SAJAforum

PHOTO FORUM: The Orange Men of Rishikesh, by Charlotte Purin

The Orange Men of Rishikesh

Text and photographs © Charlotte Purin

It was fitting that I met G.T. Roa (above) on the holiday of Holi, the Indian festival of color that celebrates a man’s survival thanks to his unwavering devotion to God. On this day Hindus, especially adolescent boys, throw or smear brightly colored, staining powders at anyone in the street. Despite this, I left the safety of my ashram and ventured out for sweets. Zig-zagging in order to avoid the boys, I bumped into G.T., a much-bemused sadhu, who was color-free except for the orange uniform that all sadhus wear to signify their life path. I thrust some sweets into his hands and said, “Happy Holi!” He smiled: “Come and talk sometime. I will be sitting here. I am always sitting here.”

The next day, there he was in the same exact spot. And he was there every day until I left four weeks later.  G.T. Roa is a man who left his job as a welder for the life of a monk, renouncing worldly desires for a life of devotion to God. One day he told his family he was going to the mountain – the Himalayas, refuge of seers (rishis) and saints. 

PHOTO FORUM: The Believers: Indian Christians Under Attack, by Massimiliano Clausi

The SAJA Photo Forum presents the work of photographers covering South Asia and its global diasporas in order to highlight important but often overlooked stories.

The Believers: Indian Christians Under Attack

Text and photographs © Massimiliano Clausi

 

In August and September 2008, a wave of violence perpetrated by Hindus on Christian villages swept through the Khandamal district in the in the Indian state of Orissa. Most estimates put the death toll between sixty and one hundred people, with dozens of churches destroyed and thousands of homes burned to the ground. More than 50,000 people were displaced from their homes. The official reason for the violence was the murder, blamed on Christians, of a widely followed religious and political leader. But the roots of hatred lay deep in a mix of poverty and political interests undermining the fragile peaceful coexistence of faiths and ethnic groups in Orissa.

Khandamal is a mountainous area where every plain is cultivated with rice, the major source of income for the villages. Most of the inhabitants belong to the Khanwa tribe; hence the district's name. The Panos, who are the dalits at the bottom of the caste ladder, form the next big group and converted to Christianity generations ago. The percentage of Christians in Khandamal – 25 percent – is high compared to the 2.4 percent for India as a whole.

On August 23, 2008, 81-year-old Swami Lakshmananda Saraswati, a leader of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, a political party, was gunned down at night in the district. Notwithstanding the fact that Maoist guerrillas took responsibility for the murder, Christians were immediately blamed by politicians belonging to the major Hindu parties. Two days later, hordes of Hindu militants were attacking Christian homes and places of worship in Khandamal, mainly at night. Whole families were forced into hiding in the nearby forest for days with no food or water. Those who stayed behind, the old and sick or those simply not willing to surrender their land and belongings to the assailants, were killed, mutilated and burned, or severely injured.

Three months after the peak of the violence, the situation is deadlocked. While Christians are still stuck in inadequate relief camps, the local government is encouraging them to go back to their villages. But they say the threat of fresh attacks is too high, and the local police force is unable to protect them. Every week new assassinations of isolated Christian peasants are being reported, and the promised compensation of Rs. 20,000 is not enough to rebuild a house.

A relief camp near Dopakia village. There are now 12 state-run relief camps hosting displaced Christians.  The situation is still tense, with the killings of Christians being reported every week.

An estimated 20 churches were burned. At least 15 Christian leaders, including Lutheran pastors, Catholic priests, and Christian missionaries, were killed while guarding their places of worship.

PHOTO FORUM: Mumbai Attacks, by Andri Tambunan

[See SAJAforum's full coverage of the Mumbai attacks]

Mumbai Attacks

Photographer Andri Tambunan was checking his email at an Internet cafe across from Leopold's when the attacks began.

Text and photographs © Andri Tambunan

A crowd looks through the bullet-shattered glass of Café Leopold

I arrived in Mumbai several days before the terrorist attacks.  I was excited about being here because it's the "New York" of India.  Moreover, I wanted a change of pace since I had missed the city life.  I had been dying for a real coffee and going to a western restaurants and bars.  Also, I had been reading the novel Shantaram, whose story takes place in Mumbai, and I wanted to explore the city and hopefully encounter the same exciting adventure.  The first place I visited upon my arrival was Café Leopold located in the heart of Colaba, a tourist district.  It gained international recognition when Gregory Roberts wrote about it in his novel.  Though he described it as a watering hole where gangsters, gunrunners, drug dealers, tourists, and locals mingled during the early years, it is now a city landmark attracting tourists and backpackers from all over the world.

On November 26, I went to a bar to have drinks with some friends.  We decided to go to a local bar rather than Café Leopold because the beer was significantly cheaper. Around 9 PM I went to check my email at an Internet café across the street from Café Leopold.  Minutes later I heard loud bangs, which I thought were firecrackers.  However, more bangs followed, and they were louder and closer.  My instinct was telling me something bad is happening outside. I knew then they weren't firecrackers but gunshots, and my heart was racing. My first thought was that it was a gunfight between gangs. I peeked through the window, and I saw people scrambling and hiding in dark alleys.  The owner of the Internet café immediately locked the door and turned off the light.  He told everyone to go to another room and close the door.  People were huddling in the corner overwhelmed with terror.

Bystanders take an injured victim of the terrorist shooting out of Café Leopold

More sounds of the gunshots filled the air, and our hearts with fear. I could hear the owner calling the cops and requesting help.  I was listening closely for police sirens to drown out the sounds of gunshots.  I was hoping that I would hear them soon.  But they never came and help never arrived.  I worried about my friends, and I hoped that they didn't go outside.  Through the window I saw a woman being carried by two men--she had been shot in the leg.  On the other side of the Internet café, a man was lying face down on the ground, covered in blood.  He was not moving, but I could see he was barely breathing.  I tried to remain calm and wait patiently for help to arrive. 

I saw the two killers walk calmly and confidently past our hideout.  Each of them carried a machine gun and a backpack.  They weren't in a hurry, and they didn't wear a mask to hide their faces. I wanted to get out and help the man that was shot, but I was not sure if there were more gunmen.  I couldn't believe that the cops were nowhere to be found because the police station was across the street from Café Leopold.  Then I saw a car stop next to the wounded man, and the driver and the passenger put him inside.  I also saw a truck next to Café Leopold putting injured victims in the back.  I knew then that it was safe to get out.  I told the owner to unlock the door, and despite his protest he let me out.  I ran towards Café Leopold and discovered the place had been torn apart by bullets.  People were still ducking under tables, helpless. The workers of Café Leopold stepped outside with their hands up in their air.  They didn't want people to think they were gunmen.  I was worried that the gunmen would return and open fire at us.  It was chaos and confusion, and I couldn't believe that it was happening. I took my point and shoot camera and started taking photos.

PHOTO FORUM: Mumbai Transgendered, by Alessandro Vincenzi

The SAJA Photo Forum presents the work of photographers covering South Asia and its global diasporas in order to highlight important but often overlooked stories.

Mumbai Transgendered

Text and photographs © Alessandro Vincenzi

Urmi at home

There are estimated to be more than 25,000 transgendered persons (TGs) in Mumbai, trying to survive in the face of significant discrimination.  Some earn money by blessing and greeting people, including couples and families on special occasions.  Some work as professional dancers in bars.  Others beg for money at traffic signals or on the street.  But the majority, some sixty percent, are involved in commercial sex work.  Twenty percent of the TGs living or working in Mumbai are thought to be infected with the HIV virus, and seventy percent of the customers are married men with children.  Maharashtra, the state where Mumbai is the capital, is home to around one in five people living with HIV in India.

Some transgendered sex workers begin at the age of 14 or 15 before joining the TG community, while others start after becoming part of it.   For most TGs, joining the community is a way to express themselves in a unique culture. The community becomes the family, with sisters and moms. The 1st Lane of Kamathipura, Mumbai’s oldest and largest red-light district, is where most of the TGs live in brothels and do sex work. Normally in each brothel there is a family, where the guru is the owner and guide for each TG working and living in it.

Pooja (center) gets ready for a day of begging

Payal’s Guru, Inal, comes home while Payal prepares chapati

Other TG sex workers live in groups or with their gurus in houses in the suburban areas of Mumbai. In this case, TGs do sex work in slums or in isolated places and not in the building where they live to avoid problems with the neighbors.  Work starts around seven or eight in the evening and ends when there are no more customers. A TG can have an average of 10 clients per night, but in some cases they deal with more than twenty.

PHOTO FORUM: The Tragic Fibre, by Andrew Biraj

The SAJA Photo Forum presents the work of photographers covering South Asia and its global diasporas in order to highlight important but often overlooked stories.

The Tragic Fibre

Text and photographs © Andrew Biraj

“Our life is like the factory’s spare junk. No one needs us now,” says Mozammel Haque, a 58-year-old jute mill supervisor at the Platinum jute mill in Khulna, Bangladesh. By that time all of the three major jute mills of the country had been closed down due to unexpected lay offs. Like thousands of other laborers, Mozammel Haque has been fired after 32 years of service.

As the world's largest jute-producing country, Bangladesh accounted for a significant amount of global exports until the early seventies. But since the government closed down the Adamjee jute mill (the largest jute mill in the world), calling it "unprofitable" in 2003 following the prescriptions of IMF and the World Bank, the whole jute industry in Bangladesh began to collapse.

Mozammel Haque was fired under the new labour law which stipulates retirement age 57 instead of the previous 60, but he is yet to receive his retirement benefits. He sits at the machine where he worked  his entire life.

Bangladeshis are taught from childhood that jute is the key source of the economy. “The Golden Fibre” was something to be proud of in the developing nation.  But this vibrant trade has been mired in corruption and unprofitability, forcing the government to close it down.

In April 2007 the workers protested in the streets after the government shut down the Platinum and Crescent jute mills in Khulna. The workers of those mills still had several months' worth of wages pending.  Others were forced into what the military-driven interim government prefers to call "voluntary retirement." They have yet to be notified when their retirement benefits would be given.

PHOTO FORUM: Nepal Elections - Prachanda, the Fierce One, by Sumit Dayal

The SAJA Photo Forum presents the work of photographers covering South Asia and its global diasporas in order to highlight important but often overlooked stories.

Nepal Elections - Prachanda, the Fierce One

Text and photographs © Sumit Dayal

Nepalese women wait outside Laxmi secondary school situated in Lanku, Bharatpur to cast their votes.

With Nepal's historic elections of April 10, 2008, for its 27 million people it is a time like no other.  Maoists are set to sweep the elections, giving their leader, Prachanda, once the most-wanted man in the country, a chance to become the first-ever president of Nepal.

Former Nepalese rebel leader and present chairman of the Nepalese Communist Party (Maoist), Pushpa Kamal Daha is also known as “Prachanda,” which means “the fierce one.”

Born in 1954 Prachanda spent much of his childhood in the Chitwan District in Nepal. His family are reported to have been Brahmins of modest means.  He received a bachelor of science degree in agriculture from the Institute of Agriculture and Animal Science in Rampur, Chitwan.

Former Nepalese rebel leader and present chairman of the Nepalese Communist Party (Maoist) arrives at Laxmi Seondary school in Lanku, Bharatpur to cast his vote.

Under his leadership, CPN (M) launched the Nepalese People’s War on February 13, 1996, when Nepal had just restored multi-party democracy after 30 years of direct rule by the king. 13,000 Nepalis were killed during the rebellion.

Prachanda lived underground even after the restoration of democracy in 1990. Until then a little-known figure, he controlled the clandestine wing of the party. Since 1996, Prachanda has become internationally known as the leader of the CPN (M) military wing and its overall leader.

Former Maoist comrades wait in line to cast their vote inside UN administered Shaktikhor Cantonment in Nuwakot.

In 2006 Sumit Dayal graduated from the Documentary & Photo Journalism program at the International Center of Photography in New York.  He is based out of New York & New Delhi.

See his full feature on Prachanda and the Nepal Elections.  See more of his work at his archive.  See his Postcard from Bhutan at Time magazine.

PHOTO FORUM: Tibetans in New York, by Albertina d'Urso

The SAJA Photo Forum presents the work of photographers covering South Asia and its global diasporas in order to highlight important but often overlooked stories.

Tibetans in New York

Text and photographs © Albertina d'Urso

At the end of last year I moved to New York city for few months.  One of my goals was to pursue a story on the Tibetan community because I am involved in a long-term project about the Tibetan diaspora.  I had already shot extensively in India and Nepal, and I knew that about 2,000 refugees live in New York, so I was curious to see how the Tibetans could settle in a place so different from their homeland.

The story began the day after I arrived.  I was walking around Soho when my roommate called and said, "Run to Union Square. It's packed with people who may be Tibetans.  I am not sure, but you should come and check."  I recognized them as soon as I arrived.  They were all dressed in traditional customs and were celebrating the Gold Medal awarded to the Dalai Lama by the United States Congress.  If it were not for the skyscrapers in the background, I could forget being in New York. That same evening, I joined them at a fundraising party, where they were all dressed in Western styles, especially the teenagers.  But I was still amazed at how, even if they were not wealthy, they are always thinking of ways to help their needy compatriots back home.

Tibetans in Union Square celebrate the Dalai Lama's Congressional Medal of Honor

Young Tibetans at a fundraising party

PHOTO FORUM: Tibetans in Exile, A Suspended Identity, by Viviane Dalles

The SAJA Photo Forum presents the work of photographers covering South Asia and its global diasporas in order to highlight important but often overlooked stories.

Tibetans in Exile, A Suspended Identity (India, 2007)

    Our identity comes from the earth.
    Larry Towell, No Man’s Land

Text and photographs © Viviane Dalles

P.Y. breaks down in tears. She is an 11-year-old girl at the refugee centre in MacLeod Ganj. I come close to her and ask her why she is crying. Sobbing in the corner, she has just realised that someone has stolen her bag. At the heart of the matter, it isn't because she has lost her bag that she breaks down. It goes deeper. She is in tears because she has come alone to India, she misses her family and she has absolutely no one to talk to. The isolation that all this creates is too much for a young girl. The women gather around and try to console her. Like many parents, P.Y.’s parents have made the sacrifice of sending their daughter to India in the hope she will receive a Tibetan education and be under the protection of the Dalai Lama.

Ever since the fourteenth Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, was forced to flee the Chinese army in 1959, more than 150,000 Tibetans, including women, children, and the elderly, have risked their lives crossing the Himalayas.

July 2007: I travel to MacLeod Ganj in Himachal Pradesh. Neighbouring Dharamsala, it is the seat-in-exile of his Holiness the Dalai Lama. It is a strange land, an in-between land.  It rises 2,000 metres above the Indian landmass and culture, but it is also home to a Tibetan culture that makes us forget which country we are in. This same in between-ness is reflected in the situation of the refugees.

G., 30, is a Buddhist monk. He came to India to visit His Holiness and talk with him about the situation in Tibet. Even though he would like to stay in India, he made the choice to come back to Tibet to take care of his family. That's why he wants to hide his identity.

I don’t touch my camera for three or four days. I feel like a disoriented observer who arrives with a head full of the events the Tibetans have undergone. I find myself in a paradoxical universe where tourists and Buddhist followers rub shoulders with the Tibetans in a troubled atmosphere. Dressed in her traditional clothes, an old Tibetan woman who has just arrived at the refugee centre is photographed by curious tourists. She stands up and then walks into the centre in silence, passing by the tourists. They are well satisfied with their photographs. The two universes come close but do not touch.