A Lensman’s Journal (May 04, 2013)

Beneath the sand and gravels shined her porcelain-like skin, innocent blue eyes wide with wonder and half-open mouth concealed an unruly cry, she was all but a child, and one among the 3,787 people died in the Bhopal tragedy. When the picture trails you through the roads of angst and despair Bhopal has endured, one wouldn’t hesitate to agree ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’. When lensman Pablo Bartholomew’s eyes travel through the time and people in a shutter speed, his camera deftly captures these breath-taking signature photographs.3108

For Pablo, who has won this year’s Padma Shri for his photojournalistic expeditions, his photographs are methods to express the creative streak in him. With a career spanning 40 years, Pablo has nothing but humility as his cohort. Having had Richard Bartholomew as his father, who had practically dominated Indian art-critic world in his era, Pablo did not have to look anywhere else for mentors. Within his multitude of talents Richard hid his photographic skills as well.

“My father was not only an art critic, he was a thinker, poet and also a photographer, so we had photography equipments and darkroom facilities at home. I was introduced to the world of photography when I was 7 or 8 and with my new camera at hand I took photos of everyday subjects. So it was very easy for me to take up photography as my passion,” says Pablo. Pablo’s house was a meeting place for a stream of creative people as both his parents enjoyed inviting their friends over. His mother Rati Batra, was a theatre artiste, hence Pablo had the luxury to meet all genres of artists like directors, actors, writers, and also his fathers artist friends. IMG_20130408_2206235

“It was not only my father who was creative but my mother being a theatre artiste was quite adept in art and literature. I have got the opportunity to closely watch these creative minds at work and learned very early that it is art that would lead me to what I want to become. There was so much creativity around me and I got inspired easily,” says Pablo. He chose people as his subjects at a very young age and wrote poems of their expressions with his camera.

His award-winning photo series ‘Morphine addicts in India’ etches an unknown world masked underneath the polished morale of India and Indians. Myriad portrayals of a woman addicted to morphine, her insufferable agony, her shattered ego, her stooped eyes, her contemplating gestures, come and go in various frames. The helplessness that exudes from her face defines the youth of 70s and their forbidding indulgences.

Pablo says the digital era is not threatening as evolution of technology is inimitable, nonetheless, not all can take a good picture that has all the ingredients of one.

“It is just like writing. Anybody can write today, but is it all writing? With a good computer application one could correct grammar, spelling errors and make a good sentence, but is it actually writing? Likewise a digital camera can take good pictures but the aesthetics of photography is for those who are real photographers,” He says.

Chronicles of a Past Life - BOMBAY 70's & 80'sPablo who had grown up learning the hard way of photography techniques, decided to quit his school at a very young age. “Photography was my vision as I was not keen on education. It became my calling as I chose photography over school. No parents will support your child’s decision to quit school, so even though they were reluctant at first, being liberal, they accepted my decision,” he says.

Pablo received World Press Photo award at the age of 19 for his series Morphine Addicts in India. His photo on Bhopal gas tragedy (1984) won that year’s world press photo of the year award. Pablo who has travelled immensely in India recalls his visiting Kerala as rewarding. Though landscapes are not his forte, Kerala, he says, has gifted him beauty nestled in its breathtaking mountains and valleys.

A photojournalist has to be particular about his role, says Pablo, as it is very easy for him to fall for the victim in a crisis situation. “Is he an activist, a neutral observer or a person who could broadcast this picture and make a difference to the situation? A photographer should make his mind about his role, when he is dealing with sensitive situations,” says Pablo. Pablo received his Padma Shri on Friday, April 5th. “Receiving a Padma award is overwhelming as I count it as a recognition for both my and my father’s works,” says Pablo.

 

Solitaire!! (Continues)

cryI stood under the stairway patiently. Every footstep made my heart skip a beat. As per her Assistant’s instruction we sat down on one of those plush sofas. The cold lemonade she offered did not cool down the excitement and anxiety I was feeling but it sure did help me to rehearse my lines and check my appearance once again. After an hour of sitting and waiting, I got to see a glimpse of an off white saree’s pallu trailing down the stairs.The clicks of high heels which would make any sane person’s heart flutter like a butterfly followed. She alighted from the staircase making it look like an air plane.  The smile of calm she offered me cordially was  fake or real? I wondered. But she looked like she was at peace with herself.

Soon the questions I have prepared so charily in my mind vanished into thin air, leaving me at a loss. I hardly collected my wits together by the time she asked “shall we start?”. “Yes shall we?” I replied acting enthused. Over the years we have developed a familiarity between each other, however it never went beyond the border of cordiality and touched friendship. There was mutual respect of course. Since I have diverted my field to hardcore journalism, reporting war and sometimes peace after my small stint in the entertainment industry, we rarely met. But then this story is hardcore or there’s nothing more hardcore than this. All I needed was her to tell me the truth about that night. But as far as I knew her she was not going to give me anything. She knew to play the field very well. Even during her early years in the industry she knew how to tackle press.

In that plain but elegant sari she was a vision in white. The crow’s feet that appeared on each side of her eyes painted an attractive but mature picture. Oh she aged beautifully.

“Prameela this is not the time to feel discouraged, be confident, shoot those brilliant questions you prepared at her. If at all the assumed role of Meghna in those happenings were true, you are sitting in front of a criminal not the talented soft spoken lady you always thought she is” I reminded myself.

She showed her discomfort in being recorded. “Pramila I thought it’s a one-on-one chat. The police have specifically asked me to not give any interviews so please do not record. I agreed for this chat only because I need to tell you something”.

→ To be continued

Solitaire!!

cryWhen she tilted her head during our talk, the nose-ring twinkled with a reflection that only a solitaire would give. An affinity towards good living was apparent in her every move. Her smile was half genuine and half unintended. She was trying hard to make a good impression, which could’ve achieved with a casual smile. All around me were immersed in her translucent skin and the intelligent words she pronounced, oh so softly. She had an unworldly charm about her.

While she carelessly brushed her thick brown-black hair with those long artistic fingers, the world seemed to stop just to capture those shiny moments. My carefully permed hair and freshly manicured fingers cringed in shame before that ethereal figure.  I felt dwarfed even though she was almost the same height as me. The quintessential LBD (little black dress) was what I expected her to wear instead she chose a white shirt and blue jeans that fitted her like a dream.  Television interview or not she was not there to prove anything, instead she sat there responding as little as possible as if challenging me to bring out her deepest secrets and probe her like a convict. And I believe I did well. That was my first encounter with Meghna Roy, the film actor turned writer-director. That year, her latest release gained rave reviews at film festivals and won the national award for the best movie. So she was the shining star of the moment.  Today almost 15 years later, I’m going to interview her again, not to ask about movies but to dig deep into the latest and biggest controversy she had ever encountered, and find out the truth.

→ To be continued

Lullabies from the Abyss! (2013)

Sad-girl-cynthia-selahblue-cynti19-32187362-400-302

Heart, my heart, where will you cremate these forbidden thoughts,
That chant lullabies of a devil-ridden world.
The day I tamed you to an emotional graveyard,
The necropolis of unresolved griefs,
You stayed gallant and discreet for me.
Now you thrash about to escape from me.
When I dread being left alone,
The remnants of the past haunt my conscience.
Waiting for the doomsday, love lost, trust left, jest missed, 
I live wishing for it all to collapse.
An abominable cry of a helpless mind lurks behind those frozen walls.
Beyond it all, I see you, my heart; I see a spark of hope in you.
The dawn seeped through my windowpanes,
All I see are harsh, bright, and yellow.
I stooped down to perceive where I am,
I know this pitfall like the back of my hand.
Snags, wails, trampling footsteps,
All were my companions at various times.
Yes, I am back where I started; help me out.
Help me be free!!!

Night (2012)

Night

Night conquered day in a day-long combat,
I fell victim to a peaceful respite,

Moonlight flickered its pride in flashes;
fireflies drew spirals that lit my lashes,

Laptop flaunted its luminous screen,
struggling to convey “I’m still on”

Yes, I am a lover of night,
the nature-made feminist, who lured sun to her bosom,

and enslaved him with an everlasting spell,

She gives me a poet’s hand and a player’s heart…