NiH
Monday Masquerade
Babubazar bridge, Monday. The evening is descending in the old quarters of Dhaka with the aging darkness that it befriended since the dawn of time. Working people of the city are returning to their domiciles on the other side of the river Buriganga, everyone's in a hurry, they are trying to leave behind whatever misdeed they've done in the last 10 hours. The massive swarm of people includes day laborers, street vendors and maid servants. All of a sudden I see this face emerging from under one streetlamp to the other, an unnamed angst and sadness gripping her face.
She is crying.
Perhaps it's because her employer had tried to take advantage of her in the morning, perhaps her lover died recently, perhaps she just discovered that there's an unborn inside her with no one to take responsibilities, perhaps a nail penetrated her feet on the way to the bridge's approach road...who knows. I don't want to at least, I've my own problems to masquerade behind.
I like this photograph, I don't know why...this might not hold any real value to someone who is just seeing this in some other part of the planet in his/her perfect little online world..but I was there, and she was terrifyingly tactile.
You know what, nothing as it seems, only on black does justice.
Monday Masquerade
Babubazar bridge, Monday. The evening is descending in the old quarters of Dhaka with the aging darkness that it befriended since the dawn of time. Working people of the city are returning to their domiciles on the other side of the river Buriganga, everyone's in a hurry, they are trying to leave behind whatever misdeed they've done in the last 10 hours. The massive swarm of people includes day laborers, street vendors and maid servants. All of a sudden I see this face emerging from under one streetlamp to the other, an unnamed angst and sadness gripping her face.
She is crying.
Perhaps it's because her employer had tried to take advantage of her in the morning, perhaps her lover died recently, perhaps she just discovered that there's an unborn inside her with no one to take responsibilities, perhaps a nail penetrated her feet on the way to the bridge's approach road...who knows. I don't want to at least, I've my own problems to masquerade behind.
I like this photograph, I don't know why...this might not hold any real value to someone who is just seeing this in some other part of the planet in his/her perfect little online world..but I was there, and she was terrifyingly tactile.
You know what, nothing as it seems, only on black does justice.