture my city the way I wanted to.
For a long time now, I have seen photographic representations of Calcutta and have been deeply distressed at how it has been reduced to a set of visual archetypes...frankly, I was aching to break free of that mould...not to consciously do something "radically new", but to show to others the so many other faces of this city, that grows inch by inch...grows on you...




















Acknowledgment: I thank Sovik Jana from the bottom of my heart. The camera belongs to him, and he has let me keep it, never wanting it back. Thanks.

Mahishadal...ruins

These are images of the Mahishadal Rajbaari...or the palace of the once-royal house...now abandoned and decrepit...

Faces of Mahishadal

Mahishadal...
Is a small suburb in the district of Midnapore in West Bengal. These photographs were taken on my recent visit to this place, not very far away from Calcutta, and yet, vastly removed from the city in terms of the visuals it offers. Quaint, slow and idyllic, it offers the rush of a sudden vacation: much-wanted and much-cherished...
This series focuses on some of its people, seeped in conservatism, and uncomplaining, comfortable in its uncluttered uncomplicated simplicity...some of these images are identifiable by virtue of being so generic of all Bengali households, its rural ones, most certainly...

My job gives me a sense of purpose. It has regulated my indisciplined, directionless, wanton, wayward life. It has infused a rhythm, that with its consistent humming does not make life a dragging bore, but rather, calm and serene, much like a peaceful chant...

Awnaamni Awngonaa...

"Aami taar thhikaana raakhini, chhobio aankini..."

Ushko-khushko dheukhelano awbinyasto shoru chule paak dhorechhe...alga bnadhuni shawsta rubber band-ey bnadha...ajawtne kawra shnithite shnidurer bawdole dhulor puru astoron...khawshkhawshe shukno kankalshaar du-haat e churi kano, nidenpokkhe, Ishwarer koruna bawrshonkaari laal shuto'o nei...ek guchho shankha-pawla pawra haater shathe bus ba local train ey jakhan shei haat-o jhole, takhan jyano sheera gulo trishnaarto rukkho shikawrer mawto prokawt hoye thaake...

Doinik jibawner rathochawkrey pishte pishte, tawker aar ghawsha-maaja kawrar awbokaash paowa jaay na; obhimmaane tai shey shukno, knuchkano, awkaaley buriye jaowa...

Kawpaaler ghaam-daager rekha blouse er haatar bhnaaje bhnaaje taar chinho rekhechhe; kono ek-shamaye gaaye thhik hoto, akhan rugno knadh, sheerno haat ey dhawl dhawl kawre...shoru-perey maar-heen nyatano shaari shoreer ey pnechiye aanta...Chokhe mota frame er aaddikaaler chawshma, sharadiner klaanti lukote awpaarog holeo, awleek shawpno ar nishthur baastober majhe nirbhul prohoree hoye royechhe, taa aaj bohu bochhor holo...

Ticket theke gantabyo aanch korte parleo, konn goli, konn bari, thhikana ki, jaana gyalo na...
Shei barir kaw-tawla, kawtaa shniri, ke thaken, ke chhilen, taao na...

Kicchui na...
Shudhu mone holo, enr oteet hoyto amar bartomaan chhilo...
Aamar bhobishyoth, enri bartomaan...

You noticed how I faked like a woman...

I wish you had noticed the breaking down like a little girl...

Chitrangada rajkumaari...kaman na jaani...

I want a daughter. My own daughter. Conceived and nurtured in my own flesh and blood, in my womb.
But it is not enough for me to wish and desire and crave her. I need a man.
Somebody who might be kind enough to consent to parent her. Suiting his time, will, whim and fancy.
The irony!
I feel mad at such despondence, such helplessness.

I can adopt, I am told. I can, of course. But I don't want to! I do not want to be robbed of that beautiful experience of being a mother. Of becoming one. Biologically. Physically. Emotionally.

I do not wish to create her using someone's jerked-off expendable, either. I want to create her with the man I love, whom I choose to create her with. But why do I have to wait for when he may graciously do me that 'favour'?

Isn't there a third option?

I think there is. It is called having a love-child.
But do I have the guts to do what I want, defying what 10,000 other people don't? Do I want my Chitrangada badly enough?
...