Eyes that tell a story...

...I walk to the farther end of the slums, deep among the 'tents', or whatever... So few we really need... Food, pure water, some place to sleep and friends/community. I had everything over there in Europe: fancy car, nice house, job; still I felt some kind of emptiness. And what these people have? Practically nothing but the very basics. I imagine how most of us in Europe would react to such conditions... With intense envy, hatred, depression, hopelessness. And These people smile-not with the American 'keep-smiling', but from the bottom of their heart. Of course we were conditioned in vastly different ways-still...

They let me in their home, offer a chai and when I try to argue (thinking of my stomach and the millions of bacteria which might be in that water...) they say that they are the very poorest, so I should respect they invitation. And I do. We barely can talk but there is some deep contact nevertheless. Two world have met here, now...

Could I live here? With my European background probably not, unless I am forced to. But it is human, too. I had prejudices but now I feel we are equal; we all share the very same ups-and-downs of human existence. These prejudices... Just alienate us to fet our egos. Among different conditions, though... They are smiling, the children are happily playing in the dust, still, in many eyes I can see something when they forget about themselves; some wondering, some toughness, some resignation, some mixture of unconscious blame and envy. Blame not me, but destiny. Envy not my goods, but asking fate without words: why, why me?

Then the answer comes: karma. And they smile at me again full-heartedly. All right, it is karma-it had been written before they were born here and I was born there. That's it? So, should we continue to fight for a second car, for a bigger house, for a Hugo Boss shirt over there, and should they continue fighting for tomorrow food over here? Is that all right..?

Slums, slums, slums...

Wherever I go there are slums everywhere... Shocking? Thought awakening? Maybe both. I just pass by one, now. It is by a fairly big swamp. Although it is the dry season now, the swamp is still filled with water, and... with mosquitoes. The bank of it, however, is covered by stone-hard soil and dust. There where they are living. The floor is pure dust, the cover is whatever they have found: paper, plastic, for the luckier tin.

I was wondering around this camp for quite a while in the past weeks, but somehow I never had the a courage to enter... How would they greet me? Like a stupid foreigner who comes here to enjoy their poverty? But suddenly I see a man who draws my attention-and he looks back and smiles. The first contact has been made, and is positive! I already know how much it means in photojournalism; if there is some mutual interest arise before even taking the camera for shooting, then there is every chance for a good shot; Then already some unexplainable has happened: a link was built up between two human souls. Two souls are connected, who are often separated by wast distances from one and other all in space, hopes, fears, chances, talents, and so on.

I catch the moment and enter the slums. I take the camera and show it to the man asking him with my eyes whether I can take his picture. He nodes as a sign of acceptance. Soon I see old people playing cards, some 20m from me. They are not happy and start to shout. Damn...

One of them calls me with his hand. I go there and in a few moments many things run through my mind: this camera worth that much as about one year salary of these people; I am getting farther from the road deep into the slums... On the other hand without risk there is no success; there was no point coming to India if I fear to take my chances-so, I approach.

A younger guy speaks some English.
-What want?
-I'd just like to take some pictures -and I show the camera and smile
-Newspaper?
Should I say yes? Maybe they'd like to be there...
-No. I am an amateur photographer from Europe (I bet they don't know Hungary). I shoot interesting people. Whom I am interested in...
They start to talk in Marathi amoung them, then the young guy say:

-All right; You photo young people, not us. and people over there.

-Thank you! (big smile)

I'd start to leave when one of the card players calls me back: he would like to be photographed, but not the others.

-That OK, I say and I use shallow dof to blur the other players. Play honest-a voice tells in me...