MARCH TO THE MELA

Above and below are a few shots from our first morning in Haijapur. A huge number of Pilgrims converge on Sonepur, where the Mela (festival) takes place down by the Ganges. The first two days have a religious focus, then the pilgrims leave and it turns into one big jolly.
Haijapur is highly polluted as the main mode of transport is motor rickshaw or motor bike. The cheapest way of getting around is squeezing together on a cycle rickshaw, watching some poor skinny limbed indian fella sweat it out as he carries your lazy arse wherever you want to go. On the pilgrim days, no traffic is allowed so the pollution levels dip a little and you have no choice but to spend the hour or so that it takes to walk to the Mela. All these are shots taken along the way. The first one below features Maciej beaming from the crowd.

Hellish Haijapur, Beautiful Mela

So, the Piyush, Haijapur had become our new home, and its staff, our daily tormentors. After just having come to terms with chaotic Delhi and the vile Satyam, this was to be our base for the duration of the Sonepur Mela (a huge religious pilgrimage site that turns into a massive livestock fair featuring hundreds of attractions).

While in Delhi, we had glimpsed how the wealthy lived, by effortlessly gate-crashing a huge, opulent wedding. It had happened purely by chance, as we investigated the area around the Satyam, following our instincts and rows of fairy lights, discovering where celebrations were to commence, a chance encounter with a shifty looking waiter, a quick exchange of cell phone numbers, an agreed rendezvous time and we were in. Within the course of our second evening in Delhi, we had met all the family barring the bride and groom. It had been a night to remember, brass bands, horse drawn carts, vast amounts of amazing food, dancing, incredible friendliness and hospitality, countless photo calls and fireworks. It was a dizzy experience. But that was all now firmly in the past. And there were no wealthy families in Haijapur.

HOTEL PIYUSH - HAIJAPUR

He had the sleepy eyed look and demeanour of a valium darted lizard. The manager of the Piyush hotel also had a vast sign that read MANAGER which spread broader than his own shoulders. Hanging above him, on the wall with the sleeping mosquitoes was a picture of a jolly looking pink deity – the only thing that was jolly looking in the Piyush.

Maciej had stayed here before and had mentioned that it was “a funny hotel…they are weird guys”. From the moment we were in the reception of the Piyush, it was clear that the staff were the ones in charge, we were just an inconvenience passing through.

They took great delight in the bureaucratic side of things. A huge leather bound volume appeared, which required many personal details, and we weren’t allowed to enter them standing up.

“Please SIT! SIT!” said the manager from behind his massive manager sign, indicating to one of the chairs in front of the desk.

A snake hipped porter with a sleepy eyed expression, repeated the request, jutting his hand towards a chair.

“SIT! Then sign book”

English was a language very thin on the ground at the Piyush , almost as thin on the ground as tourists or other real guests, which after one look at Haijapur’s filthy, insanely busy, smog heavy streets, was no great surprise.

As we were led up to our rooms, it was clear that everyone that worked at this hotel believed it was the finest establishment in all of north India. And it wasn’t even complte, they were building more floors on top of it – giving it a slightly bombed out appearance. Where they thought these extra guests would arrive from was anyone’s guess.

And here it was, our mosquito infested room. It consisted of one big bed and a view over characterless Haijapur and a pack of stray dogs vying for territory below.

“Ok said Maciej, first thing we have to do is kill all these mosquitoes” and with that, he grabbed one in the air and squished it to death in his fist.

Below are a few more shots from Delhi - some of the ones I shot on jpg, I can't seem to upload the huge RAW files I've been shooting on some occasions - which is a shame as some of the best ones are in this format.

Apologies also for the distinct lack of words here. It's been such a hectic schedule - either moving from city to city or hunting the best price on hotels, or else finding somewhere to eat that isn't going to have us clinging to toilets for days on end. And that's not to mention all the shooting - a vast amount of time spent hunting for the best shots. Looking back on the Delhi ones, I'm not so sure I like them now - there was a lot of chaff! Having moved several cities now, I think we're all working a  little harder on what we're putting in the frame - and if it's a portrait, learning how to deal with people - directing them a little at times. It's all about getting the natural (unsmiling) shot.

After Delhi, we moved to the Hell hole that is Haijapur - and then onto the Sonepur Mela where we took pictures of thousands of pilgrims on and around the ghats that edge onto the Ganges. Quite an experience - particularly when you're nursing a sick stomach after a dodgy vegetable biryani...

Scenes from Old Delhi

Here's a selection of scenes shot just wandering (and getting lost) in the chaotic and labyrinthian streets of Old Delhi. So much life here, but having been shooting for a while now, i think the way I'm taking pictures now has changed. Much more to follow when I grab some time. 

HEATHROW – November 4th

There was a row of empty chairs, each one showing the angle at which it had been exited. Above them, the blank Air Oman screens, showing no flights. This felt ominous, and although I had nearly an hour before the flight, it was enough to make me sense the worst. Asked where the Air Oman people were, the two bored BA staff shrugged, and one grunted “Don’t know…they’ve closed.”

The other one helpfully added “How do we know, it’s not our airline”

I raced to the information desk, where I imagined friendly, helpful people might live, but no, this is England in 2011, and I was interrupting a conversation between 4 colleagues with my petty worries. A fat, middle aged woman with sleepy eyes looked at me dolefully. Then looked at her screen, tapped a few keys.

“Sorry you missed it, the Air Oman desks have closed”

“You’ve got to be kidding, CAN’T YOU RING SOMEONE?”

“Sorry Sir, once they close the desks, they don’t allow people through”

“But there’s a WHOLE HOUR!”

“You’ll have to get another flight, let me check for you…”

“I DON’T WANT ANOTHER FLIGHT, I WANT THIS ONE…THE ONE I’VE PAID FOR!

I’d already been cleaned out by human vermin that had broken into my flat and loaded up on pricey camera gear, there was no way I was going to fork out over £1K for a last minute flight. My phone was buzzing, it was Jarvis, who I imagined had already gone through and was sitting pretty or idly browsing the tax free shops. He sounded happy as a pig in shit.

“Hey dude what’s happening”

“They won’t let me through, so I’m not going”

“Ahh, you’re joking aren’t you?”

“I wish I was, but seriously, I’m not going to get there. Apparently you’re already boarding”

“We’re not boarding yet, we haven’t even gone through”

Suddenly, like a genie out of a lamp, an air Oman official materialised, offering to grant me just the one wish.

“You’ll have to hurry sir, there’s no time”

I rammed the bag onto the scales. I figured that if that mutha was on there, I was on my way to India. As I watched it get swallowed up by the hatch, the sheer joy cancelled out my desire to go back and ring the neck of the woman who gave me no hope.

Then they appeared, my two travelling companions, who I had never met before, but embraced like old friends. India was on.

The first leg of the journey was to Muscat in Oman. After some haggling over seats, we managed to get some all sitting together. It was a spanking new plane, a huge beast decked out in neutral tones. I sat next to Frankie, the sole female member of our little group. I knew she was a nervous flier but so far she seemed calm. Then later, as they were running through the safety drills, I suddenly noticed a small animal in Frankie’s lap. Its fur was grubby looking and she was frantically fondling its long droopy ears. What madness is this? I thought. Here was this big girl, a bright university student, kneading a toy rabbit comforter – by projecting onto this was she somehow hoping that her shredded nerves would be calmed and ‘rabbit karma’ would prevent our big bird from plunging into the sea? This was most unusual, and made me wonder how much I would see of this particular marsupial once she was confronted with the stresses and strains that India was sure to throw at us.

By the time we touched down in Muscat, we were all feeling frazzled and ravaged. There was an hour to kill so I sucked on mango and guava juice and bought some grade A Frankincense rocks – there was no telling how putrid and stinking those hotels were going to be. The final leg was just two and a half hours, and we touched down in Delhi at 3:30, ready for whatever the Gods and Demons were going to throw at us.

DELHI, 5^th November

Emerging from New Delhi airport, foggy headed and sleep deprived, our first mission was to book a taxi without being ripped off by the vultures that were sure to circle and swoop in on our tender tourist necks.

It was time to consult the lonely Planet tome for cash saving tips and advice – it should also sharpen us up for any impending scams. Frankie was already on the phone to her parents, tapping them for advice – I pictured them at home in the flock wallpaper study, a remote consul, poised and ready to plough the internet at a moment’s notice. All I cared about was getting to the hotel in one piece, with my pockets still full of rupees. Mum and dad would surely take care of the skyrocketing mobile phone bill.

In contrast to Frankie, Jarvis seems quiet and reserved, maybe a little unsure of himself, maybe not the sharpest tool in the box. Occasionally though, he comes out with the odd witty remark, which he mumbles with a thick Welsh accent. As we hurtle, full throttle into the hornet’s nest that is Delhi, flanked by buzzing motorbikes, honking vans and hulking great busses, everyone vying for road space, all ignoring the white lines, I get the sense that he’s having his mind peeled open like a tin can and all of Delhi is pouring in there – the filth, the roadside monkeys, the derelict grimy shops, the battered vehicles, the weary cattle, the insane traffic and the madness of this whole scene.   

The cab driver clearly doesn’t have a clue where he is headed, and he’s jamming the nose into any crevice that opens up between the cars. I have no idea how we are not being battered to a crumpled heap. Is he feigning confusion just to rack up the rupees? He certainly looks convincing as he does battle with the swarming, crowding vehicles – half looking, aiming our bumper at oncoming rickshaws and tuk-tuks, he plugs his phone into a mass of filthy wires on his lap. The thing comes alive and he makes desperate sounding calls to a remote navigator. We’ve now clocked up over an hour driving time and over 600 rupees and the Satyam hotel is still no where in sight.

Finally, through the smog, MYBAR glows like a beacon. Maciej has told us this is next door to the Satyam so we know we’re just yards from our rooms. It’s a ramshackle joint and looks barely habitable. The street cop doesn’t like where we’ve pulled up and there are heated exchanges. I dish out every rupee I have and our bags are tossed from the car boot like dead pig carcasses.

HOTEL SATYAM

On first sight, the Satyam is a filthy hole, nestled up against the Hells ditch that is ‘the Main Bazaar’. On closer inspection, it reveals itself as a truly wretched little dive with

an abundance of strip lighting and shady men loitering in the reception area. We are led up to our rooms on the second floor, bracing ourselves. Frankie is shown her room first. Upon entering it, she wretches. They’ve sprayed the place with industrial strength bug zapping chemicals, a stench that hangs in the air and burns our nasal passages. To add to the ambiance, a filthy looking sweat stained bed with threadbare sheets and ferociously bright lighting. This is going to be our home for three days.

In India, the Hindus believe that Gods and Demons are in contention for domination of the world. So when the Gods are kicking some ass, goodness and light prevail. And when the Demons get the upper hand, all Hell breaks loose. And so it follows that anyone travelling in India is likely to encounter events along the road that suggest who is winning that great battle in the skies. It's why this blog starts with a picture of Ganesh (taken on my one and only visit to India, back in 2008) - he is reputed to be the remover of obstacles, so we're going to need that guy on our side all the way.

And so the time is ticking. In just a few hours, I will be meeting two of my travelling companions at Heathrow airport, neither of whom I've ever met in my life. Both are Welsh.

All I know about these two people are that they are called Gareth (we're going to call him by his surname 'Jarvis' to avoid confusion) and Frankie (who is female). I only know that Jarvis likes making 'soups' - not out of broccoli and cheese, but the kind you make in the darkroom - developing old style film prints with crazy chemical combinations. So he's going to be using a 'rangefinder' camera to capture whatever we encounter. Frankie is a tall red haired girl who isn't going to stand out at all in heart of India. Those Yogis aren't going to know what's hit them! I don't know much about her other than she is a student and is already better than all the rest of us at organising things. That might have something to do with her being female.

And the last card in the deck is Maciej, famed Polish street photographer/ photojournalist and the initiator of this whole madcap escapade. Having been a long time Flickr fan, I've yet to see any street photographer who gets shots like his (check him out: http://www.flickr.com/photos/maciejdakowicz/). How is it that he's always in the right place at the right time? I intend to find out soon. Or maybe the Gods just like him.

So, see you in Delhi!

INDIA ITINERARY:
 
5th November:- Frank, Gareth, Jarv arr. Delhi
6th November:- Maciej arr.
8th November:- overnight sleeper train no:- 12394 dep:- 17.30pm
9th November:- arr. Patna, travel to Hajipur
10th - 13th November:- Sonepur Mela
14th:- Patna
15th November:- overnight sleeper to Kolkata no:- 12352 dep:- 21.10pm
16th November:- arr. Kolkata
20th November:- overnight sleeper to Varansi no:- 12175 dep:- 17.45
21st November:- arr. Varansi
26th November:- overnight train to Gwailor - tbc
27th November:- arr. Gwailor
right:-
30/31st November:- short train to Agra. 31st is the Thursday so we would have to go straight to the Taj Mahal. It's up to you...
1st December:- travel back to Delhi?
2nd December:- flight to Heathrow leaves at 8.55am