This is a guest post by Sankara Jayanth.
Streets and Stories – 1
“I used to have a clothing shop, but I had to shut it down because competitors in the same area sabotaged my business even as they greeted me with a smile every morning. It is not enough for people to be successful today, they want to be successful while they see others fail. And some people work as hard for ruining others as they do for becoming successful.”
Hemanth Kumar sells sweets and snacks at a weekly market organized on Fridays in the streets of Hydershakote village. His wife too puts up a stall in another weekly market a few miles away. They moved to Hyderabad from Rajasthan 20 years ago for better prospects in their clothing business. Due to unjust forces and bad luck, their business could not be sustained after a while.
“One day I was in my shop, sitting under the fan waiting for customers to come in. I was thinking about how much the business has slowed down lately. When all of a sudden I started perspiring and couldn’t breathe properly. I got up and ran out of my shop in panic. But the fresh air outside calmed me down a lot. That’s when I think I subconsciously decided to do a business that allows me to breathe fresh air instead of suffocating while sitting in a four walled shop.”
Every change has a seed somewhere in the past, and more often than not, the decision to change is taken subconsciously. We spend hours on end pondering over a life changing decision. We are unsure whether doing one thing is right or the other. While we are still indecisive, we encounter an experience, again, more often than not, very irrelevant to our own personal conundrum, which nudges our subconscious mind in one direction or another. Depending on how close the context of such experience is to our own problem, we take time to consciously accept that we made our long pending decision.
“Can you help my son get a job in the company you work for? He currently works in marketing and earns Rs. 18000/- monthly. I don’t think it is enough. He has been in the job for 1 year. He completed his degree in Electrical Engineering 2 years ago.”
He first asked me where I was from, where I worked and how much I earned. I answered him and then he told me about his son. He asked me to let him know if there are any opportunities in the company I work for and I told him I would remember to do that.
“Why are you taking photos here? You know, the best time to take photographs is during sunrise and sunset. Go take pictures of nature, hills and trees, they look beautiful. You have to take photographs when there is light. Look around now, it is already dark, photos taken in the dark don’t look good.”
His words about photos, sunsets and nature made me smile. I agreed with him on his remarks. He obviously did not know that street photography is a thing. So I told him this – “I came here to take photos of people. I came here to capture the streets and the dwellers of the streets in their routine. I came here to look for a story behind faces, a feeling behind the eyes. Look at us, I know you now. I know a little about your story. I like to write. I like stories. I take photos and write poetry and stories along with them. And with your photo, I will tell your story.”
When I actually told him this, it was not as organized as the words are in this text. I blurted out fragmented phrases trying to convey everything I said above, as my mind was not only replying to his question, but it was also working on actually answering the same question to myself. Why I am here now? I am a proven introvert who avoids interactions with people, especially with strangers. So why exactly am I photographing a stranger, talking to him about his life?
His face lighted up as he grinned when I said I liked taking photos of people and that I would share his photo and story with others. He pulled me in for an awkward half-hug, but I could understand his emotion. I grinned like a donkey, breaking from the serious look I had on my face while I was talking disjointedly about deep stuff.
When I was about to leave, he took a pack of potato chips from his cart and gave it to me. I am slightly embarrassed to say that initially I thought his intention was to make me buy something. Because you know, at the end of the day, he has to sell them to make money for a living.
I told him I did not bring my wallet with me and that I would come buy something from him at next week’s market. With a smile on his face, he said he was giving it to me, not selling it. My mind staggered as I had to combat my above conceited idea that he was trying to sell it to me.
I profusely thanked him for his kindness, food for the heart that his story was and food for the stomach that those crispy potato chips were.
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