Fabric Wall
(ongoing)
A sunny day in a rural village. My grandma was talking with herself with her unsatisfied face “You didn't do anything in your entire life, just “jatra and jatra”. My grandpa was sitting beside me. Suddenly I understood my grandma was talking with my grandpa unconsciously. Jatra is a local style of theater and my grandpa was an actor in Jatra. He was a storyteller and musician. One of my uncles was so addicted to Jatra. I have heard many stories about Jatra and the circus since my childhood. One day I saw a circus when I was 8 years old. I can't memorize clearly. But I also wanted to taste test the flavor my grandfather's generation grew up with. Now I am almost 25. Jatra and circus are very rare today.
I saw a group of people who used to travel with their house. Their children are mysteriously growing, don’t go to school, and even don’t play with the local children. They are brave enough not to be afraid of wild animals. Those people's lives are just behind the pandal but not permanently, they travel mile after mile, village after village where they can set for their earn. That pandal makes them “other” from the local society. People recognise them as ‘circus people’ and children become ‘circus childs’. Since ancient times, circuses have played a remarkable role in entertainment in our societies. We regard their lifestyle and work as an abomination. At the same time, we go to their events to see their culture and work of art for our entertainment. Within the pandal, a cultural diffusion has been happening for thousands of years.
My “Fabric Wall” story is about The colors, The faces, and how they maintain their smile while giving us a crowd laughing show. And also how the cultural diffusion happens inside the walls of the pandal. In our country, the circus is a well-known event. At the moment very few circuses live in this country. That's why, you will never find them in one place for a long time. Now only six groups are doing live shows and not more than 1500 to 2000 people are directly and indirectly related to these groups. The number of artists are decreasing day by day. They travel the whole country to share smiles on our faces.
Affection
In the ethereal expanse of her mind, Emma's desires took shape, mirroring Freudian realms. She yearned for the ideal partner, weaving fantasies of familial bliss amidst towering mansions. Yet, lurking shadows whispered of treachery—betrayal staining friendship's canvas. Amidst verdant landscapes, nature's wrath unfolded, a metaphor for life's chaos. In the midst of this turmoil, a figure grappled with identity's erosion, lost amidst shifting sands of self. Finally, in serene slumber, amidst the tumult, a semblance of peace emerged—a respite from the subconscious battleground. Within her dreams, Freudian theories intertwined, revealing the complexities of human longing and strife.
The Ghost night
Labourers are the heartbeat of civilization, the silent architects of progress. In every corner of history, their toil has shaped societies, bridged distances, and breathed life into commerce. Take Karwan Bazar, a testament to their significance. Rooted in the legacy of Marwari trader Karwan Singh and linked to the grandeur of Sher Shah Shuri's roads, this marketplace thrives because of its labourers.
These individuals, often unseen, are the backbone of this bustling hub. They work tirelessly, their efforts stitching together the fabric of trade and sustenance. Whether in the shadows of the night or under the scorching sun, they labour with unwavering dedication, ensuring the gears of this market never cease.
Their roles extend beyond mere physical toil; they embody resilience, embodying the spirit of resilience, adapting to challenges, and carving pathways for progress. Their significance transcends the bricks and mortar; it's woven into the very essence of Karwan Bazar's existence.
A photo project celebrating these unsung heroes is not just a visual tribute but a narrative of resilience, depicting the beauty and dignity in their labour. It's a reminder that behind every thriving market, monumental road, or grand edifice, there are the hands and sweat of these indispensable individuals, painting the canvas of progress with their hard work and determination.
Water Ripple
At times, we spend hours working through pages of equations, searching for the simplest answer. And when the answer is correct, we feel content. Even if the result is “0,” our happiness is not diminished. I went through a similar phase in my life when the fear of death constantly haunted me. I was exhausted from all the physical challenges my body was going through. During that difficult time, my eldest aunt reminded me of the simplicity of life.
My relationship with my aunt was special. She had stayed with us for about a year while receiving treatment for her cancer. Before that, our relationship wasn’t very good for various reasons. But since she was now a guest in our home, I started treating her with respect. Gradually, I formed new bonds with her and my cousins. Watching her endure the hardships of her cancer treatment softened me. Even amidst immense pain, the simple look in her eyes constantly reminded me of the simplicity of life.
At the same time, my aunt was deeply worried about her youngest daughter not getting married. She would often wonder about the kind of person her daughter should marry, what qualities he should have. Most of her time was spent thinking about this. My aunt was someone who was always concerned about finances. I could see the helplessness on her face as she spent a lot of money on her treatment, money she had saved for her daughter’s wedding. But despite this, both of them shared a remarkable sense of acceptance. I was continually amazed by my aunt’s ability to think about life in her own simple way.
During that period, I too was very sick. There was fear that cancer cells might be present in my blood. I had to spend most of my time bedridden. Often, it was just the two of us at home. The others would return in the evening after work. Over time, our daily conversations began to resonate with each other because we were both bedridden. We shared meals, talked all day, and worried about each other. Slowly, we became one. In my aunt’s face, I started to see a reflection of myself.
