From desert trails to gallery walls: The Rabari tribe in ‘Wanderlust’

How did you first think of photographing the Rabari tribe 20 years ago?

I first visited the Kutch region when I was still in school, with some friends and teachers for a project. That experience left a lasting impression and 20 years ago I decided to go back to photograph the Rabaris. At that time my visual approach was deeply influenced by the minimalism of designer Issey Miyake and photographers such as Richard Avedon and Bruce Weber.

Most photography of tribes that had been done had a very ethnic aesthetic, and I wanted to move away from that exotic sensibility by portraying them as a strong race. It was more like fashion statements in the garb of portraits, where I deliberately used strong light sources as a technique for the projection I needed. I would ask them to close their eyes because the light source was almost blinding, and to open them for that nanosecond when I was taking the picture, leading to an intense, almost fierce, striking look.

Why did you choose to keep white backdrops for these portraits and not the natural surroundings?

I’ve always believed in minimalism so that in the absence of spectacle, something truer might surface. I did not want the background to distract from the subject. Many photographers had also shot the Rabari previously but I wanted to add my own contemporary graphic language and sensibility to the portraits. These images are desaturated but not completely black and white. This tonality was new back then. It allowed me to keep the essence of the blacks while adding depth and a colour subtlety.

Chwala is now revisiting the body of work through the exhibition titled “Wanderlust” at Delhi’s Bikaner House. (Credit: Rohit Chawla)

What is it about the Rabari tribe that fascinated you the most?

What I captured is who they truly were at that time. Their silhouettes and design sense is admirable. The Rabari tribe has inspired designers globally — the all-black attire, angarkhas, the entire aesthetic of minimal black in some ways can be attributed to them. Several people I photographed were actually intensely stylish. They could easily walk the ramp anywhere in the world but I’ve tried to avoid over-glamourising them.

I used to also take polaroid shots and give them copies. I didn’t know if I’d meet them again and it felt important that they had these photographs of themselves. Photography, back then, was special — everyone did not have access to a camera and people would pay Rs 30-40 at village fairs to get their pictures taken. Now in this new world everyone is a photographer of sorts.

Would you describe this project as documentation?

It is documentation, yes, but I am against banal, lazy documentation sometimes masquerading as fine art. I’m against photography that records for the sake of recording. For me, a photograph still must have that visual wonder, composition and that elusive poetry of form. Even when one is making a political or documentary statement, the image must have aesthetic integrity. I don’t believe in glorifying something just because it was taken 30 or 40 years ago. What matters is, if the photograph still moves you.

At a time when cultures at the margins risk being forgotten, these portraits seek to serve as a quiet act of preservation and a testament to lives that refuse to fade.

Have you thought about going back and photographing the Rabaris again?

Yes, I’m considering that — like what Steve McCurry did, revisiting his subjects years later. In this exhibition, there’s a photograph of a young boy and girl whom I would love to go back and find, to see what’s become of them 20 years later. The younger generation doesn’t want to live as nomads anymore. It is a different world, with social media, phones, everyone is aware of the world outside and once you have that kind of access, you don’t want to live in isolation. Their aspirations have changed completely, though it’s a good thing that their craft and embroideries are still alive. I am also planning to photograph other tribes across the world, with the same technique and authenticity.

How do you see photography evolving now that AI is becoming so popular?

Photography has already changed so much. AI can now create staged compositions in seconds, whereas a photographer would take weeks to do the same. One of the dangers is that it removes the sense of wonder. Images that once felt magical are now generated endlessly. It’s like synthetic polyester replacing organic cotton — perfect but soulless.

The sad part is that AI might win not because of the quality but because it’s cheaper. A photoshoot that cost Rs 10–20 lakh can now be generated for a few dollars. It’s economic efficiency, not artistic progress. To me, craft is sacred. If a painter doesn’t know how to paint, how can he be an artist? Similarly, someone who is typing prompts isn’t creating a photograph, he’s only delegating.