Something new

Because I frequently see things that I'd like to remember, and because I have a memory that's just as useful as a soggy box of matches, I'm starting a new blog to collect all the pretty pictures I like. Behold:


Pause. Stop. Play.


As if I needed another thing to waste my time on.

My guilty pleasure of the week was a five-hour long marathon viewing of Pride and Prejudice -- the BBC series with Colin Firth, not the Hollywood remake.

Do you know what five hours of a Jane Austen movie will do to you? Especially if you have it on DVD -- which mean no one can stop you from rewinding/rewatching/replaying the infamous Mr Darcy pond scene again and again until you finally give in to just how tragic you are and force yourself to switch the damn thing off.

Anyway.



A few more random pictures from Bandarban. There was a village fair, involving live music and a lot of dancing.



I've been trying to find out the correct name for this contest, but Google is being very unhelpful. Young groups of men compete to scale up a bamboo pole, which has been smeared with some kind of greasy goo. It was very, erm, masculine.



Baby goats! Oh hello!

I've retold this story a thousand times -- about how I didn't know that goats were affectionate by nature. I always thought them to be rather aloof, you know, like how chickens are. But I found out I was wrong when the goat tied up in the carpark downstairs nestled up to me and rested its head in the crook of my arm.

It would've been the start of a beautiful friendship, if not for the fact that it was Bloody Eid the next day and I think Kirsty mentioned something about not making friends with other people's lunch.

Rawr

I guess I've always liked it when children don't let me get away with things, or when they talk to me like I'm dumb, or when they look at me with that look -- you know, that look that surrenders nothing to the camera.

The other life

Sometimes I forget there are people who get to wake up to this every morning.

Bandarban

The first two days, I found myself constantly feeling impatient at the so-called "slower" pace of life. By the third day, I found out that doing nothing was absolutely, utterly enjoyable. Why yes, I'd like nothing more than to sit here and stare at the scenery all day.

Like.

LONDON—A couple in Hyde Park, 1974.

© Richard Kalvar / Magnum Photos

In recognition of Older Americans Month, Magnum honors the elderly.

Produced by Zena Koo

I've had the privilege of spending two long afternoons talking to a photo curator from India, a woman who I find difficult to describe, although the first word that springs to mind would be indefatigable.

Its always good to refresh your mind with perspectives unlike your own, especially in a field such as photography that's always evolving, always changing, always surprising you.

Water Festival = Water in Unwanted Places

Yet another lesson well learnt, alongside classic favourites such as How to Win in a Stare Contest and Thou Shalt Look All Ways Before You Cross This Street. The latter is interesting if only because I remember a particular court case about a car accident in Singapore where the prosecution said the victim was not obliged to look both ways before she crossed the road because it was a ONE WAY STREET and who the hell drives in reverse at such high speeds? Well, my friend, welcome the land where the roads go wherever you want it to.

So the camera is, erm, dehumidifying in the dehumidifier room. I'm not sure how long it takes to suck out all the water, and I've been warned (in low, anxious tones) NOT to try to switch it on until a hundred years have passed unless I want everyone to think I'm an IDIOT.

I think, dude, I went to a water festival with no plastic protection, I think I got that covered.

Anyway, in my defence, the water attack that ruined my mood and camera was SNEAKY and UNFAIR. We had arrived at the small field where the festivities were taking place, only to find the programme had been held on hold because it had begun to rain. So there wasn't any water-throwing taking place, just a bunch of people who had already soaked each other but were still trying to seek shelter from the rain (I know).

While debating which leaky roof to hide under, a dude crept up from behind and silently emptied a bucket of water down my back. And because the world is just, the same dude slipped and fell in the mud (earning jeers from peers) a little while later. I only wish he'd landed face first.

Weather hit 41˚C yesterday. How anyone gets any work done in this weather is beyond me.

Camera + Water = Everything Sucks.

Embankment

Down by the embankment. On the map it says the area is called Rayer Bazar Badhya Bhumi. Not that far away from the main urban areas, but a whole different world -- ponds, water bodies, water hyacinths, cricket on green green grass, children, brick factories, lots of open space, goats, tanneries, cows, sheep, children etc.



No, nothing will keep the kids away.



I quite liked this picture till my local friend saw it and told me I was a rude photographer. Anyway, I hope you like the picture. If so, I shouldn't tell you that he's heading to the toilet by the pond.

Woof.

So it turns out that the crazy barking at night from the house down the road is from this really pretty dog that's strangely docile in the morning. From my window I thought it was a pit bull. Not.



And also liking pretty mongrels with long, furry tails.

Karwan Bazaar (again)

The constancy, predictability and reliable presence of Karwan Bazaar is a godsend to all photographers who ever wanted a chance to "go back and do it right".

Not to mean that I did, but at least I'll have a chance to do so at some point. Again and again.

Whereas in Singapore there's always a fear that a place will be torn down or "upgraded", this place gives you the sense that it's always, and will always, be the same.






Buffaloes up for the slaughter. Done early in the morning in a section of the market that opens only during the day, the meat is frequently sold as beef, which fetches higher prices. Apparently I've been eating a lot of buffalo meat without realising it.

Afternoon Impressions.

From lensculture.




Dogs Can't Read. photography by Daniel Milnor

Recent Photographs by Roger Ballen

Asakusa Portraits. photography by Hiroh Kikai

Gender

I'm scared of girls.

I've mentioned this before, that I always felt that most of them looked at me with a mixture of animosity, suspicion and contempt. This is, of course, not true (I hope) and just a result of me being stupid, overly sensitive and letting my imagination indulge in itself.

It's ironic, because I am very fond of talking to women here. The younger ones tend to be more reserved, so I chat mostly to older folks. Truth be told, the ones who are less well-off are also a lot more easier to approach. I hardly ever feel inclined to respond when a man/boy wants to start a conversation with me, but if a woman says anything at all -- I have all the time in the world for her.

Anyway, just some photos of what I feel is the "average" Dhaka girl -- something I wish I saw more of. The below were taken at Fantasy Kingdom, the amusement park on the outskirts of the city in Ashulia.

Digressing slightly, today's xkcd rocked.

(Police reported three dozen cheerful bystanders, yet no one claims to have seen who did it.)

Holi

Having one of those very sombre days.

I didn't have as good a session as I'd hoped at Holi yesterday, because when we came back for Round 2, I was assaulted by a group of teenagers who very aggressively smeared the dye all over my face and someone's finger landed in my eye.

At least now I know that blue-coloured contacts don't suit my face.

So I was half-blind and just generally not in the mood after that. Still, it was a lot of fun. Round 1 -- only kids who couldn't wait till after lunch to get started -- had me laughing like crazy. The funniest bits were the adults who thought it would be a good idea to walk through the streets, only to end up drenched purple/blue/red.

I read an article somewhere before, about the etiquette of snowball fights, and how the rules don't apply when kids roam the streets on Christmas looking for victims. You're in their territory now - your authority means nothing on this day.




He's not posing. Just waiting for people to empty his bucket on.







Not happy with any of the photos. These will do.

Waking up early to shoot feels good. Sleepily good. Hope that the early morning light will make it easier for me to make some hard decisions.

End.

Back to the routine.

I don't have time to follow up on the event anymore, and you have no idea how much I wish I could be doing that as a job and not a side thing. The last few days has put things into perspective for me, personally, and I'm grateful for it.

So here's the final photo on the BDR mutiny.

The BDR soldiers who were not in the compound had to report back. And they did, in droves that blocked up the entire road outside of Rifle Square. I felt strange to be amongst all these soldiers in uniform. Just a few days ago, a sight of a soldier in this uniform was the sight all photographers wanted (and feared) to see. And here they were, surrounding me.

A young man came up to me and Naeem, to ask if we were journalists. I didn't really know what to say, but he assumed it anyway and told us his father was in the BDR, in the queue waiting to get his name taken down.

The look on his face made such an impression on me. The face of a young man trying to be as strong as he possibly could, but the stress was too much and threatening to etch itself onto his face. A face which tried to hide it, but still showed the uncertainty and the worry he had about what will happen to his father. He didn't rant or complain like many others had. He spoke in even, measured tones, controlling his emotions as best as he could.

"What do you think of this?" he asked.

I told him I was confused. That I didn't know what or who to believe anymore.

He told us, his father had been on leave. They lived in the compound, and had been allowed to leave/escape on the second day of the mutiny.

Throughout the conversation, I just had this sense that there was something he really wanted to say, but chose to hold it in instead.

And in a country where its common for everyone to want to be heard, to have a chance to state his/her opinion -- silence sometimes means so much more.

Aftermath.

The army guy at the gates dangled a carrot in front of us. "We'll let you all in if we find anything," he said. "But only if you're disciplined and behave yourselves."

He let us in, that tease, just to see people dredging the pond near the gate.

But he kept to his word when he let us in because they had discovered new mass graves. But the mass graves - the star attraction - was the last stop of the media excursion into the compound. We stopped by the offices and the home of the BDR leader first. I think that put us in good stead in terms of preparing ourselves mentally for what we were going to see later.

The office of Major General Shakil Ahmed, who was the army officer in charge of the BDR. His chair had been burnt out (how come?) but no blood stains anywhere despite the bullet holes in the wall behind.

Time stood still in those rooms. The newspaper was from the day of the mutiny - the front page showing the prime minister decorating BDR soldiers at an awards ceremony the day before. For some reason, there were a lot of photos scattered around. And I also saw more than one cheque book on the table. Thought it was odd.

It was strange, to say the least, to be trampling all over what I imagine to be evidence - shouldn't some things be cordoned off at least? Photographers and reporters and camera men were ruffling through things everywhere, flipping through pages, opening windows and doors, moving stuff. Well, I can only hope the investigators has already been through it.

Then again, the news report later in the afternoon (after every living media person in Dhaka had been through the place) had the Home Minister saying she wanted everything "preserved" for "evidence". Tough luck, lady.

I wasn't exactly prepared to enter the Major's house. This was a private residence, and here we were, thronging through every nook and cranny and getting a glimpse of what their last moments were.

The heavy, sticky smell of blood hit when you entered the house. The second floor didn't smell as bad, which is strange, because that's where most of the blood seemed to be.

If you'll note from my previous post, I'm not sure if this photo (or any other item) was already there or "happened" to have been placed there by a photographer who entered the room before me.

Nothing in the house had been left untouched.

They found 10 bodies in the graves, including the wife of the Major. I wasn't nearby when they pulled her out. I was sitting at a corner and looking at the scene - but I knew they had found her body when everyone rushed over.

I went back to my house and had a very, very long bath.