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Vaibhavi Kodnani

GAZE Vaibhavi Kodnani

Acknowledgements First, I thank my faculty, Mr. J. Menon for guiding me throughout the process. It was an immense pleasure to work on this book. I thank all the jolly people of Coimbatore, without whom this project would have not taken place altogether. The people have been extremely humble, helpful and I express my gratitude towards them. Next, I thank my parents for listening to my stories and giving me feedback on my work. I thank Vinita Sethuraman for encouraging me throughout. I would like to thank all the people who gave their valuable contribution in making this book. I thank Supriya Joshi, Aishwarya Bindana, Anil Kodnani, Shreya Birje, Aswath Raj, Rehna S, Nishil Patel, Uthiraa Mahalingam, Shivani Vartak, Rayna Batavia, Skandha Saradhi, Tanisha Kamat, Sonia Arthur, Sathwika Kataria, Athira Krishnan, Soniya Murkar, Natasha Suvarna, Sowmya Sridhar, Vinita Sethuraman, Isha Vartak for sharing their stories with me. Last, I thank all the other people who helped me in this wonderful journey, directly or indirectly.

I dedicate this book to all the people of Coimbatore who have made my stay in this city enjoyable and comfortable.

Foreword Photography is a visual art form. A photograph evokes a certain meaning, emotion and sets a mood. When I look at a photograph, it is not just a moment of time captured through my camera. It is greater than that. Every photograph has a story behind it. Stories is a daily affair. We talk stories, we breathe stories. Every person in this world has their own unique story to tell. However, a tale does not necessarily have to be narrated orally. A photograph, a painting, a film, all narrate certain stories. We talk about them to get a deeper understanding of life. Photography is vast because the world is vast. Capturing every instance of every creature on this planet and beyond is impossible. Hence, there are categories in photography. Wildlife photographers, landscape photographers, compositional photographers, street photographers, food photographers. I experimented with street photography. I chose street photography because I like people. I like stories. I like stories about people. I like small experiences with people. And who are these people? These people are total strangers. I do not know them. But somehow, they make me happy. It is a wonder to see everyone, photographs help us see through everyone. Humans do not have to speak. Their expressions, their behavior does all the talking. Observing a person can tell us a million things. Similarly, the moments captured through the camera can speak a million things. To conclude, there are many instances in life which ought to be cherished and shared. I am in search of the meaning of life. I am sure everyone is. We need to pause for a moment and celebrate these little moments. Often, we get so involved in ourselves, that we forget about community, society, people around us. We need to express our gratitude towards people, even if they are strangers. These strangers are indirectly making our lives comfortable. We may not realize it, but if we ponder over it, give it a deeper thought, we will realize that we can do nothing alone. From the bus conductor to the person sitting next to you in the bus, to the person you exchange a smile with, all are making each otherâ€™s lives comfortable. It is a collective effort, a contribution of all.

All the photographs are taken at the Ukkadam Bus Stand. Photography was done for a period of 8 days. All the photographs were taken using a Canon 1300D with a telephoto lens [55mm â€“ 250mm] attached to it. None of the images are edited. However, some photographs are cropped, using the golden ratio and the phi grid.

The stories as experienced This section has a collection of my experiences while doing photography at the Ukkadam Bus Stand.

Kites fascinate me. Back home, in Mumbai, I live in an apartment on the thirteenth floor. I do not have a very magnificent view from my window due to the concrete jungle that I am a part of, however, I do get to see kites sometimes. When I was a kid, I thought they were eagles, but as I grew up, I understood that they were kites. Kite had become my favorite bird. I loved the way they flew high up in the sky with ease. I dreamt of soaring high like the kites. One more reason for liking that bird could be the lack of birds itself in Mumbai. The only birds I got to see were pigeons, sparrows, crows, parrots and kites. Out of these few selected ones, I liked kites the most. I always tried capturing them in my phone camera. But, obviously could not, as the bird soars high up in the sky. While clicking pictures at the Ukkadam bus stand, I spotted kites in the sky, there was a flashback of memories and I instantly pointed my DSLR towards the sky to capture the bird in my camera. For the first time in my life I had captured kites, it was an amazing feeling.

A lady at the bus stand was selling earrings and jasmine flowers. She called me and asked me to click photographs of the flowers. I asked her through gestures if I could click her as well, to which she nodded a yes. She got excited and started posing for the camera. Her faint smile was beautiful.

A mother was holding her child in her arms which caught my attention amongst the crowd. She stood there for a long time, constantly looking on her right, waiting for the bus to arrive. After clicking a few images, I moved on to the next subject. After a while, a bus arrived and I started clicking pictures of people sitting in that bus. Suddenly, I noticed the same lady and her child sitting in the bus. I got excited and started clicking more photographs of them. While I was trying to focus my camera, the bus started moving. At that instance, the lady looked back, smiled and started waving at me. Then she held her sonâ€™s hand and made him wave a goodbye too. This incident brought a smile on my face. I could not capture a clear shot, but this sweet incident attached to the photograph is worth sharing.

I was too tired of standing in the scorching heat and sat on the divider to do my photography. It provided me with a different angle too, which was interesting. My eyes were navigating their way in search of an interesting subject to capture. At that moment, a transgender came in front of me and asked me to capture her. I was a bit startled but I readily agreed and clicked a few images. Then the transgender asked me to wait and called out a name looking in her right direction. It was her sister, but she was too shy to get photographed. I showed her the photos I clicked. Then she removed a one-rupee coin from her bag, chanted some mantra, and gave it to me. It was surprising for me because usually, the transgenders ask money from us, but what happened with me was the exact opposite. She asked me my native and I told her, Mumbai. Then, she asked me which currency I use there, and I told her, it is the same as it is here. She held the loose end of her saree, said some prayers and blessed me with her right hand on my head. It was a very different experience, a story to be cherished.

There were two instances wherein I was asked to take pictures and the men who asked me to do so, joined their hands in the namaskaram pose. Namaskaram is a respectful form of greeting in Hindu custom.

A woman wearing a bright blue colored saree sat on the divider. She was really aged, with multiple wrinkles on her face and a hunchback. She had a glass with coins in it which she kept shaking at regular intervals making a faint but distinguishable sound to grab attention of the passersby. I was sitting on the divider too and started capturing her. She looked right into the camera and posed for me, at the same time, continued shaking the glass. After clicking a few photographs, she nodded her head as though asking me if I was satisfied. I nodded back in reply.

I spotted a young girl with a baby in her arms. She was playing with him and seemed extremely happy. After observing in that direction for a while, I saw her talking to other kids as well. They were a family, a very happy and enthusiastic family. There were about four other kids. All the cousins were teasing each other, talking, laughing together.

I felt happy, seeing them together.

When clicking portraits, capturing the subject’s gaze is considered a success. When I pointed my camera towards the windows of the bus, the people peeping out through the windows looked right in the camera. This made it possible for me to capture their gaze. Every person had a different expression on their face. Some were happy, some, sad. Some people were lost in their thoughts, some were engrossed in observing other people at the bus stand. Every person’s response to the camera explained their mood. It was brilliant to see curious kids peeping out, observing the world, gaining knowledge, asking questions to their guardians, enjoying life. I remember when we were kids, I and my cousins or my friends always had a fight regarding the window seat. I am sure we all had the ‘window seat fight’ in our childhood. We loved exploring the world through that tiny window. The window paved the way for new learning, new possibilities, it made us feel good about ourselves. But somehow, as we grow up, our curiosity gets lost, we become dull individuals, not enthusiastic about life. Instead, we question life itself, we question the existence of our own selves. However, somewhere deep we know the answers, it is just a phase, it will pass away.

A few of the people not only looked into the camera, but also smiled for it. The women looked beautiful wearing that big wide smile.

This lady, while in the bus, saw me taking photographs of people around. She called me through gestures. I went to her and she asked me generic questions, but obviously in Tamil. I have started to understand a few words now, so I conversed with her in the little Tamil I know. Any conversation with a localite starts well, however, after 2-3 questions, I understand nothing. It then ended like how it usually ends, with the dialogue, â€˜Tamil teriyaad Akkaâ€™ [I do not Tamil, Akka]. But when I went back to the place I was sitting and doing photography, she was still looking in my direction as if wanting to get clicked. Then, I pointed my camera towards her, and asked her through hand gestures if it was okay to photograph her. In response, she started waving and gave a faint smile. It was beautiful to meet excited people in my photography journey.

While sorting the photographs, I found these two interesting shots. In the first one, I captured the womanâ€™s gaze, whereas in the second one, the manâ€™s gaze. This shows how fast our mind works - in a fraction of a second a thought which was putting us down can suddenly remind us of a happy event and change our mood. The expressions on their faces explains this.

The boy kept looking in the camera and changed his expression with every second. His entire thought process could be defined through his expressions.

A cute, smart girl spotted the camera while peeping out through her window and started making funny faces, as though teasing me and at the same time providing me brilliant photographs. Her innocence and liveliness is reflected well through the pictures.

The stories as interpreted Every story is unique, every person has a story to tell. I sent the same image to two different people and told them to interpret that image in any way they like. The responses are interesting, it tells us how people think and interpret things differently.

The colour of my pants, the colour of my skin, decides your perception of me, who knew what a great equalizer, inhuman stereotypes could be. The red behind me, flowing like my blood Tainted, impure, dark and disfigured Banned from happiness, from temples From places that house my sahib,

The Bench Rugged feet, roughened up hands, Fingers crossed together, shaky palms. I sit and stare at the blank, filthy space Worries and troubles, ringing alarms You join me in the same filthy space Sharing my trials and tribulations Distancing yourself from the others Or rather others distancing from us Loads passing by but nobody bothers

You understand me well, The scales not tipped in anyoneâ€™s favour In this world of elites and inequality, I find you equal, one of my own. Because with you there is no disparity. The lazy afternoon, unflurls in me, A thought never so much clear Dehumanized at every step, every walk Back to the routine, I must adhere. -Supriya Joshi

Stranger One set of fingers nervously entangle and then free themselves before repeating the same process again, while the other pair rest calmly- no urgency seen in its movements. They wait in silence. It’s hard to distinguish between them if a passerby looks only for a moment. But if you stay and wait- and watch, they are worlds apart. Khaki trousers and white shirts- even their footwear is indistinguishable. Only the tense bouncing of one knee sets their state of mind apart. To the world they could very well seem like friends but in truth they maybe people like you and the person next to you on the bus vague acquaintances. Someone asks the time in the background, one turns around to look, his hands still fidgeting, while the other doesn’t even seem to notice. An onlooker spares them a glance, noticing the similarities- but not the differences. The difference lies in the man’s shifting eyes- his gaze scanning each bus while his fidgety fingers crack knuckles in a telltale sign of anxiety. His companion barely moves a muscle.

The first man stands suddenly as the bus he’s been looking for comes to a stop feet away. Hurriedly he makes his way to the crowd laden entrance. He fights his way through the mass to enter the bus and grab a window seat. He lets out a relieved sigh and checks the time. He mustn’t be late for his wife’s doctor’s appointment. His eyes slide back to where he was sitting with the other man, hoping his bus too comes soon. The bus jerks to life and his attention is occupied now by the conductor, quickly forgetting about the other man oblivious to the fact that he’s not waiting for a bus- he’s waiting for his daughter- just like he has been for the past four years. -Aishwarya Bindana

Cousins Cousins Hemangi and Rakesh, after spending whole two months of summer vacations at their grandparents’ place, were returning to their home at Chennai. A flood of thoughts was running through their mind. How the time flew? Why the good times pass early? The mouthwatering delicacies made by Patti. The stories told by Pattam. The afternoon swimming in the village pond with friends. Climbing trees and tasting the raw mango – the tanginess is still watering the mouth. The tasty prasadam served at the village temple. All the good things had come to an end. And alas! Once again, the grind of getting up early in morning, rushing to school and after school going for tuitions, doing homework, all the boring routine will start. Honk – honk. The bus gave the warning horn and resumed the journey, putting a brake to the flashback journey of the kids. -Anil Kodnani

Dreaming away your worries and hoping for a new start. -Shreya Birje

The four pillars People see us to be poor old people covered by rags. To us, even what you waste is a resource. All we needed was Education, Empowerment, Encouragement and an Employment, the four pillars of life. Our generation might end soon. Will you educate, empower, encourage and employ the future generation? A question from those who make most out of what we waste. -Aswath Raj

Life in Construction “How worse can things turn out to be?”, she wonders. Swarms of people pass by. She remains invisible. It’s a battle every day, to tell her inner self, she has to live. Live? Survive! She has to tell her inner-self that she has to survive a little longer...with all the energy that’s left in her. There are seven ways to kill an individual. The last and worst, is to put them in the twentieth century. What’s worse than living in the twentieth century and hearing this? And we’re all dying, like the lady out there. The world suddenly seems to be a world that’s not a better place to live in. Why? -Rehna S

Lost I’m surrounded by so many people As many as I can see All of them moving with direction And just standing by, is me

The problem with just standing by Was that I never became aware I wasn’t really an approachable boy I was just too threadbare

I am here most times Watching everything find its way Not caring about my own And never having anything to say

I thought I better get out Give myself some time to think I couldn’t remember much anymore And with that, I started to sink

After standing for long though My legs started growing tired Finally, I had to decide Which direction I desired

Now I’m surrounded by so many people As many as I can see All still moving with some direction But lost in it, is me -Nishil Patel

Innocence was never coward, maturity is not always brave. -Uthiraa Mahalingam

Bus Stop Thatha “He was sleeping as I waited with Amma.

Amma said it’s bad manners to stare at people but he is sleeping so he won’t know. He looks like my Thatha. My Thatha also has a silver beard. I wish I had a silver beard. my bus stop Thatha looks so tired and his face looks like mine when I’m trying to do my maths home work. I don’t like maths. I wonder if he is dreaming? I dream about...” Just then 6 year old Neha’s bus arrived and she saw an angry man wake her bus stop Tha-

tha up. There were words that Neha’s Amma forbade her to utter. She said good children don’t say bad words and then suddenly Neha’s Amma heard her daughter’s voice say “Nooo! Bus stop Thatha!” Neha tried to run to her bus stop Thatha’s aid but her surprised Amma quickly whisked her away into the bus. In today’s fast world we never stop to think about someone else’s story. We’re always in a hurry to catch the bus, to finish work, to reach the cinema. Have we forgotten how to live? With depression on the rise I wonder if the key to happiness is Neha’s childlike innocence and imagination. -Shivani Vartak

Requiem I walk this empty road. The vehicles pass by. I walk my way through all the mess there is on the footpath, my legs trying to find land among all the plastic. I continue walking, the garbage leaving it’s smell on me. Within no time I reach the bus stop. As I see people get in and some looking at their watches impatiently I look at myself, a stranger to myself and others. Unable to find my own destination. I walk to the seating area. I sit on a chair and continue comparing myself to people. Their eyes filled with passion and a destination they need to reach. Moving from left to right their feet moving up and down. Some play with their dupatta while some are lost in their cell phones. I look at them and feel the hollowness within myself. I look at others who have an aim and a direction. I look down at my legs worn out from all the walking I continue thinking about the time I had a dream, a destination. I think about all

the times I use to have it all. All the money, the aim and the destination but it all went away with her. My light my dearest, my angel my wife. She used to light me up like nobody else. We didn’t have much but all we needed was each other. I am sitting here when I see a family silhouette pass by. I try to move closer and have a better look and it’s her. As I embrace her she seems so far away although she is right in front of me. Her eyes are hollow just like how I feel and that’s when I realize it’s another one of my dreams. I would rather pretend to sleep than wake up to my reality. -Rayna Batavia

Igneous Old age is childhood all over again. One is no longer a titan in their physical might in this stage. But these children do not depend on support from others. They procure it from an inanimate object, like this woman and her tumbler. Her iron fist grip on the tumbler is a testament of her need for support. Her calloused hand and skin aged by decades of struggle reason out why she doesn’t need a helping hand. These are people who have seen, been through and done a lot more than us. They deserve to live independently, in a dignified and an active environment. These individuals need our help to stand tall, smile proudly and declare their victory as they have made it through life. -Skandha Saradhi

Endless Drought No decision was ever really mine, Every morsel forced down my throat, I seethe at the thought of your hypocrisy, I laugh at the idea of “hope”. I made a list of everything you stripped me of, My land, my living, my men, But of all the things you managed to quench, My thirst for revenge was not one of them. -Tanisha Kamat

Untitled I look at the crowd running around, anxious to reach their destination. I huff and rest my chin on my stretched-out paws. I feel so tired, so weak. Heat spreading through my body from the scorching sun and the hot tar road. I’m used to it. I close my eyes and force myself to stop thinking, my growling stomach rudely interrupting me every now and then. Pat pat pat pat, I hear fast footsteps, running, running towards me. I raise my aching head and look towards the direction of the sound. I see a boy, scruffy looking, like me. Dirty with bruised knees. Tears streaming down his face. He runs past me, oblivious to all those around him, suffering, like him, but silently, like me. I look around once more. For something to give me some hope to carry on living. Just a slight hint. Oh, this is too much. The heat,

the hunger, the smell of rotting fruit invading my shrunken lungs. I decide to give up. To stop ﬁghting. To ﬁnally let go of this pain I so dearly cling onto. I hear a whimper. A shy one. I look around frantically. That’s when I see her. A frail, scared young thing. I let out a short whine to let her know she is not alone. She locks eyes with me. She has big brown sad eyes. She hesitates but then eventually takes a few steps forward, towards me. Aware of every movement in the crowd she cowers and pads over. My tail thumping as fast as my heart. She nervously brings her face close to mine. I stay still. I don’t want to scare her away. She sniffs and looks into my eyes. Maybe there are things worth living in this world for. -Sonia Arthur

We come to love not by finding a perfect person but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly. -Sathwika Kataria

The Mother She’s on her way back home. She’d been in the city for years now, struggling to make ends meet, selling the little vegetables she plucked from a make-shift farm she raised all by herself. Her son who was entire world she left behind because she couldn’t bear to be around him anymore. He was always after her demanding for legal documents in order to lay claim to the little land she could rightfully call hers. But she loved him, oh she loved him more than anything. But that land, she had big dreams for that square patch of land. She’d just heard of the words ‘organic farming’ and a woman from the city had come to the village to teach organic farming to the villagers. She wanted to learn and cultivate her land. Starvation, tears, abuse and disappointment was all she knew and she was tired of it. Since the city didn’t work for her, she’s back home, to her roots, to her soil from which she was born and raised. Determination set on her wise face, she’s back. She’s new now. She’s she’d her helpless image and now her ulterior image shall shine through. -Athira Krishnan

Longing is a one-way street. A journey so addictive, the destination ceases to exist. -Soniya Murkar

Shiny Seats and Shinier Smiles The murky glass spread the folds of my cheek across itâ€™s pane, stretching my smile into a canoe. There are red dots and white blips and steel rods all around me and the noise of the bus bumbling forward echoes throughout my head. I love the bus. I love how it inches forward as it jiggles each loose chink of it and rumbles like a weak old furnace. I love my molting navy blue seat whose leather mocks me by holding onto the beads of sweat my butt give out. I think I will sink into its shiny fold and ooze into another dimension now. Until next time, world. -Natasha Suvarna

63 Untitled The home is hardly filled with toys, traces of silence and everything always quiet. One footstep, a giggle, and a sudden whoop of laughter brought it back to life. The hair in a mess, a jump in the step and a roar of energy splashed across. Running into the bus, an exciting journey to unfold, unknown and untold. The joy, the wonder in every look, appreciating everything much more than we could. And then it meets another pair of eyes, awestruck and amazed by the same look they had. Reaches across and calls out to the person who recognizes them much more than anyone in the crowd. The laughter doubling, their smiles widening as someone finally understood the fascination they had. -Sowmya Sridhar

Move “I remember how we came here three years ago, When you and I used to fight all the time. Back then I thought this place was a big place. But your ego grew too big. We laughed a lot, cried a lot, it was once beautiful. But now it’s time. Goodbye to this place, that we grew attached to. Let’s move.” -Vinita Sethuraman

65 Untitled The child’s eyes retain hints of innocence. They’re steeling up, readying themselves for the harsh, cruel world. The world has not a dealt him a good hand, for he is stricken with poverty. He sees his mother, a single parent resist the clutches of prostitution, but not for much longer. He sees how a friend was roped in to dealing and using drugs, and now can’t seem to get out. He sees how his teacher at the public-school abuses him and his classmates every day. He sees his older sister, a school drop-out work as a domestic helper. When he accompanies her, he sees how Sirji is very close to her, always touching her, especially when madamji is not around. He sees everything. How much longer will his innocence persevere? -Isha Vartak