Tuesday, Dec. 19, 2006

A frustrating day. And only a few good photos to show for it.

Prashant takes me to see the widows leaving the ashram in the morning. They go to ashrams twice a day for several hours to chant and receive alms. They get a few rupees that they spend immediately after they exit.

We wait around in a “doctor’s” office until the widows emerge. This is not the type of doctor you want to treat you, Prashant explains. But we sit in his shop, which overlooks the busy Vrindavan street.

We see a dog licking a water spigot. Not a minute later, a man goes up to the same spigot and fills a water bottle. A woman washes food in it.

Prashant suddenly looks away. I see a little girl squatting to urinate in one of the gutters that run along both sides of the street.

Widows begin to leave the ashram, and I hop about like a monkey with my camera. I shoot from above, below, and level. But the lighting is not right. I shoot anyway, hoping I get something useable.

Then we move on. We visit the huts of several female laborers.

This is frustrating. They refuse to look away from me, they look at the camera, no matter how hard I try to be inconspicuous. Serves me right for bringing such a hefty camera.

Women are cooking for their husbands, who squat in the dirt and watch. Occasionally they chop vegetables and help out. But it is most the wife who works.

I sigh and move on. There is a widow rebuilding her hut. I can’t take the photo because the light isn’t right to shoot. A flash won’t make it look right either.

I see another woman who is cooking for her husband. He squats and smokes a cigarette while she cooks vegetables.

Suddenly I see a woman in a beautiful red sari washing clothes. Around her are mounds of garbage and mud. She stands out amidst the rubbish. I wait until she peers up at me a little. Click.

Prashant can see I am frustrated by the people constantly looking at me, swarming around me, getting in the way of the photos. But it can’t be helped. Of course if someone barges into where you live, you are going to notice and not act naturally. You need to be invisible, he tells me. I need an invisibility cape.

****
Back at the school, class is in session. I pop in to photograph Ratna in her 3rd grade classroom.


The late-afternoon light is perfect. It streams through the grated windows, making pretty patterns on the children’s faces. Ratna focuses intensely on her studies while many of her classmates play and goof around.


Suddenly, a school worker enters. In his hands are bundles of red sweaters. For the children, he explains. Part of their uniforms, which also include blue and white checkered blouses and blue trousers.

Some kids have no clothes besides their uniforms to wear. They show up with holes in their school sweaters and shirts, torn after so much use. This new red sweater is a replacement. Kids will have two, so if one is lost or tattered, they will have another.

I click away as students pull the bright new sweaters over their little heads.

Every student gets one, the man says.

****
I head back to MVT early to ponder my photo project. Where am I going with it?

I order lasagna for dinner at MVT. After eating nothing but spicy food for a week and a half, this tastes bland. I smother it in Tabasco sauce and dig in.

I also start to do laundry. There are piles of dirty clothes in my room. Dusty and stained. I wash and wring them out in my bathroom sink. Now, where to let them dry? Inside, in the shower. They will dry slowly there. But if I hang them outside, the monkeys will take them.