Introduction
Since 2005, my godfather German Castillo and I had been dreaming of the trip of our lives; the enigmatic and exotic India. However, time passed as I went to study in Argentina and later, returned to Colombia to work on projects related to my home country. To make a long story short, the trip was postponed.
In November 2013, in a most spontaneous fashion, the trip was revived, the money came through and we scheduled the trip for February 6, 2014, returning on April 8. It all began to flow in a supernatural way; packing 80 rolls of 120 color film, my camera and a flash together with a simple suitcase containing 3 pairs of pants, 3 shirts, 3 pairs of socks, 3 pairs of underwear, 1 jacket and a sweater.
After a 35 hour trip from Bogotá to New Delhi with layovers in Orlando, New York and Dubai we arrived exhausted at 2:30am. Prior to traveling, my father, who has always been a die-hard traveler, advised me to not sleep in order to avoid jetlag; I followed his advice.
We arrived at the hotel, bathed, and rested for three hours and set out for the colorful and chaotic Indian reality. I was astounded, being that the majority of my “serious” work had been created in Colombia, that like a child visiting a huge toy factory I became frenzied, photographing from the moment I left the hotel, obviously knowing that I had a limit as I was working with rolls.
After breakfast, I went out exploring while my godfather read the newspaper in the café. Two blocks away, I saw a tourism agency that wasn’t much to hope for, however I didn’t care and went in.
Upon entering, a wide man approached me, a bit of sweat on his face, hair slicked back with gel and dark glasses that completely shielded his eyes. Not to mention, he was permanently chewing and spitting something that, not until hours later did I realize, was tobacco.
I only wanted to ask a question about Srinagar (in the north of India) – how to get there and where to stay. The man, without thinking twice, screamed into the air some words, trying to conserve the juices in his mouth. From a small door, a young and malnourished boy appeared. The boy came over and the man, without even a please, said “Masala Chai!”. The boy turned around and returned to some type of basement. In this instant, I knew that the man didn’t only want to answer my questions, but wanted to sell me the trip. I stood up from the chair and thanked him for his hospitality and that someone was waiting for me when the Masala Chai began to steep.
-But sir, your chai is almost ready!
So, to be courteous, I drank the chai while I listened to him offer me travel packages and payment plans. On my last sip, I simply stood and left, returning to the café. Mi godfather was waiting for me with the day’s plans. We took a rickshaw (an Indian taxi) and instructed the driver to take us to the red fort. Seven blocks later, the driver stopped the rickshaw and directed us to an extremely clean tourism office and with an air of seriousness, the driver confidently told us:
-This office is registered by the government. You won’t have any problem with them stealing from you here.
A kind person with fluent English stepped out of the office and invited us in. The protocol repeated: scream some words into the air (this time, without saliva) and a well-fed boy arrives at the office (this gave me more confidence). In the same way, the chai came, but without so much sugar. The man breaks the ice with a clear question: Would you like to see India?
Dazed and bewildered, we were bombarded by this nice Kashmiri salesman who broke down our two month trip into a tour of which, in his words, would touch on the three fundamental aspects of India: landscapes, religious events and monuments. We were hypnotized by the great orator and after seeing the price for the whole trip, hotels, trains, planes and pick-ups, we decided to pay for the whole trip! We gave him almost all of it in cash. The itinerary was as follows:
Delhi-Srinagar-Amristar- Haridwar-Bikaner-Jaisalmer-Jodhpur-Pushkar-Udaipur-Jaipur-Agra-Gorakpur-Sunali-Kathmandu-Varanasi-Calcuta-Madras-Pondicherry- Putthaparti-Hampi-Panaji-Mumbai-Delhi
Half of the trip worked out well. The vouchers, flights, trains and pick-ups, however the only problem was that we were missing the other half of the trip. Upon arriving at Varanasi, we didn’t have vouchers, plane tickets or anything! We were literally, in the air. So I unfortunately called the agency, who promised to send them by mail, but again, failed. After a day of insults and threats (on my part), they sent us a little consolation of a plane ticket to Calcuta and a voucher for the hotel. You can see how the trip unraveled from then on.
These inconvenient, but charming situations began to affect my work with a tint of irony, humor and a personal analysis of how a Colombian photographer with a purpose, on his second trip to India, viewed this culture. I told myself – I’m going to take the opportunity of working without fear, taking photos of everything that calls my attention. However, it wasn’t like this. Part of my challenge was trying to escape from the typical images of India; the backlight of the Ganges, the snake charmer, the Sadus in the streets and all of the images that you’ve surely already seen multiple times. Better yet, I proposed creating something that was different, like a personal opinion and highly superficial of what, for me, was India. The over exploitation of the idea of mysticism for the west as a tourism tool, the non-recycling culture, the fast and aggressive globalization and how that is reflected in a conservative population, the traces of the colonies that years ago invaded India and the daily folklore of a culture that on one side left me fascinated and on the other, exhausted.