Ngày: Tháng sáu 16, 2021

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Bangladesh. Day 5- Hit by a Train (Almost)

Rising early, we headed into the heart of Bogra City. The central Railway Bazar was an amazing opportunity to capture all the busy activity of a market, with the added excitement of avoiding getting hit by the train that WENT THROUGH the market. The narrow stalls haphazardly put together with sheets of metal and hanging tarps allowed amazing streams of light to filter through.

“I’ve always said that a place’s markets are the quickest and best way to gain entry into a culture and a people.”

Anthony Bourdain

After a brief rest at the hotel, and a fish tikka…. Just kidding… chicken biriyani for lunch, we drove towards the banks of the Brahmaputra River. Peaceful countryside life, fishing boats and reflections in the water made this area a photographer’s dream.  We walked along the coast and into the fields to experience village life; a father and son harvest, fishermen’s catch, the kids at play…all with the backdrop of the setting sun.

 

( India in the background.)

Click HERE for DAY 6: Human Aerators and “ ‘Dar she blows!”
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Bangladesh. Day 4- The Girl in Red

After a much-needed sleep-in, day 4 started at the Shaheb Bazar Kacha market.  Part slaughter house, part fish market and part vegetable market.  It was so picturesque that I barely noticed that my feet were soaked in blood and dirty, stagnant fish water. 

In general, everyone was very happy to let me take their pictures as they went about their workday. But for the few vendors that were hesitant to let me take their picture I had to break out my tried and tested secret weapon: I would walk up to him (oddly, 99% of vendors are men in Bangladesh), look him straight in the eyes and with all the heterosexual energy I could muster, I would tell him “Tumi onek sundor” (“Hello, you are beautiful”). After that, resistance didn’t stand a chance.  This would undoubtedly disarm them and elicit a smile (and roars of laughter from onlookers)- and a silent resignation and permission to take their photo (#protip).

On our bumpy 3-hour ride towards Bogra, the landscape alternated from sugarcane fields, to rice paddies to the chili fields of Shingra. The time was spent discussing photography, comparing notes (“Which lens did you use?”), and having long discussions on the difference between travel photography and street photography.

As we turned a bend in the road we all shouted to the driver in unison, “STOP!!!!!”.  

There she was, like a beacon of light in a foggy harbor; a young girl harvesting rice wearing a bright red evening dress.  If you would have staged this shoot you could not have picked a better subject and outfit. The contrast of the dress, not only in its color against the landscape but also with the juxtaposition of her harvesting rice in an elegant gown, was unreal, bizarre… perfect. The “old soul” expression of the young girl’s face, the tattered basket in her arms, the small detail of the yellow flower in her hair were all photographically stunning.  
She lives at my house now...

 

She lives at my house now…

Click HERE for DAY 5: Hit by a Train (Almost)
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Bangladesh. Day 3- Trump! And Sticking Needles in your Eyes.

After two very intense days in the crowded and polluted streets of Dhaka, it was time to jump on a flight to Rajshahi in the West, close to the Indian border. Nicknamed the Silk City, Rajshahi is often considered the most clean and green among the cities of Bangladesh.

I wandered along the Padma River bank, interacting with the locals, drinking chai and explaining endlessly that I didn’t support Trump (“Trump! Trump?!”- the favored response when I said I was from the US). 

 We explored the town’s narrow alleys and colorful walls.  It was the kind of town where livestock would roam freely on the streets, and the faint smell of fried sweet Jalebi hung in the air.

While walking, a large crowd of gathering men “caught-my-eye” (figuratively and almost literally). I pushed my way to the front, deliberately taking advantage of my “curious tourist” card.

At the center of the crowd was an old man with an as-old wooden box filled with antique bottles of potions and powders. I stood in awe as the old man repeatedly dipped the tip of a long thin needle into an apothecary’s jar filled with a gray/black powder and stuck it into the eyelids of the patiently waiting men.  One after another, with only the symbolic wipe-down of the needle with a dirty handkerchief between patients, the “pharmacist” would skillfully apply eyeliner to the waiting men! Hygiene was clearly overrated.  Now, I’ve heard that beauty is pain, but this was ridiculously dangerous!

This tradition dates back to The Prophet Mohamed as he believed that “kohl” brightened vision and made eye-lashes grow. It is used by many Muslim men today as a sign of devotion.  Sadly, as I found out later, the powder used is often extremely high in lead content, which in some severe cases, can cause lead poisoning.

Seeing my obvious fascination with this eyeliner assembly line, the Marquis de Sade graciously offered me a chance to participate in this communal ritual but the doctor in me just couldn’t accept.

And yes, Chicken Biriyani for dinner…

Click HERE for DAY 4: The Girl in Red
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Bangladesh. Day 2- Human Ants and the Commuters

I arose from my deep slumber to the gentle sounds of the Muezzin’s call to prayer, an alarm clock since the days of The Prophet Mohammed. After a quick chai (aka: Rocket Fuel), we arrived at Gabtoli, a small local port where dozens of barges, filled to the brim with jet-black chunks of coal, were docked. An army of men and women streamed in an endless conga line, before us.   Traversing narrow planks of wood, bowing at their weight, they skillfully balanced full baskets of crumbling coal on their heads, off-loading their contents onto towering piles along the shore.

For their troubles, each worker would receive a small plastic token per basket emptied, which they would exchange for money at the end of the day.   Back and forth, back and forth, again, and again, and again.  The work was endless, dirty and tedious.  But once again- smiles greeted me as I tried to move around the endless stream of “ants” to find the best angles.

The harsh late-morning sun was now upon us.  I was still buzzing from the chai (or was it from the photos?), and I was anxious to unbuckle my arsenal of heavy camera gear. Weak “Bideshi”!(foreigner). A lunch of street-food chicken biriyani (the first of 100 eaten) was welcomed as we sought refuge from the noon day heat. We excitedly recapped the morning’s events and Etienne reminded us of some photography fundamentals.  We then headed to Kamlapur Railway station to continue our search for “the perfect shot” and to relish in the shade of the railway platforms.

Frozen in time, old rusty colonial trains came and went carrying all type of commuters with the associated hustle and bustle of a busy Third-World commuter hub. The metal on metal squeal as the lumbering trains screeched to a halt just added to the movie-like mystique.  As a photographer that loves to play with the “frame-in-frame” perspectives, the subjects that were naturally framed in the windows of the trains made for some amazing portraits.

Chicken Biriyani for dinner….

Click HERE for DAY 3: Trump! And Sticking Needles in your Eyes.