BREATHE | Sunday, October 25, 2020
#BREATHE: yes, I live in the greenest place ever, squished between the river and the park, but sometimes you have to get away to encourage a longer walk. I think I would enjoy living by the sea, I’ve always loved being in #Pondicherry and walking to the ocean, but the river is more human-scale and practical, I wish boats were slightly cheaper, though. #lake #virginiawater #autumn
AUNTIE | Wednesday, September 30, 2020
#AUNTIE: all my late dad’s sisters adored my dad and treated me like a jewel, they showered me with love and affection and kindness. I don’t have favourites, but I knew Babyfoi the best from spending so much time with her. She had a pretty hard life, and my dad and myself were always trying to help and keep a lookout for her. Her late husband, my uncle, was one of dad’s best friends and he gave me my name: Vishal. It means ‘great’ or ‘wide’ or ‘unstoppable’ and I can only lay a clear claim to the last and am unlikely to ever make the second in my lifetime, and aspire to the first posthumously. My awesome Babyfoi passed away yesterday and my family shrinks again. My dad had a massive family, he was one of eleven, and it was truly amazing, in hindsight, to visit and be surrounded by family. I have never, ever, witnessed my entire family of uncles, aunts and cousins all in the same place at the same time, and never will. There’s only 3/11 left. I took this picture in 2001 in the family home in #Pondicherry. The house was gifted to the ashram by my philanthropist grandfather on the proviso that his family would live there. It’s been empty for some time, and will surely revert to the ashram. I hope they make great use of it and restore the life it must have seen back in the 1950s. #family #aunties #india
#ATMA: This is my eldest, and coolest cousin, with my late auntie Chandra on the back of the bike. This is in front of the family house in #Pondicherry. Family legend has it that just after he was born, in 1960, he was given the soul of his recently-deceased uncle, who was killed in a motorcycle accident aged 19. The family says he is just like his uncle. I think I took this picture in 1994, and printed it at the @northlondondarkroom in 2013-ish. #motorcycle #sriaurobindoashram #themother #pondi #india #streetphotography #yashicamat124g
My cousin, Atma, runs the dairy down at the farm. One of the calves became quite ill over a period of ten to fifteen days, but the mother didn’t seem to care for it, generally ignoring it. After the calf died - from a ruptured intestine - the mother refused, or was unable, to produce any milk. They created this surrogate toy calf frame and stretched the dead calf’s skin over it and placed it next to the mother, who plays with it, licks it, pushes it around, and produces milk again.
Is not always a bad thing. The amount of paperwork floating around means that your friendly local banker is able to get things done with a quiet word that in the UK is no longer possible, because our systems are water-tight (i.e. inflexible). Cards can be issued within a day and cheque books too. I was wondering how they did the chequebook, and then I saw. The poor fellow took out a rubber stamp, altered its digits to match my account number, and went through a new chequebook stamping every single cheque with my account number. Can you possibly imagine anyone in London being bothered or able to do that?
My dad is from a reasonably large family, I suppose. He’s one of eleven, somewhere in the middle - two older brothers and two older sisters. My eldest aunt is almost 89 - early next month - and after she broke her hip the last time, she’s been stationed in the ashram nursing home on the seafront, a great view if only she could see it. They denied losing her dentures, which means eating is quite impossible and she’s quietly been wasting away. My other aunts visit and feed her small amounts of mashed potato, pastries and chocolate, but she can’t assimilate very much. She lies in that bed all day, poor old aunt. She’s the eldest of all the siblings, the spinster who dedicated her life to the ashram, already 54 when I was born, and I’m not sure if, after this trip, I will get to see her again. But, I wouldn’t bet on it.
These days, I spend too much time behind a camera hunting for pretty pictures, and too little simply documenting what I see around me. The latter is very satisfying, very amateur (in a good way) and largely what I did for ten years before getting slightly more serious about it all. The upcoming project documentary is going to take more observation than perhaps I’m used to these days, but the more observational work I do meets a positive response - The Council Estate and just yesterday, The House - and it’s all good practice for the big project. I’ve spent a lot of time in Pondicherry since I was a baby, and there’s a familiarity which prevents me wandering around as I might in a new town or city. So much of this place is tied to my family and its history, that I’m looking at my own family more closely, even as I’m stared at in the street… Christina found a splendid internet cafe last time she was here, and where I sit right now, and of course the people here know my family, don’t they? Pretty much everyone and anyone in the ashram knows Atma, my eldest cousin, and ashramites all know each other anyway. So I’m being observed too, as it happens, and noting that, I’m off to photograph the derelict patch of land that my father and his two brothers have owned since the 1960s.
