A few pics from Rajasthan

Rajasthan is is great. First, it has the mood.

Second, it has mind-blowing colors.


And then it has all those incredible faces... so often seen in other photographs. Already back in 1999, when I presented my first Indian portfolio to Tamás Féner, a living legend among Hungarian photojournalists (he is so old-school that he hasn't even a webpage, but would be nonetheless on pair with the greatest ones had he not been born in Hungary) and I'll never forget the resignation in his voice: "oh yes, India, Pushkar camel fair and stuff like that, do you know how how many million photos we've already seen of that?". Even though my pictures at that time had nothing to do with Pushkar or Rajasthan, he had a point - Rajasthan is a people photographer's paradise and who could resist the temptation? I couldn't. To realize that I can't photograph every smart face and pretty peasant girl was a hard reckoning, but then at least I tried...
















In most situations a polaroid, some charm and loads of humour suffice to create an open and honest relation between me and my subjects which is prerequisit to every good portrait. Sadly, it was in Rajasthan that I had my first and only conflict with people over taking their photographs. I noticed the beauty of this scene from the car - three women walking in the fields in their bright dresses under the overcast sky.


I let Soni pull over, ran up to them and took this shot, and seeing that it's not that remarkable I already wanted to return to the car, when the woman on the left noticed me. She came to me and asked for money. I hate giving them money, my polaroid was in the car and didn't want to pay them anyway because I didn't like the photo and took it from far away, without their faces visible. The woman got angry and shouted, "paisa, paisa" meaning "money, money". I calmly said, no. She then raised her hack (or is it called a hoe?) and threatened to trash me, to which I equally raised my Gitzo monopod and there we stood in a Rajasthani stalemate: she was ready to trash down on me with that hack and I assuming the same pose with the monopod. There was nothing funny in this situation but I almost laughed since the scene reminded me to a kendo fight. Not seeking trouble, I slowly moved backwards until she turned away.

Neither could I resist the temptation when we visited the Sham dunes (which should be rather called "scam" or "shame", for it's a tourist circus)...

... and all those desert gypsy girls pestered me to have their photo taken for five, ten, twenty dollars - depending on how they assessed my finances by my look. I admit I booked a model for five, so to say, with her daddy doing me the extra favor of standing in the background on a camel, just to experience how low one can get in photography... although probably the lowest thing one could do were to show such a photograph anywhere else than in a photoblog.

Beauty calls

On just another rainy day we were driving down from Almora when Soni suddenly said, oh my GOD. Another landslide?, I replied sleepily. But no: Soni pointed to a roadside restaurant with a veranda under which two gorgeous girls took shelter from the rain.
They turned out to be starlets with all their entourage, managers stylists cameramen and all, waiting for the rain to stop so that they could continue shooting a movie for TV (or a promotion ad for the region of Kumaon, translation wasn't clear). The situation was a little awkward because the whole entourage was giggling and talking about me, that was obvious, while I was desperately looking for a joke or something else to break the ice. The starlets spoke only minimal English. I asked them, so you are actors? Yes. Do you sing in the movies? Sometimes. I know a song about the rain, do you want to hear it? (Giggle.) I took a deep breath and started to sing Singing in the rain, horribly out of tune and all but the girls were laughing and I asked the girls with the most innocent face possible, do you mind if I photograph you? They didn't.

This is Pooja Arya:



...and Richa Parcha.




Richa and Pooja.

There was great chemistry between the models...

...and I wished there would be less giggling assistants around us, less white SUVs reflected in the black glass window behind the girls and less rain outside of the tiny veranda. It's anyone's guess how it would have ended - the girls were really getting hot - but then their managers, until then drinking busily tea at the far table, pooped the party. I had to explain to them why I take these photographs, who I am and all. There were two of them like playing good cop bad cop, the bad one insisting I delete all photos and the good one willing to hear me out. In the end both insisted I delete the photos which I didn't have the slightest inclination to do. Why on earth? They were decent enough for the circumstances and I had no bad intentions with them anyway. I looked at Soni with a face that said let's get the fuck out of here and off we went on our long way to Jaipur.
By the way, there were Richa's and Pooja's male colleagues too; handsome and very macho in their own way but maybe I can be forgiven if I didn't make them the protagonists of that impromptu shooting.

Saints and beauties

Thanks to the gods for Rishikesh. On a more human scale than Haridwar, much less filthy and noxious than Varanasi. And portrait paradise with all kinds of people and races flocking to the shores of the Ganga river.
Blossoms from India, only for you.




Crossing Laxman (read Lakshman) Jhula, the pedestrian bridge connecting the to sides of Rishikesh across the Ganga, is a feeling only Kipling could describe like he did with the Grand Trunk Road in Kim. A never ceasing stream of life across the eternal river of gods.
I had fond memories of Rishikesh. Probably it's the refreshing proximity of the mighty river, combined with a spirit of transcendency emanating from all the temples and ashrams, that makes people be kind, relaxed and openhearted. Back in 1999, photographing people was a real pleasure. Walking through the streets, I soon felt that this time will not be different.
It was a good start to meet little Risal. Closing on...

...baby pleeeeease don't look at the flash, it's not switched on anyway....

...getting better, now we have a child shot with large aperture, nice but not quite the real thing...

...and then Risal, who got either fed up from modelling or wanted to tell me a thing or two about life, made a suprising gesture...

...and as soon as I lowered the camera I realised: my trip was not for nothing. I love that last shot. Thanks Risal!

And there was Neha who flirted shamelessly with my camera, doing things with a slice of fruit that I photographed but wouldn't dare publish. In other words, she performed a perfect imitation of oral sex. Not the first time it happened. Last year in Manali another girl made an even lewder performance - with a lollipop, of all things. Either those little brats are too innocent to realise what they're doing or there's more to them that meets the eye. I'd say it's the first because I heard several local guys complaining about Indian women not really being fond of oral sex. All the more likely because in old times even maharadjas had to turn to servant girls or dancers for a blow job, because no self-respecting concubine or wife would do it. Or so I read somewhere. Anyway, here's a decent one.

Such a sweet child nonetheless. Full of life, charm and wit. I hope she'll not spend her whole life selling trinkets for tourists on the street.

First evening it rained heavily. I escaped into an archway where a few old sadhus were selling souvenirs and religious stuff. We shared some cigarettes and to bid my time until the rain stopped, I tried to photograph them despite the less than ideal light conditions.

And there was Paddy, running a little tourist agency. He offered me a seat under the fan; it was gaspingly hot and humid. I told him: "Listen buddy, I'm not gay and have a wife and all and when I get back home she'll look at my photos and say, 'so many photographs of pretty girls! That's why you went to India you prick!' and she'll divorce me, so from time to time I must take photos of handsome men too. Please help me. Do you mind if I take your photograph?" He didn't.

But attractive men were rare while the town was full of camera-happy girls. There was Madhuri, I believe she came from Mumbai, combing her hair after a bath in the river and not minding at all being photographed.

Actually this was on the second day but doesn't matter. I visited the former Maharishi ashram (known for the Beatles, unfairly perhaps because the ashram existed for about 40 years and the Beatles only spent 5-6 weeks there) but this is another story. Again, the little streets and pilgrim hostels (meaning any covered place) proved to be a portrait bonanza.

It was in such a flee-infested, filthy little place where I met Victor and Clemence (or Desire, the introduction wasn't clear) from Paris, a couple of rare beauty.

And there was the blind singer. I saw him in 1999 already, sitting close to the bridge. He was there still, on the same spot in the same robe (such bright yellow that it drove my 5D's white balance mad), singing the same song. Eternal.

For some reason I was very happy to see him again. While I was looking at him, dealing with my memories, he stood up and tried to make his way through the mass flowing from the bridge; I took his hand and guided him through, making way for him through all the people. Paid his tea, too.

Several times I decided to go return to my hotel and every time I turned back. I was tired, dirty and soaking of sweat but Rishikesh didn't let me go. People got used to my presence after a while and it was exhilarating to become part of this town if even for just one afternoon.