Desert Adventures and Good-Byes

Tanya and I are back in Bundi (for a very brief moment), where we began the workshop. In the last couple of days we have seen off Kym and Hardik. I’m used to saying goodbyes, but there is still an element of sadness. We never know how life will play out and when or if we will ever meet again with the people who become our friends, while we are on the road.The workshop went very nicely. I really like having one participant; it means that he or she can have a very personal, enriching and genuine experience. I wanted the whole thing to be as close as possible to how I work, minus the research/scouting of locations. Nothing was set up, no special performances, just real life and a chance to interact with the people in the photos. At times Kym felt a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people and excitement our presence generated (see below), but that’s how it is in rural India, no way around it. I cannot imagine how larger tour groups go on village visits. I suppose when managed the right way things may work out well, but I can also see everything getting out of hand. As far as photography goes, I for sure would not want to be one of eight or more photographers shooting the same person, ending up with a similar image from a different angle. I guess I’ll stand by my views until I am proven otherwise.

The “Thar Desert” (well, a small part of it) was the last destination of our workshop. Everything was great in terms of photo opportunities and the ‘realness’ of the villages we came across, they were full of regular, but very colorful and photogenic people who were generally surprised to see us. However, by the end of our little trip I was left feeling disappointed, on a personal level. I’ve concluded that perhaps it’s not possible to get out into the desert on a camel in Rajasthan without seeing the not so nice side (to put it lightly) of people involved in the camel business, without feeling as a source of money first and a person second. I understand the whole financial disparity thing, but throughout my journeys I have come across countless individuals who were very poor, yet extremely dignified, they never begged, never cheated, never tried to take advantage and in short that is not what I saw from the camel folks we were involved with. I guess I might skip the camel riding next time. Perhaps I was naïve to have thought that this time it would be perfect, or maybe I am too idealistic and spoilt by my amazing experiences around India, in any case there is no point in always anticipating the worst in people, so I’ll keep doing the opposite.

Our trip was not without its share of magic – tea by the fire under the starry sky, waking up to the golden light in a farm settlement on the outskirts of the desert, not hearing anything apart from the singing of the birds and later the beating of plates, used to scare the birds from eating the crops, the swaying of the camels as they navigated terrain that no vehicle could get through, the next morning’s photo shoot in the sand dunes – all beautiful moments that make this area of Rajasthan so special. A small adventure occurred, as we were ready to head back. The driver that was meant to pick us up took the wrong way and got stuck in the sand – a big payday for the local folk, but at least I got to ride a tractor through the desert terrain as we came to the rescue. Perhaps moments like these, the beautiful ones and those which would seem absurd in the ‘West’ are part of the reason why I still love this region of India – there is a sense that a surprise is just around the corner, something that will stimulate your senses or overwhelm you with beauty - a reason to stay alert, to feel alive, to be totally present in the moment.

Back from the Desert and some Street Photography

Amidst the madness surrounding the Mumbai bombings it is hard to imagine that there could be a place where people wouldn’t be aware about the tragedy that took place. Well, we have just come back from what is probably just one of many places like that, right in India, about 210 km from Jodhpur, but more like the middle of nowhere. We went on a little camel ride with the old cameleer we met at the Kolayat fair. People in his village are quite oblivious to anything outside their area, no TVs or computers there yet. I was curious whether the cameleers that accompanied us had heard the news, so I asked Hardik to find out. – “We watch, the news…on TV…sometimes” was their answer. The journey itself had its share of madness and adventure, but more on that in the next post. Before we went off into the desert I did some shooting in the streets of Jodhpur, not much really, however in Jodhpur you can’t help but come across at least something or someone photogenic in a day’s shoot. The old city is full of people who go on about their everyday work in the most photogenic of environments, surrounded by wonderfully textured, stained walls, rusty tea-pots and pans or some strange medieval looking machines. I wanted to capture some of these individuals doing what they do and went out on a little search.The lady at the top of the page (and above) was taking the stuffing out of mattresses; she would put it into the machine which turned the stuffing into what seemed like huge snowflakes. My guess is that this is some sort of cotton recycling; the ‘snowflakes’ would be collected into a bag, weighed in another room and shipped off somewhere. It was a little challenging to photograph in this particular environment, the floating flakes/stuffing goes directly into the nose, eyes and wherever else. I covered my nose with the top of my shirt and shot for a few minutes. By the time I got out I looked like I had a furry hat and Santa Claus eyebrows. For the first shot Tanya helped me with an off-camera flash in a portable soft-box to accentuate the natural light and to give a bit more depth/shape to the face. In the second image natural light is penetrating the woman’s ‘office’.Suraj is a tea maker at a tea-stall just by the first gate (from the outside) to Sadar Bazar. He has worked at the stall for 25 years, while the business has actually existed for 50. Suraj had an almost royal quality about him, the way he went about his work gave the impression that he wasn’t simply making chai, he was running the business, filling up hundreds, maybe even thousands of tea-cups every day and doing it with tremendous dexterity. Again an off-camera flash in a soft-box to accentuate the natural light and sculpt the face.I couldn’t resist taking a few shots of this man making traditional sweets. He would boil the oil with some strange gadget and then unload the content onto the large metal plate. I was attracted to the textures of the scene, but it was getting dark, so once again comes out the flash. Same as in the images above. I find the flash increasingly useful these days, of course I would probably not use it at all if I had to have it camera mounted. I thank God that my wife isn’t sick of carrying it, sometimes in a soft-box around the streets. Surprisingly it hasn’t drawn much attention. When she instinctively put the soft-box on her head in a crowded area some local women had a bit of a laugh.

Floating Condoms, TVs in Mud Houses, or When Modernization comes Unexpectedly

You can all forget what I said about things not having changed much in Bundi District. We just came back from another overnight stay at a small village where another unexpected surprise awaited us. On the surface everything remains the same, but only on the surface.

Last evening we visited the home of the lovely woman who became our friend almost 2 years ago and there we saw it – the flickering light of a TV set was shining from inside her stone and mud house, there was a DVD player too and the night’s flick was a B grade film based on a story from the legend of Ramayana. After seeing a computer in a similar village just a couple of days ago perhaps it should not have shocked me at all, but there wasn’t even electricity here the last time we came.

– Are you the only ones to have a TV in the village? We asked. – No, there are four, wait five families as of today. Answered our friend’s youngest daughter.

As we came in and sat down the neighbors began to appear, some came to see us again, others to glance at the aliens from another world for the first time. This time the buzz and the excitement wasn’t quite the same as before though, there weren’t as many curious faces around, no endless questions. Perhaps it was the winter cold, perhaps the novelty factor had worn off, or it could be that our presence was simply not enough to get people away from the few TV sets around the village.

It was a strange scene as we sat by the kitchen fire, Tanya and our friend’s eldest daughter cooked, some neighbors watched them, others were glued to the TV and the more energetic of the children played outside with what they thought to be balloons, but seemed to us like condoms. It was confirmed that they were indeed condoms, brought by some genius teacher to a bunch of seven and nine year olds under the premise that they would be used for sex-education. In reality in conservative rural Rajasthan to talk about sex is somewhat taboo and to tell children what condoms are really used for is not a task any villager wants to take on. Looks like population control will have to wait here.

The cooking and eating dragged into very late evening and going to sleep presented a bit of an adventure. The combination of a shortage of beds and the incredible Indian hospitality caused the following: A couple of families were woken up, children screamed as they were taken off their beds and bundled with their siblings and our friend gave away her only big bed to me and Tanya.

I felt like the biggest ass in the world, realizing that we had caused so much commotion (and children’s tears). I didn’t even care about having a bed, but our hosts were concerned that rats, which frequented the school because of the bags of grain that were stored there would disturb our sleep.

Still, I felt bad, but when I asked Hardik to thank the people that had accommodated us he said that they would be insulted, saying, “ You already know. “In India Guest is God” – a phrase which I have heard many times, but have never stopped to be amazed at just how much it means to the Indian people.

In the morning we woke up to the familiar sounds of domestic animals, the creaking of the water pump and the new, horrendous phenomenon – religious music blaring out of our friend’s home stereo.

Our photo shoots around the area proved that the place is as photogenic as before, Kym was slightly overwhelmed by the opportunities that she was presented with virtually everywhere she looked, but as great as everything was, I felt little sad. I was reminded again; things will not stay this way for very long.

We spent the rest of the day riding around the surrounding villages, visiting homes, getting to know our ‘photographic subjects’. At first glance everything was still the same, but a second look proved otherwise. A few less turbaned elders, a few more rings of the mobile phone in an area where one had to go to the top of a building in a specific spot just to get network coverage.

By the time I’ll post this I will be in Jodhpur – the blue city and a street photographer’s paradise. I’m actually writing this post on the train to Jodhpur, of all places. Turns out some sections of the train have power sockets. Well, I guess development aint all bad.

Images: Top - Kym - the young lady who is participating in our private workshop photographing the rural Rajasthani life. Bottom - Floating condoms/baloons and some entertainment technology in our friend's stone and mud home.

Hello Future

The private workshop is in full swing now. We are in Bundi. Thankfully not much has changed around here since the last time we visited, but then it has not even been two years. It is great to be back doing what I did for almost 5 months during our last India trip – riding around the countryside, looking for interesting subjects along the roads, out in the fields and in the villages. It is also quite fascinating and somewhat educational to be the onlooker and not the photographer, as I watch Kym – the workshop participant, do what I did in the past. For most part I avoid taking photos, as having two photographers in some of these remote areas would raise the people’s excitement to an unmanageable level and turn the whole thing into a circus. We have to be really careful with how we approach the situation.

I have recently been reminded that India never runs out of surprises. The other day we stayed in a traditional village – full of stone and mud houses. Many people here still dress in clothes from a different era. At the edge of the village there was a different kind of house, it seemed to belong to someone a bit better off than the rest of the villagers, it was more modern and used concrete elements. Seeing a house like this amongst traditional buildings is not unusual in India these days; what was unusual – was the computer inside the house. Even more surprising was the fact that behind the computer sat a boy of eleven. He typed Hindi characters using an English keyboard; he had memorized which Hindi characters corresponded to which English letters. As we chatted with his proud father we found out that there are currently only three computers in the entire region and his boy was one of the lucky owners. He had had it for only two months, but already knew how to use Microsoft Office and Microsoft Paint, Bill Gates would have been proud, although the software was surely pirated. The boy painted a figure with a mouse and when he made a mistake clicked Ctrl+Z (the shortcut for undo). Hardik, Tanya, Kym and I were all a little startled. A computer in a medieval village and a little wunderkind operating it: What better symbol of where India? The boy’s father asked if we wanted a print out of the picture than the boy had drawn. – What, there is a printer too? – Yes, laser printer. – Hmm, well, we don’t want to waste your cartridge, don’t go to the trouble. – No, no problem. Said the father and within a few seconds we were standing with a print.

I have mixed feelings about such changes. I feel sad that it is only a matter of time before much of what I have come to love about this region will be changed by the influences of the world where I come from. If these changes happen too fast for the people to really comprehend what is happening, the situation will become very ugly indeed. On the other hand I know that I don’t really have any say in how things should develop. If a family of cow herders wants their son to become a computer programmer; who am I to say that it’s not the best decision? Mud houses and nights by the fire may be a romantic idea for foreigners who visit India and come back to their brick/concrete electricity powered houses/apartments with running water. For people who have not seen anything other than a very basic way of living there is nothing romantic about not having electricity, running water and having to fix their mud floor every time that someone with shoes takes a large chunk out of it. Personally I wish there was a perfect balance, a harmony between the old, the culture that developed over hundreds of years and survived hundreds more and the onslaught of modernity. It’s unlikely that something like that will happen in the region of Bundi; but one can always dream right?

Pimpin my ride, Indian Railways and Kolayat Fair

I’ve been waiting for something eventful to happen before posting, but events often happen in bunches and really quickly. Having to travel for almost 1000 km over the last five days, time is the luxury which I do not have. I’ll have to be relatively brief.

At this stage, almost three weeks into my journey I feel that I have already experienced the full range of the emotions that India evokes. Yes, the people here are absolutely amazing, but it is also incredible that I can still get so frustrated. A few times I have already had to break the rule of not riding the motorcycle after dark. I’ve done it out of necessity not by choice and I will say it again – DO NOT RIDE AFTER DARK IN INDIA, particularly not in Rajasthan. The truck and bus drivers are maniacs and they can kill you, given enough attempts. How? By blinding you with the high beam and taking up your lane as they overtake something slow-moving in the opposite direction to you – e.g. camel cart. I’ve reached the boiling point a few times already.

My motorcycle luggage carrier drama is now hopefully over. I “pimped my ride” in an area of Ahmedabad, Gujarat where young lads with too much money modify their Indian-made-bikes to look like foreign models. I wanted no such thing. My desire was to simply strengthen my motorcycle frame to withstand the rigors of bearing the weight of my luggage on rural Indian roads. A frustrating, but overall productive experience. I got what I wanted, albeit almost a day later than promised, with just enough time to book my vehicle as luggage on the Indian Railways. The experience of sending your motorcycle somewhere on the train surely takes at least a few days off your life. Finding where to go, who to talk to, how much to really pay and doing it all before the train departs – it’s really not that fun. The bike and we went from Ahmedabad to Jodhpur, on the train, from there we rode to Bikaner, then to Bundi with a one-night stop in Pushkar. Bundi is the final destination for now. From here I will lead a private photography workshop for 17 days.

I have not spent enough time anywhere yet to really absorb the places I’ve been to. One pleasant surprise on the way was the Kolayat fair – dubbed “Mini Pushkar” (the famous camel fair). Here we met two old cameleers with whom we will likely go out into the desert, just for a short journey for the workshop, around some unspoilt traditional villages. Going with them seems like a much better alternative to hiring a jeep and a driver from a Tour Company which I spoke to. I hate being the tourist who is taken around like a spectator in a zoo and then gets milked for every last penny. The tour operator promised me villages which are not ‘touristy’. A ‘touristy’ village in the desert Rajasthan usually means being followed by villagers who ask for rupees, chocolates, pens, soap, shampoo and whatever other things previous tourists were ‘kind’ enough to leave. ‘Not touristy’ means that previous visitors and operators have basically not screwed the place up. I asked whether the company’s driver knew of such villages – Yes, he has taken many tourists there! Replied the company owner. “Hmm, yeah, what you say really makes sense. A good reason to pass.” I thought to myself.

On the other hand the old cameleers instantly made me feel comfortable around them. Perhaps it was the smell of camel dung, unwashed clothes, bidi smoke and their calm voices - characteristics typical of cattle and camel herders around the region. I had become very familiar with such people in my last India trip and have nothing but positive associations with them – real, unpretentious folk who often seem to belong to a world that is different than that of their neighbors.

I’m off to organize the final details of the workshop. I will be quite intensely involved with it over the next 17 days or so and don’t know how often I’ll be able to post. I’ll try my best. Posting some photos here, just some diary shots from the past week. (The image at the top is a camel herder preparing dinner after dark at the Kolayat fair. I wanted to see how people would react to me using an off camera flash in a soft box, whether it would draw too much attention, thankfully not.)

Riding a motorcycle in India

The ride to Ahmedabad was a reminder why I love this life on the road. Just me and my wife Tanya, riding through what are often beautiful, unfamiliar lands, experiencing everything together – this has been a large part of our lives over the last three years. In many ways it is as romantic as some may think, but there is another side, one which is not so nice.The beauty you see is sometimes matched by the horror (to me at least) - the amount of killed dogs on the roads is impossible to count, the scenery is not always ideal - ugly buildings and industrial, smoke belching areas really do not make for inspirational riding. And then there are the road users, who, well let’s just say they do not always act as one might expect, nor do the pedestrians – I’ve had much more close calls than I would have liked to, over the years. To top everything off there is the ‘pain in the butt factor’ (literally) – over a long journey a motorcycle seat becomes the least comfortable place in the world and even a roach-infested hotel starts to seem like a welcoming alternative. Riding around India is not easy, but it is far from impossible and not as insane as many visitors to India may think. All that one needs is the knowledge of how the Indian roads work, once things begin to make sense everything starts to feel much less daunting.

Here are some simple tips for those who want to ride a motorcycle around India or simply want to know what it’s like.

Buy a motorcycle that will not keep breaking down Buying a 20-year-old Enfield that has been ridden by every foreigner in Goa that ever wanted to ride a bike is not a good idea. I have used a Bajaj Pulsar and a Hero Honda CBZ. I prefer the first and this is the bike that I still have. Both are 150cc bikes, but they will get you through almost any tough roads. The Pulsar gives a better mileage per liter and from personal experience I can say that I have pushed it to the max and beyond and it survived. These bikes can be bought second hand; I wouldn’t go for anything that is more than 5 years old. To give an idea of a price - my 2003 Pulsar cost 33,000 Rupees in 2007. It was in great condition and didn’t have any breakdowns throughout the journey. Those who have more cash to fork out or prefer a bigger bike – go for one of the newer Enfields, from every single account I have heard that the old ones break down very often, but a wise young Indian man told me that his new Enfield hasn’t had so much as a flat tire, that sounds good to me.

Size Matters On Indian roads whoever is bigger has the right of way. Do not try to play chicken with a truck; you may not like the results. The only exception to the rule is the cow; it roams the streets freely, at a leisurely pace, while everyone stops and gives way.

Volume Matters – The horn is your friend Everyone on Indian roads uses the horn with no remorse. The louder your horn the more chances you have of being heard by the half-asleep truck driver who is listening to very loud music and blocking your lane to overtake him. The horn should be used in many situations. When you see a grandmother crossing the road with a pile of wood on her head without looking to either side – use the horn. When you approach a herd of cows or goats – use the horn; they will often part for you. When you want to overtake a vehicle – use the horn. When you go through a forested area, which potentially houses animals you should scare the crap out of them, so they do not come near the road – use the horn Basically any time you are in doubt – use the horn.

Expect the unexpected Just because a one-way, two-lane road means one-way in your country doesn’t mean it is the same in India. You will see vehicles in the wrong lane all the time, but I was surprised the first time I saw a truck doing 80 km/h in the opposite direction of a one-way national highway. Indian road users seem to be very practical and rules are only obeyed if they serve a practical purpose. Petrol is relatively expensive in India and going 5km till the next U-Turn to get into the correct lane is seen as not practical. Other unexpected occurrences include animals and children running onto the middle of the road and then there are the tree thorns. Apparently the Indian government made the initiative to plant a certain type of tree along the roads, so as to make India greener and less polluted. It just so happens that the tree grows huge thorns and in the dry season, when some of the branches fall off, they inevitably end up on the roads. The thorns will puncture your tires; ask me, I spent a month recovering from an accident after puncturing the front tire of my bike and loosing control.

Flash your headlights When a vehicle is speeding towards you at an insane speed in your lane and you have no place to give way, the signal to communicate your predicament is to flash your headlights. The more you flash them the more urgency you communicate. For the ultimate effect flash the lights and sound the horn.

Learn to read the road This is kinda obvious, as we must learn to look for clues that could signal a potential hazard on the roads at home. However there are additional hazards in India as well as additional signals. For example - a turbaned man carrying a long stick over his shoulder is a shepherd and if you are seeing him, there is a good chance that his herd of cattle is soon to follow.

I’ve got your back The reason why you may often see vehicles turning or doing maneuvers in the middle of the road without ever checking the mirrors or looking behind is because the vehicle coming from behind is expected to be aware that the one at the front can do anything at any time. This rule mostly applies to city/town roads with heavy traffic, however doing it like the locals is not really recommended, just be aware of things are.

Riding after dark is not a good idea First there are the huge bugs that smash against the helmet screen, or take out your eyes if you don’t have protection. There are also the wonderful drivers/riders who only use high beam on roads outside well-lit areas. If you are heading in the opposite direction of a vehicle that is using the high beam you pretty much cannot see anything except for the light, considering that a cow could a few meters in front, this is not a very good situation to be in. Then there are those vehicles which are huge, but look like small vehicles because they only have one light working. A big truck can easily look like a motorcycle when one of its headlights is broken, but mistaking it for a motorcycle can lead to a very unhappy ending.

Well, that’s about it. I’ve probably missed a lot, but then a whole book can probably be written on the topic of motorcycle riding around India.

When alien worlds meet

I keep being reminded of just how different the world where I’m from is to the world where I now find myself. Perhaps no matter how many times I come to India things will always remain this way.For the past couple of days we’ve been trying to figure out how to make luggage carriers for my motorcycle. Getting involved in making anything in small town India often becomes a task of epic proportions - before long, everyone’s uncle’s, cousin’s son knows what you are doing. This can be good, as you can quickly track down the right people for the job, but quite often it is simply annoying – bored bystanders come to offer useless advice and opportunists try to cash in. After asking around we begin the search for a person who can do the job. The choice is very limited. Most of Junagadh’s inhabitants are very auspicious Hindus, many businesses are closed as the best time to re-open is on the fifth day after Diwali and that’s when we would ideally leave for our next destination. The first candidate for the job has his “office” - a wooden shack with a sewing machine next to a public urinal. I have to block my nose while I explain what we want. I’m thankful that he isn’t too interested - the smell is simply too much. The next candidate is much more pleasantly located – in a one-hundred-year-old courtyard, next to a Hindu temple. He is a pudgy, bald, mustached bag maker in his fifties – very welcoming and as it turns out very eccentric. He hands us his business card, which reads “NO GUARANTEES” in letters larger than anything else written on the card. He invites us to chat. Our conversation randomly detours, as conversations in India do, from the topic of bags, to feeding two hundred monkeys with three hundred rotis (a type of Indian bread) at the foot of the sacred Girnar Hill. That’s what the man does every Sunday and he proves it after insisting that we watch a VCD of this act. There is religious inspiration behind the man’s actions, but trying to understand his motives in depth is hard and I have long ago learned that understanding certain things in India can be bad for my sanity, I do not even try. After another change of topic it turns out that the monkey feeding bag maker is Hardik’s best friend Sandeep’s uncle. It is decided that he will make the luggage carriers, but the same evening Hardik rings to tell me that the man’s own nephew is not impressed with his work and does not recommend him. I remember “NO GUARANTEES” and think that perhaps it was put on the card for a reason. The next day we plan to buy the required materials and to meet the bag maker recommended by Sandeep, unfortunately the man isn’t keen on opening for business before the auspicious date and the plan is short lived. We decide to at least buy the materials and see what to do from there. Coincidentally Sandeep sells all the materials we require in his shop, but he too isn’t ready to re-open before the auspicious date. We turn to another option, to buy everything at the market, but suddenly Sandeep calls. He says that a client has pressured him to open early and this means that we can come by and get everything we need. When we arrive we see Sandeep standing outside of his shop with the rollers down. Five minutes pass, but Sandeep does not appear to be any closer to opening his shop. – Uh, em, why is the shop still closed? I ask. - I am waiting for the client. Sandeep replies through Hardik. – He should be here any minute. Knowing that in India ‘any minute’ can mean tomorrow or never I get edgy. – We are here and we are clients. So maybe Sandeep could open the shop? Hardik explains – We Hindus believe that once a shop is opened for the first time in the New Year a successful opening will mean a successful year. The first time the shop opens a sale must be made, we are not yet sure whether we will buy the materials in this shop. – Ok, we’ll definitely buy something. I say. – Oh, then it is ok! Hardik translates to Sandeep. The roller doors come up, Sandeep says a prayer and Tanya and I begin to look for something that we will definitely buy. Suddenly the client arrives, but Sandeep insists that we be the first to buy something, as we were first to arrive and our motives are supposedly more pure. We definitely need zippers and we take them to the counter. – How much for these two? – They are 7 rupees each, but I will charge 11 total, 11 is a lucky number. – Ok, whatever, great. Sandeep takes the money, says another prayer and now the other client can be served, while we pick out everything else that we need. – Hey, how much is this per meter? And this, and this? I enquire about a few items. Sandeep says something to Hardik in Gujarati, but I don’t hear numbers. – You cannot ask the price here. He is my best friend and you are like my brother, so this is like your shop. Just take what you need. Whatever the price will be, it will be the best price in town. I would have a hard time believing a line like this elsewhere, but Hardik is indeed like a brother. I know that young Indian men are very sensitive and as I simply want to get things done as soon as possible, I choose not to argue and go with the flow.

We got everything that we needed and in the end decided that we want to avoid drama and unexpected surprises. Tanya can make almost anything when it comes to working with fabrics, she will try to make the carriers herself using Sandeep’s sewing machine. As a result she is now out in the guesthouse’s communal hall, drawing up plans on the floor and cutting out pieces of fabric. I feel rather useless, the light is too harsh to shoot anything and I have already designed the carriers. I know that I will not have so much time in the near future and so I turn to typing this blog entry.

Recap of the first few days

I meant to post this a couple of days ago, but Diwali has kept Internet cafés closed here in Junagadh. The cab ride from Mumbai airport to the hotel reminds me why I am not crazy about this city. Huge billboards, wide, congested roads and some of the most pitiful slums one might encounter - these are not the things that I love about India. My wife Tanya and I decide to head off to Junagadh, my friend Hardik’s town as soon as possible. The next day at ‘India Railways Tourist Ticket Counter’ a woman with a rough, commanding voice violently taps at the keyboard with her long fingers, she looks at the computer screen and proclaims that it is impossible to travel where we want tonight. We plead with her to find a solution, she does – we have to get the train to Ahmedabad – a city that is an eight-hour bus trip away from Junagadh. I dread bus trips in India, but there is no other choice.

Our train arrives in Ahmedabad at 5 am. I take my almost immediate stepping into a pile of dog crap after disembarking as an official welcome back to the Indian Railways.

A riksha takes us towards the bus station; on the way we buy a ticket for the ‘deluxe bus’ to Junagadh from a shifty eyed travel agent. – "The deluxe bus is very best! Beautiful!" It will be here at 7 am. He says.

We wait and watch life go by. A vendor in front of us sweeps a pile of rubbish away from his stall into the spot of his neighbor. On a road clogged up with motorcycles, rikshas, cars and buses a couple of boys in a buffalo cart slowly make their way; they and the buffalo are oblivious to the modern motorized transport that rushes by. A young lion-haired man who looks and dresses like a Bollywood star checks himself out in the mirror and jumps into a riksha, while next to him a crowd of village women and children in colorful, raggedy clothes pours out of another riksha and head to the bus stand.

The bus is 40 minutes late. The journey is exhausting, but halfway through there is a pleasant surprise. I hear my name at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. I turn around and see Hardik. We were meant to meet in Junagadh, his bus was to depart 3 hours later than ours, but the leisurely pace of the ‘very best, beautiful’ deluxe bus has meant that we have ended up at the same rest stop. A nice coincidence, but a frustrating realization of just how slow we are moving. We exchange hugs and briefly chat until our buses depart.

An unpleasant surprise comes as we near our destination. – Hello! Junagadh, riksha! Go, go! The bus is making a detour and Junagadh is no longer the planned destination. A few of the passengers, including us are crammed into a riksha that farts its way through a pot-holed road at a speed of 30km an hour for the remainder of the trip.

As we approach Junagadh my heart begins to beat faster. Having spent a lot of time in the town over the four times that I have been here, it is as close a place to home as there is for me in India.

I check into “Relief Hotel”, a pleasant and extremely helpful place, where the owner – Faiz, has become a good friend over the years. Minutes later Hardik arrives at the hotel and we go roaming around (as the Indians like to say).

A couple of hours later, exhausted, Tanya and I fall asleep in our room to the overwhelmingly loud noise of the firecrackers and fireworks outside. We miss the peak of the Diwali celebrations, but late in the evening we meet Hardik again and plan to catch what’s left of them.

The old part of town is still very much alive and full of people. Few tourists make it to Junagadh and Tanya and I attract attention wherever we go, for a moment we get away from the crowds and turn into a quiet lane. Unexpectedly we experience one of those surreal ‘only in India’ moments. Two bullocks with huge horns majestically pull a large cart filled with hay, atop the cart sits a bearded village man in a traditional white costume. The ruins of the old city are behind him and suddenly fireworks go off to light up the scene. Diwali is like Christmas and New Year at once and Tanya is quick to make the comparison of the bearded village man in the bullock cart to Santa Clause. A Junagadhi Santa Claus with bullocks in place of reindeer - I guess it’s true when photographers say that some of the best photos are the ones that only exist in our memories.

Diwali means that almost everything will be closed. I anticipate staying a few more days in Junagadh, at least until Hardik heads back to work. We’ll somehow have to sort out the motorcyle issues – the bike is in a bad need of servicing and I need to have luggage carriers made. Hopefully I’ll have at least something sorted out by the time of the next post.

And I’m off to India...again

Today I’m flying to India for the fourth time in the past 3 years. I love India like no other country, but I have been wanting to see other places (hence my recent Indonesia trip). I feel like I can spend my whole life in India and it still won’t be enough. I would see and photograph only a tiny part of what’s there. But that’s a big part of the attraction. I keep getting sucked inJ. I have a private workshop to teach, but I guess I just need any excuse.

For the first time I will not have an extended plan before I get to the country. I will spend Diwali in Junagadh (Gujarat) the hometown of my great friend Hardik. I left my motorcycle with him after my last trip, figuring that he could get some good use out of it for a few years. Well, I am back sooner than I expected and will deprive him of it. My wife and I will probably ride towards Bikaner, Rajasthan. I haven’t been there yet and since the workshop takes place in Rajasthan too it’s a good chance to see that area. Ooh, the joy of riding on the Indian roads again! Over the years I’ve embraced the chaos and now I think I feel more stressed in a car in Sydney, everything feels too orderly.

The workshop will go on for 17 days and nothing seems to be concrete after that, great but potentially disastrous from the standpoint of productivity. I have plenty of ideas for stories to shoot though, so I don’t think being unproductive is my biggest threat. India here we come again…

For those interested in what gear I’m taking:

I am only an occasional gear freak. For most part I don’t care what I shoot with, or what tools I use, as long as they do what I want them to do. However I do last for the 5D MKII.

Canon 5D (well the new one ain’t out yet!), Canon 24-70mm f 2.8, Sigma 20mm f 1.8

Self explanatory…I  think.

Canon 580 EX II Flash + ST-E2 Trasmitter along with a portable softbox from Photoflex, as well as a while bunch of gels.

These really got a lot of use during my last Indonesia trip. It’s great what you can do with a flash and whatever that is becomes even better when it’s an off camera flash. Thanks to my wife Tanya for holding it in the most awkward of situations.

Two 8GB cards and a bunch of 2GB and 1GB cards. Two portable HDDs 250GB and 160GB, I like Seagate. I have not replaced my broken Hyperdrive Color Space. It was one great gadget, if only it could withstand hits against a concrete floor. One banged up old Dell laptop. I am proud of how much use I have gotten out of this thing. Still does most of the work I need and even seems to withstand the hits against a concrete floor.