Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Today I move from the Food for Life ashram into MVT, an apartment complex and hotel just a block away. There is a large garden here and more company; Nirguna lives just downstairs from me here.

I arrive at the school at about noon after moving all of my bags to the new place. Children are playing, and I try to do a couple of panning shots of them running across the school ground, but they stop as soon as they see me and it is impossible to shoot candidly.

The light is really nice today. I peer in through the doorways of some classrooms and notice children silhouetted against the classroom’s windowpanes. I shoot through a couple of doorways before the kids spot me.

Soon it is time to go out with my guide—Prashant--again to photograph widows. He knows Vrindavan very well and has connections everywhere; we have gotten into some impossible places because he knows certain influential figures.

First we stop at a temple. Widows commonly go to the front of temples to beg during the day. If they appear in a religious place, people are more likely to give them alms.

I see one woman sitting against a wall looking pleadingly at passers-by. I have an idea. I pull out my monopod and set a slow shutter speed. I set a slow shutter speed and wait until passers-by approach. I shoot. What results is blurred people walking by a stationary widow. People walk continuously by and fail to acknowledge the stationary, begging figure.

We walk closer to the temple. I have never seen so many monkeys in my life. They leap in every direction, shaking rooftops and tree braches when they land. They walk in front of the widows, and I shoot.

Prashant tells me you have to be careful about monkeys. They steal at every chance they get. He himself has lost many pairs of glasses to curious primates. And the gatekeeper at the Food for Life ashram told me that a monkey stole 36 rupees from him when he wasn’t looking.

As we prepare to leave this place, beggars, having seen my camera, swarm around us, figuring I must have money. Prashant tells me to pack my bags. He starts his scooter when I am barely on, and we zip away from the crowd children, widows and elderly men, hands still-outstretched.

****

Widows go to ashrams for a few hours twice a day to receive a few rupees and some food.

Twice a day, hundreds of widows walk along a central road to one ashram.

Prashant parks his scooter, and we wait for the widows to journey to the ashram. We sip tea.

They start coming. Two, three at a time. I spot one hunched-over widow on the other side of the road. Dodging oncoming rickshaws and scooters, I cross the road, crouch and wait. I shoot.

****

This afternoon is much like the previous. We zip around from house to house, trying to find widows. We find them, take their photos, and leave.

I am moving too fast. I feel like I am exploiting them, using them for their photos and going. I want to tell more of a story. I need to spend more time with a few widows and not just take portrait shots, but photograph their daily routine. I would like to go back and do a longer photo story on the woman with leprosy and a couple of other widows.

Some of the portraits are neat, though. We make our way to the home of one widow. She lives with a family. Looking for a place to take her photo, I spot a mirror. Electrical wire hanfs in the way, and the mirror is spotted with age. I have her look in the mirror and photograph from a distance.

****

It is evening. Prashant takes me to the exit of the ashram where the widows have gone. They will be leaving soon, hundreds of them, and making their way back home, wherever that is.

I attach my camera to the monopod and perch atop a small ledge. I am using a wide-angle lens and can see the entire street. I set a slow shutter speed because I want to capture motion and because it is so dark.

Suddenly, there are hundreds of them. An exodus. Wrapped in white saris, covering their hair and faces, hunched over, toting tin canisters and bottles of dirty water. They swarm around local merchants, hoping to spend the few rupees they have just received. They dodge traffic. Some, arthritic and slow-moving, have a hard time getting out of the way of oncoming cars and scooters.

Then they begin their trek home.