When the pictures cried…….

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Had an opportunity to visit a photo exhibition oraganised by the Indian photography fest in my city. The works of various photographers from around the world were showcased and we spent over two hours mesmerized by their extensive range of work.  Stunning visual landscapes, black and white portraits, exotic wildlife, the wrestlers of Senegal, glimpses of the platform of New York’s subway, local festival celebrations, Philippines drug war, the slums of Dharavi, many postcard pictures from everyday life and much more were put up.

But what caught my attention and ripped my heart apart were the pictures by the Mumbai based photographer Sudharak Olwe. The pictures were crying out in agony, shattering the silence of the room. Some of his works covered the images from the lives of the conservancy workers working in unimaginable conditions, the prostitutes of the red light area, jarring pictures of the deep caste prejudices among the Dalits in Maharashtra.  Each picture narrated a heart wrenching morbid tale of  life. Be it a new born baby still with its umbilical cord dumped in a garbage bin, or the prostitutes playing Holi* but with colours of pain and sadness, a man cleaning a sewage canal  buried till his neck in pit filled with filth , hanging of a Dalit for trying to speak up for his rights and many more such pictures which jolt your very being. I could do nothing to contain the tears flowing from my eyes.

Staring into their lifeless eyes

the piercing wails echo

 despair and anguish

the soul drenched in sorrow

when the tormented heart cries out,

their plea for help, unheard

nobody to feel, nobody to heal

from the dead frames hang

something which resembled a human

 life in an abyss enclosed by

gloom, filth, poverty and misery

their grieving hands probe in the perennial darkness

for a glimmer  of hope to brighten their spirit!

 

*Holi is a festival of colours played in India.

 

57 thoughts on “When the pictures cried…….”

  19. The images you describe are those that help us thank for all that we are blessed with but in an uncertain way explains the unfairness of life. It has often crossed my mind that if a woman had to give her body in what is generally termed as ‘prostitution’, what forces her to continue to do so? For sure, it is no choice but a form of helplessness. Or the man who cleans the sewer will not be even offered water and the tea man thinks that he can give the tea for free rather than accept coins that the filthy hands held, said one of the newspapers recently. It is a sad reality but a fact of life.
    The pictures must have touched you for the poem has so much pain.

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      3. Wow I loved your comment you are so sincere in your writing and replying for comments. Radhika that makes you rare and your writing special.

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