Purusottam Thakur

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I was born in the undivided Kalahandi district, where drought, starvation, hunger-driven deaths and distress migrations were an integral part of people’s lives. As a young boy and later as a journalist, I witnessed and reported these matters vividly and rigorously. So I have an understanding of why people migrate, who migrates, what conditions force them to migrate, how they earn their livelihood – working way beyond their physical strength.It was also ‘normal’ that when they were most in need of government support, they were abandoned. Without food, without water, without transport and compelled to walk hundreds of kilometres to distant places – many of them without even a pair of chappals. It hurts me, since I have an emotional alignment, a connection with the people here – as if I were one of them.  For me, they are certainly my people. So I was badly disturbed and felt helpless seeing the same people, the same communities, take yet another beating. That provoked me – and I am no poet - to pen these words and verse.

Kamlesh Painkra

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I am no poet  I am a photographer I have photographed young boys with headdresses, and ghungroos  garlands around their neck. I have seen boys full of merry exuberance cycling away on these same roads where they are fire-walking home now. Fire in the belly Fire under their feet Fire in their eyes They walk on hot embers scorching the soles of their feet.I have photographed little girls with flowers in their hair And eyes smiling like water Those, who had eyes like my daughter’s – are these the same girls who now cry for water with their smiles drowning in their tears?Who is this dying by the roadside So close to my home? Is this Jamlo? Was that Jamlo I saw leaping about barefoot in green red chilli fields, plucking, sorting, counting chillies like numbers? Whose hungry child is this? Whose body is melting, wilting by the roadside?I have photographed women young and old Dongria Kondh women Banjara women Women dancing with brass pots on their heads Women dancing with joy in their feet These are not those women – their shoulders droop what loads they carry! No, no, these cannot be Gond women with headloads of firewood briskly walking on the highway. These are half-dead, hungry women With one cranky child on her hip and the other without hopes inside her. Yes, I know, they look like my mother and sister But these are malnourished, exploited women. These are women waiting to die. These are not those women  They may look like them –   but they are not the ones  I photographedI have photographed men resilient, feisty men A fisherman, a labourer in Dhinkia I have heard his songs drive giant corporations away This is not him wailing, is it? Do I even know this young man, that old man? Walking miles and miles Ignoring the misery chasing them to drive growing loneliness away Who walks so long to escape gloom? Who walks so hard to fight the raging tears? Are these men related to me? Is he Degu finally fleeing from the brick kiln wanting to go home?Do I photograph them? Do I ask them to sing? No, I am no poet I cannot write a song. I am a photographer But these are not the people I photograph. Are they?The author would like to acknowledge Pratishtha Pandya for her valuable inputs as a poetry editor. Audio: Sudhanva Deshpande is an actor and director with Jana Natya Manch, and an editor with LeftWord Books.

The photographer writes – for better or verse

ਲੋਕਾਂ ਦੇ ਦੁੱਖਾਂ ਦਾ ਦਰਦੀ ਇੱਕ ਫ਼ੋਟੋਗ੍ਰਾਫ਼ਰ...

হেঁটে হেঁটে মরে পরিযায়ী প্রাণ, ক্যামেরা ছাড়িয়ে মানুষের গান

ಪೋಟೋಗ್ರಾಪರ್ ಜನರ ನೋವನ್ನು ಕಾವ್ಯವಾಗಿಸಿದಾಗ...

એક તસવીરકારની કલમે એક કવિતા

আলোকচিত্ৰশিল্পীয়ে লিখিছে- কবিতা কি মংগলৰ বাবে

छायाचित्रकार कवी होतो तेव्हा...

फ़ोटोग्राफ़र लिखता है – अच्छाई के लिए या कविता के लिए

فوٹوگرافر لکھتا ہے – بہتری کے لیے یا شاعری کے لیے

புகைப்படக் கலைஞர் எழுதிய கவிதை

ଫଟୋଗ୍ରାଫର୍‌ ଲେଖନ୍ତି – ସୁଫଳ ପାଇଁ ନା କବିତା ପାଇଁ

Dhamtari

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The photographer writes – for better or verse

When the lockdown enhances the suffering of human beings you’ve grown up knowing and caring about for decades, says this photographer, it forces you to express yourself in poetry, beyond the lens

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