Sunday,12/10/2006

The morning begins early. At about 7:30am, bells start chiming and the hollow sounds of drums start reverberating. There is chanting, also: “Hari Krishnan, Hari Krishnan, Hari Krishnan…” The celebratory songs repeat for about an hour.

At about 8:30, the overseer of the ashram where I am staying knocks on the door and brings a heater into my room.

The room is sparsely furnished yet fully equipped; funny how something can be so. There are two beds, a table and chairs, a kitchenette and small bathroom. The cold marble floors make it impossible to walk about without socks. Mosquitoes buzz about from time to time.

There is no Internet connection, forcing me to think, sleep or read instead of spending time on Facebook or other Web sites.

The overseer tells me that Niraj, who works with the Sandipani Muni School, will be coming to visit me later in the morning. I try to shower, but there is no warm water, so I quickly scrub with soap and turn the water off.

The water here is no good, so you have to rely on bottled water to brush your teeth and drink. And don’t open your mouth during a shower.

Niraj arrives and says a lady named Nirguna will come later in the morning to talk to me about the school and about my projects here. The school is closed today, so I won’t be photographing anything there.

While I’m waiting for Nirguna, I venture out into the streets of Vrindavan, camera bag slung over my shoulder. I have been told it should be safe to shoot, so long as I keep my camera in front of me. I head to a nearby apartment complex, Ananda Krisna Van, which is still partially under construction, to look around. I spot two Indian women perched on some scaffolding overlooking the construction site and start to photograph. They spot me, make religious gestures and smile.

*****

I venture farther.

Vrindavan is a village, still lacking many amenities. What looks and smells like poorly treated sewage courses through narrow open waterways along the streets. Children walk about barefoot through the dirt and sludge. Piles of garbage burn along the sides of the road. Cows, dogs and monkeys wander in every direction.

I cross onto the main road in Vrindavan. This is where most of the street vendors are. They spot me immediately and try to sell their products. Some want to take me in their rickshaws. Others want to sell me nuts and vegetables. One man walks beside me for a distance and tries to get me to go on a tour of Vrindavan with his tour business.

Then there are the beggars. Some know English phrases and use them to try to get my attention. “Excuse me!” one woman shouts. I turn around and see her outstretched hands. Other women are crouched along the sides of the roads with tin canisters. They hold their hands out to me.

Then I see two begging girls. One, legs skinny as toothpicks, supports her younger sister on her hip. Both are sparsely clothed and have what looks like partially bleached hair—a telltale sign of malnourishment. They tap on the windows of passing vehicles, hoping to receive aid. Finally, one man walking along the main road stops and gives the pair a couple of rupees.

I am overwhelmed by everything I see, hear and smell around me. So overwhelmed that I can’t bring myself to take any photos. I am afraid someone will take my camera, I am afraid to photograph what is going on around me.

What will I do for a month here if I can’t bring myself to take photos? I need to develop that courage and just shoot.

I crawl back under the blankets in the ashram and sleep until Nirguna arrives.

****

The widow community is not what it is portrayed to be, Nirguna tells me, sitting on the small couch in my room. It is not as bad as it was 70 years ago. It is not as the film “Water” portrays it.

I know that times have changed somewhat. There isn’t as much of a stigma as there used to be. But what does Nirguna mean?

She said that she translated for another photographer who did a photo and reporting project on the widows of Vrindavan. Not one sad story, she said. The widows are happy to be here, happy to have few possessions. They are happy to be in this holy village and religious community.

She gives me a copy of some of the work the other photographer has done. There is a photo of a widow who walks the lengthy perimeter of Vrindavan three times a day. She is 104 years old and drinks only a glass of milk.

Some of the widows come here for reasons of piety. Others come because they feel it will be easier to receive alms if they are religious. Others, when things aren’t going well, renounce the world and come here.

But, based on her experiences, it is not a negative story at all, Nirguna says.

What will be photo project be, then? Nirguna will take me to the widows in a few days. “Then you can form your own impressions,” she says.

****

I eat lunch, then fall asleep for almost 12 hours. Tomorrow I will visit the school for the first time.