The visual bombardment is constant. Anything goes when it comes to signage in India. Be it movie posters to toilets, I always remind myself that someone put thought into each and every piece of visual information – some serious thought, some talented thought and some, well, lack of thought. Regardless of the sophistication, the earnest spirit of the messenger shines through.
Fourteen days on the road. Over 1200 miles traveled. Thousands of images taken. The journey along India’s Grand Trunk Road, with NPR reporter Philip Reeves and producer Nishant Dahiya, was an extraordinary adventure filled with unexpected moments. From the epic ghats of Varanasi to the daily mayhem of the Wagah border ceremony, India’s humanity, the best and worst it has to offer, plays out cinematically in public for all to witness.
Of all the youth we talked to, one fleeting encounter is seared in my memory. It was in Delhi. My translator Shivani Dogri and I had been traipsing across the city listening to middle-class college students speak about their experiences. Gregarious girls and opinionated boys discussed how they walk a thin line between tradition and modernity. They spoke freely and with enthusiasm.
As the sun came down, Shivani suggested we stop at one of Delhi’s famous national monuments India Gate. I obliged. After making images of jovial Indian families in paddle boats at a nearby lake, we decided to head towards our next meeting in Nizammudin, a well-known upper-middle class neighborhood. We walked towards the car dodging annoying solicitations from street hawkers, selling everything from cotton candy to colorful balloons.
I was tired. Slightly grumpy. And I brushed off as many solicitors as I could without showing my frustrations. Then we walked by a young man in grey slacks and a blue striped shirt. There was an indifference about his body language, unlike all the other eager hawkers, that intrigued me. I asked Shivani to translate.
How old are you? 18. Where are you from? Bihar. Do you go to school? No. I left school because my family didn’t have money.I could sense his discomfort as he started looking over my shoulder to gage if anyone was watching. I asked if we could sit down and talk further. He slowly stepped back and didn’t respond. His dark-brown eyes began to water. He looked down and politely said “please leave me be.” I pushed for one more question.
He turned to leave bringing a deflated balloon up to his lips. I gently pled with him to stay, to talk with us and allow us to take his picture. He seemed genuinely frightened of the consequences. I retreated and watched as he walked away, his slight frame surrounded by brightly colored balloons.
Majboori. He said it in a soft whisper, as his glance left my eyes and fell onto the dirt ground below. Shivani translated, “it means out of no choice.” Majboori.
Shivani was certain he wasn’t 18, “14 or 15 tops.” He was nearly 650 miles away from home. Seemingly too frightened to speak. Shivani and I could only speculate on his story. On who brought him to the capital city. On where he sleeps at night. On how many others were like him. We got into the car and sat in silence. A heaviness washed over me.
Of all the young voices were heard along the Grand Trunk Road, it was the docile nameless boy selling balloons that I will never forget. And the word he taught me: Majboori.
Click here for NPR’s special series Along The Grand Trunk Road: Coming of Age in India and Pakistan Click here for all Picture Show Blog Posts on The Grand Trunk RoadI had the pleasure of traveling along India’s Grand Trunk Road with NPR reporter Philip Reeves and producer Nishant Dahiya. We drove nearly 1200 miles talking to a wide swath of youth, who make up the majority population. It was an unforgettable two weeks. India’s younger generation is at a really interesting time in history. They straddle the fine line between tradition and modernity gracefully with maturity and practicality. Listen to their voices, see their faces and come along for the ride.
For the past two weeks I have been traveling with NPR reporter Phil Reeves and producer Nishant Dahiya along India’s Grand Trunk Road. We have been blogging and filing images along the way. Here is our last post before the project launches later this month.
I recently took a trip to Northern India last week and visited cities in Himachal Pradesh and Punjab. Epic trip with a great friend!
Sometimes you wonder if anyone out there cares, and then you get this nice surprise. Thanks Multimedia Muse for the kind words and the continued inspiration.
New home. New friends. New sounds. New smells. New challenges. New highs. New lows. New insights. New Website.
Never a dull moment.
On a recent trip to Surat, I joined a few women on the hunt for the perfect Sari. I’m not an avid fan of shopping but in India even the most banal of activities can give you intimate insight into the cultural. As we entered the showroom a line of thin men, outfitted in the same uniform, began to track our every movement. While my eyes darted up and down the walls full of multi-colored and multi-patterned material, the salesmen seemed to be trying to decipher what we would be in the mood for. An elegant silk chiffon number? A high-contrast sequenced piece? Or perhaps a more sober modest look?
We sat back in our seats sipping on complementary chai, as the men began to sling colored material across the marble tabletop. One after another, yards and yards of fabric, in every imaginable color combination were displayed in a chaotic pace. All I could think about is the fact that someone is going to have to fold all that back up! Sixty saris are dwindled down to ten, then four. Then the best part. You’ve come all this way, seen a dizzying array of options, now you must see it on. So what do the men do…well they put the saris on themselves. In less then three minutes! The fabric glides through their trained fingertips with such ease that I’m convinced they could wear a sari blindfolded and underwater.
The material conforms nicely to their thin frames as the men stand side by side, holding their arms up to display the garments’ complex patterns. It’s akin to walking into a designer’s section of Bloomingdales and having men model the dresses for you. I wondered why all the sales staff were men, the only answer I could seem to find was that’s just the way it is. The service industry is dominated by men, you may find women in larger chain department stores but in most boutique stores and restaurants the sales staff is completely male. Even lingerie stores have an all male sales force. And I have one word for that: Awkward!
After two hours, we left the store with a total of three one-of-a-kind saris. Mission Successful. And a shopping experience like no other, I actually had a great time. As we walked past the front entrance I couldn’t help but notice the mannequins in the windows. Why were they white? I was told Indians have an affinity to light skin, so naturally they would display their finest garments on the lightest skin tone. But no one looks like that here, I said, shouldn’t the reflect their customer base? They are showing you an ideal vision, what is not possible, what is seen as beautiful, I was told. Hmmm, now that is something I can relate to!
~ The India You Should Know: Special for the St. Pete Times ~
Just published my first travel package in the St. Petersburg Times. Many thanks to my editors at the Times for their support and expertise. It still feels amazing to get an image printed 5 columns wide and to see this byline: STORY AND PHOTOS BY KAINAZ AMARIA | Special to the Times.
Full Story: THE INDIA YOU SHOULD KNOW: DISCOVER THE PEOPLE AND TRADITIONS OF UDAIPUR