Candid Camera

An exhibition put together by an NGO concerned with a gamut of social and environmental issues is a case in point. Nobody8217;s Children: Myth/Reality, by photographer Tarun Chhabra has been on display at the foyer of New Delhi8217;s India Habitat Centre for the longest time. Chhabra has shot, as part of the NGO8217;s initiative, images of children at the New Delhi Railway Station. You see images of children being beaten, eating out

of bins, being degraded by

the camera.

Let8217;s assume that the objective of the NGO and Chhabra is really to create awareness about the hard life children have at the railway station. They also want to garner public emotion and, consequently, raise funds. Nothing wrong with that, if they8217;d chosen to do it differently.

One of the problems with photography of this kind is that it invites voyeurism. Given the kind of audience that walks into the IHC space, such images will evoke notions of 8216;the other8217; and take on an almost exoticised meaning. They reinforce stereotypes of the poor, of street children, and create a condescending narrative. Should photography, in this context at least, be a means of pity?

The images we see in this show almost appear to encourage masochism, whereby the viewer is asked to be consumers of someone else8217;s hardship and made to feel terribly guilty.

By deliberately using frames that seem to exaggerate proportions and focus on the physicality of the subject, Chhabra offers us a robust perverseness. It8217;s a bit like the paintings of excess by Spanish painter Snyder, who plied the tables and larders in his extravagant paintings with so much food that the viewer might have wanted to throw up.

What8217;s equally troubling is that such portrayal excludes the subjects themselves. Many photographs are candid, with the subjects not aware of being clicked. Would the children want to be portrayed as the dregs these photographs make them out to be? But then, what could be a

better way to share tragedy than through photography?

A more modest exhibition, just a blink away, contains clues. Pradeep Saha, part of the Centre for Science and Environment8217;s Down to Earth magazine, photographed tsunami-affected areas a year later when the tragedy was operative in slow motion. His choices as a photographer are immediately apparent. His frames are careful about ignoring external, condescending references.

I8217;m particularly struck by one photograph where a naked child runs by in Thethi. This is not the scrawny creature crawling out of tragedy, as we would imagine. It8217;s a child who has survived a major natural disaster. Disproportionately tall in Saha8217;s frame, she appears apocalyptic at first glance.

You never know who she is. She refuses pity, but marks the horror. The absence of close-ups in this show is telling, because Saha does not fall into the trap of invading privacy.

That8217;s what image framers and viewers should think about. Saha brings drama through his images of transformed landscapes, marked by aid agency stickers and signboards.

So what8217;s there to say about these two exhibits? It8217;s really quite simple. Just good old-fashioned respect for other people when you exercise an aggressive, technological power over them. Photography of this kind isn8217;t just art. It8217;s a New Age enslavement that overwhelms you moments before it repels.